Posts Tagged ‘Family’

Good News.

August 23, 2012

I was having a particularly boring day at work today. Ignoring my phone most of the afternoon because let’s face it, nobody ever texts me while I’m at work. Except for today. I decided to check my phone and I had a message from my dear friend Angela. She was texting to let me know that she’d found a great deal on airfare and she’d decided to come and visit me again. I admit that I made absolutely no attempt to talk her out of it. I also admit that when she finally declared that she bought the tickets, I may or may not have done a little happy dance in the bakery. Okay, so I totally did.

It’s only going to be for a couple of days, but I’m beyond thrilled.

Here are some photos from our family vacation to Eureka Springs last month.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

That’s all for now. I’ll write again soon. Maybe.



October 12, 2010

Introducing Lucinda Maria!


Thursday October 7, 2010 at 8:43 am.
7lbs, 6oz. 20 inches long.

After a 36 hour stay in the NICU for TTN, Little miss Lu was given the clear to move to the regular nursery and we were able to have her in my room. She is doing very well and is well on her way to being spoiled rotten. We arrived home on Sunday October 10th!

She is named for her maternal great grandmother and her paternal grandmother.

James isn’t quite sure what to think yet. I’ll keep you posted on that one.

friendly reminders.

August 6, 2010


After a bit of a long and frustrating day, James gave mommy a kiss while having a picnic at the park.

Because the sky is blue

June 25, 2010

I admit that I didn’t quite know how people were going to respond or react to the post I wrote yesterday. And I still don’t know. Are you reeling? Are you annoyed? Did I drag you down into the same existential crisis? If so, I apologize. I had something weighing on my heart and I needed to get it out.

You’ll be happy to know that I spend most of my time excited by the life ahead for my children. I learned some time ago that dwelling on the negative leads to surrender. I daydream of watching my children succeed in life in a way I never attempted.

My son carries around an ultrasound photo of his baby sister. He already loves her and wants to protect her. I can’t describe to you the pride that fills my heart when my sweet little boy comes to me, puts his hands on my belly, and says “Hi baby!”.

Lucinda is well loved. She has James who will protect her (even when he’s annoyed by her or annoying her himself). She has her daddy to dry her tears and make her laugh until she can’t breathe. She has her grandparents who will undoubtedly spoil the crap out of her. She has her mommy. She has me. The one that sings to her. The one who will teach her so much. The largest influence in her life.

Well, shit, that is a little scary isn’t it?

For now, I’ll continue to sing to her. James will continue to say Hi to her (and give my belly the occasional kiss or tickle). And Daddy will continue to spout gibberish to her “because it’s not like she can understand me anyway honey!”. And the two of us will dance together. In gentle, side to side, swaying motions.

The rest we’ll figure out as we all grow up together.


June 24, 2010

Today is my first day off of work in 8 days. I’m pleased. I’m excited. I’m lazy. Outside of getting dressed and possibly going to the library, my only plans for the day were to relax. And by relax, I mean veg out on the sofa with a bag of potato chips my mother sent me from Canada and watch Discovery Health all day. The only way Mystery Diagnosis could be any better is if they didn’t air the interview with the person all the junk actually happened to until AFTER the diagnosis was made. Knowing they survive kind of sucks the suspense out of it. But at the same time, I find myself grateful for the knowledge that people can survive through such medical haphazard.

When I find myself reading Violence Unsilenced, more often than not it takes my breath away. It reminds me of both the strength and weakness of the human race. Of the individual. And I admit I find it comforting that the person making the contribution survived. But I find myself wondering, are they living?

I only say this because I survived various torment inflicted on me by the world at large. There was a period of time that I woke up every morning not sure of whether or not I was thankful to see the sunlight again. I was standing still and the world was spinning on it’s axis. The voices and actions of the world I’d been exposed to had infiltrated my head and my heart. I lost my faith. I couldn’t understand. I collapsed under the weight of my own self loathing. I tried to hide it. I don’t think I succeeded very well. I was surviving, but I was not living. My heart beat. My lungs expanded. My nails grew. But I was a shell. It’s not a good state for a person to be in. And I wonder if the contributors on V/U are living, and if so, how long did it take them to get there?

If you’ve read my blog before, or if you know me personally at all, you’d know that so many things changed in my life right around the time I met Robert. I learned how to fight for happiness. I learned how to love myself. I learned so many things about life and love and how to deal. I regained my breath. My heart occasionally skipped a beat. I painted my nails. I began to shed the weight of the past and started moving with the world instead of standing still against it. But I would be lying if I said that the same small sad version of me doesn’t still exist somewhere inside of me. I admit that certain people and certain things feed into that former self and make my weakness stronger again. I’ve been criticized before of leaving places and people behind with not much explanation. There you have it. Whether the people or places like it or not, they are inherently tied into the version of myself I can’t stand in the least.

I don’t want my daughter to learn how to love herself by first having to hate herself. I don’t want her to have to endure the crippling self doubt and self loathing. I want my daughter to live. I want to give her life. I want to give her the gift of love, of confidence, of self-assurance. I want to do everything I can to protect her from becoming a shell. I don’t want her to abuse herself. I’m not so naive to think I can protect her from everything. Some boy will break her heart. Some friend will hurt her feelings. She’ll deal with what I can only hope is a normal level of adolescent frustration. I can only hope that I can bestow upon her all the things she will need. Love, strength, faith, assurance, security. The most frustrating thing is knowing it will take decades to know whether or not I am successful.

Because sometimes, Love isn’t enough. And that’s the scary part.

I want to make it 100% crystal clear that I do not blame my mother for anything. My mother is a fantastic woman and were it not for her, I would not be the person I am today. It is a clear cut case of bad algebra. Too many variables, not enough control. I can only hope for fewer variables for my own children.

This is so not how I envisioned my day off. Pass the chips.

What do you think is the most terrifying aspect of parenthood?

Wordless Wednesday: Happy Birthday, Baby!

January 28, 2010


Happy Birthday, little man!

On Number Two.

January 12, 2010

It will come as a surprise to exactly no one that knows me well that I have always wanted to be a mother. A former classmate recalls me stating the fact with unmatched conviction when I was in the sixth grade. I was eleven years old and still, the only thing I really wanted to do with my life was to have children. Everything else in the background or my future was diluted and blurry but I knew I wanted to be a mother and I knew I wanted to have more than one child. As an only child until the age of 10 1/2 with few cousins and even fewer close friends, I remembered thinking I didn’t want my children to feel this lonely. I didn’t want my child to grow up and think to himself “I wish I knew what it was like to have a brother/sister.” That’s not to say that my mom wasn’t an amazing mother. In fact, if she hadn’t been so amazing my thoughts on this subject would probably be the polar opposite of what they were and what they are now.

When James was born via emergency c-section, my doctor informed me I had fibroid tumors in my uterus and seemed surprised I got pregnant in the first place. With every follow-up exam I asked her to elaborate. I wanted to know how many, how large, what kind (there are at least 4 different kinds) and what kind of treatment options were available to me. None of these questions were answered. She’d shoo me out of the office with the promise that we would discuss it at a later time. She planted the roots of a terrible weed in my brain and refused to reap what she sowed. I would be lying if I didn’t tell you I spent many a night awake in bed thinking of all the terrible invaders in my body and all of the dreams they were drastically changing.

I’m going to stop here and address what always seems to be the elephant in the room whenever a woman starts lamenting that she can’t bear children. Let me state, on the record, If I were not able to have more children of my own, I would have absolutely no problem adopting a child. I would be the best mom I could possibly be even if I were not the birth mother. Would I consider adoption in the future even if I’m able to bear another child on my own? Absolutely.

I decided that I was going to see a new doctor. I decided on a local clinic that is affiliated with the Woman’s Hospital of Texas. I would see the doctor here and deliver a child in Houston, should I become pregnant. I had to reschedule the appointment three times because my body that had never worked quite right decided to start trying to work. Upon finally reporting to my appointment, I was first brought in to the doctor’s office for an interview of sorts. This was already a better appointment than I ever had with my previous doctor and I hadn’t even met her yet. After a few minutes of speaking I told her about why I left my last doctor. The new doctor understood why I was upset and promised to help put my mind at ease, even if it meant ordering an ultrasound so I could see for myself. After my exam, she sat down on her chair, looked up at me and said “Ashleigh, sometimes women can develop fibroids during their pregnancy, and then they will either disappear or shrink drastically postpartum.” I was a little confused. “Your uterus is perfectly normal and perfectly healthy. You do not have fibroids.” I proceeded to have an out of body experience. I floated to the ceiling and looked down at myself as my eyes began to water and I clasped my hands under my chin. Dr. Happiness (as she will henceforth be called unless you have a better idea) told me she saw absolutely no reason I wouldn’t be able to have baby number two this year. She wrote me a prescription for prenatal vitamins and said she hoped to see me back again soon. She paused, and added not to be afraid to come back if we find we are having trouble and want to talk about testing. In the span of a 30 minute appointment she completely erased almost every negative thought I’d ever had and made me feel bullet-proof. And I can’t tell you how much that means.

I am young. I am not even 25 years old. I’ve heard the line “Oh but you have plenty of time, why are you rushing?”. Anyone who knows me and knows me well will know that I am not your average 25 year old. I met and married the love of my life when I was barely 20 years old. I had my first child at 22. I’ll hopefully have my second child at 25. I can’t explain to you why my age doesn’t matter in this situation. It can’t and won’t be properly understood unless you take the chance to really get to know me. When you take the chance to know me, you’ll know that beyond all the silly and sarcasm is a woman who will spend her life loving her children and being the best mom she can be.

Goodnight daddy.

October 2, 2009

I don’t have much to say lately so here is a video of me and James having some playtime before bedtime. We were in Saskatchewan when this video was taken.

Wordless Wednesday (Love)

August 27, 2009


18 months.

July 24, 2009


18 months ago today I became a big zero. All of the sudden, nothing in life was about me anymore. Everything was about him. My James. My pooh bear. It’s kind of astonishing to me, even now, that he’s grown up so quickly. I got him a cupcake and a balloon at work today because I’m very sentimental. My boss asked me who it was for and when I explained that it was James’ 18 month mark (Which is a big deal, okay?) He said “Sheesh, Kid’s gonna be graduating next year!” I’m sure it was a little tongue in cheek humour at my expense, but with the way time has gone by, Yeah. He is going to graduate next year.

Rob recently caved in and bought a video camera so we can record some of pooh bear’s antics. We recorded a video of us presenting him with his portion of the cupcake. Excuse my wardrobe disarray, I tend to change my clothes into something as comfortable as possible when I get home from work (if I’m not planning on going out later)

Love my poohbear.