tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53663254523646927152024-03-20T17:44:01.168-07:00delovely, delightful, deLISHesAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-57985044703692187792017-01-17T16:09:00.000-08:002017-01-17T16:09:09.447-08:00Back and Better than EverI should probably write some long intro about how I've been MIA lately on this blog, but who even reads blogs anyway. blah blah blah.<br />
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I've done stuff, gone places, and now, I give you my FIRST hair tutorial!<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-14360727034821723272016-08-24T11:25:00.000-07:002016-08-24T11:36:52.663-07:00Work from home"We can work from home, oh oh, oh oh!"<br>
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Who else is still obsessed with that song? Talk about catchy, it's been out for months and still it comes to mind anytime anyone brings up anything about work! </div>
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Currently Emi is asleep and I'm watching the wind blow through the trees outside my bedroom window. The dryer is going in the other room and I just remembered I need to empty and load the dishwasher before I leave this afternoon to have an early dinner with Matt. Life is inexplicably perfect. </div><div><br></div>
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I never planned on this being my life. I was going to be a fashion designer. Then I was going to be an actress. Then, I thought for sure I would be a journalist in a big city wearing tight skirts and tall heels. I was never ever, cross my heart hope to die, going to be a stay at home mom. </div>
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I don't know when or where that spite for not having a career started or stemmed from. Yes, my mom worked but it was a few times a month. She was around. She did carpool and PTA and made us sack lunches. Somewhere, somehow I decided that I was going to be independent and single and successful. Oh young Cami, how selfish and silly you were! Still though, even as I became a Registered Nurse my plan was to work full-time for a few years and then maybe we would talk about kids. Never in my life plan did I have "Become stay at home mom" written. I didn't even have "Become a mom at 22!" Then real life happened.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>
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I should be honest. I love-ish being a nurse. I get to help people right? Well, kind of. Mostly I just feel nervous that I'm going to accidentally kill someone. It's a high stress job and I don't do stress well. When I was working in Las Vegas I would have panic attacks on Sunday nights. Every single Sunday night for 8 months I would be hit with that chest tightening, mind reeling, heart pounding feeling. No kidding. I''m sure Matt thought I was losing my mind, because I think I kind of was. Those feelings dissipated the longer I worked and more confident that I became, but I still never felt satisfied. I still never came home from work and said, "I love my job and I want to do this for the rest of my life." Usually I would come home and binge-watch Keeping up with the Kardashians or Criminal Minds before heading to bed to start the cycle again. </div>
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Now here I am. I work a few times a month at a job I actually love and the rest of the time I get to hang out with my best little friend. That alone is incredible. But, can I tell you something that's even more, for lack of a better word, amazing? </div>
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Working from home. </div>
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30-60 minutes a day.</div>
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Getting paid to improve my health and maybe motivate my friends and family.</div>
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Guys, life is perfect. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-67456147515472562362016-07-19T11:04:00.000-07:002016-07-20T20:45:25.455-07:00Balloons<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Being a Beachbody Coach is something that is SO scary to me. I've almost quit 4 times (that I can think of) and I've been on the verge of tears more times than I can count. That's a pretty big deal for me. I'm really not much of a crier when it comes to my personal life--- sad movies, babies, Denzel Washington--- yeah, I cry about that, but not about my own stuff! Anyway, the reason I bring this up is because I want to share with you why I decided to do something that literally scares the crap out of me! Okay, not literally, that's disgusting! But, seriously, why would I do something that pushes me so far out of my comfort zone of Netflix and naps?</span><br><div>
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For as long as I can remember all that I've wanted to do is make people happy. I know, that sounds so cliche doesn't it? But it's so much more than that! I genuinely, 100 percent want to make people feel happy! I wish I could hand out balloons and suckers to everyone so that no one would feel sad anymore, but that's not real life.<br>
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Real life is waking up everyday and not feeling happy with the way you look or the way you feel.<br>
Real life is bingeing on brownies or cupcakes or nachos or whatever because you had a bad day, or a good day, or just a regular, ordinary day!<br>
Real life is just not feeling happy because you don't feel in control of what's going on around you and inside of you!<br>
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That was my life for a long time! For so many years I've felt like a victim of my circumstance. My life was dictated by my schooling, my homework, my job. I was a prisoner of my own insecurities! As a high school student it led to a lot of problems that plagued me for more years than I like to admit. That's when I found exercising and eating right. Even in those moments where I felt there was nothing I could do, I knew if I would just go for a run, or do some stretches, or eat some carrots instead of some cookies it would help.<br>
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As I slowly took control of what I could and learned to let go of what I couldn't, I found joy. It stuck with me through times of loneliness, a sick husband and a sweet baby that refused to eat or sleep for the 9 months of her life! I was able to find some happiness in the madness. And, I thought maybe I could help someone else find happiness through exercise and eating right, nutrition, and learning what it means to take care of your body. You know, it isn't about losing a certain amount of weight, or being able to fit into a particular size of jeans. It's about being happy with who you are, happy with the way you look and the way you feel and learning to love those bits that maybe aren't "perfect"!</div><div><br></div><div><br>
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I want to make people feel happy!<br>
I want to give them 'balloons and suckers' through advice and education. I want to help them along this journey to find their own joy and peace and love!<br>
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That's what I want. That's what I hope for. That's what I'm excited about. And that's why I'm a coach. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-35878874782559550512016-07-06T14:03:00.001-07:002016-07-06T14:03:10.494-07:0021 Day FixI've always found it awkward to share my fitness journey publicly. I don't know what it is, but I just feel like it comes off weird. <div><br></div><div>I first fell in love with exercising when I was in high school. That is a story, in and of itself, and I won't go into the details now. Back then it was Denise Austin workout videos that my mom had recorded off the TV years before, and yes, it was a total "mom" workout. There was high intensity walking, jazzy music and outfits you could wear for Halloween. So, obviously I LOVED it. When that got boring, though, I took it to the streets. Hardcore, am I right? Actually I started out running around my neighborhood and that slowly progressed to 3 miles then 4 then 5. Running outside turned into running on the treadmill which then transformed into Zumba classes and occasional weight training ( which, let's be real, was mostly me pretending how to use the machines while I talked to my friends). </div><div><br></div><div>When I got to college I tried to keep up with my routine but inclement weather and an overcrowded gym made that hard--- not to mention homework and my futile attempts at a social life. I ended up taking classes through the university and doing YouTube videos. College is weird. Who wants to work out when you can eat pizza with your girlfriends or watch movies with boys. You can probably guess what I chose! </div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoB4u68BjrOarTI3neb2stFDhSFfbRwoRkCxkf-05rWD1uMC_PMAL6DGzK_EHEb3GMsZFbevJ9_T4PZjaTCnCuC7u7xjcIu04fmTmwYC0PXDi-9jBaX2wIHBwCKmIsgYMXH2UKCGaP4IU/s640/blogger-image-1828040602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoB4u68BjrOarTI3neb2stFDhSFfbRwoRkCxkf-05rWD1uMC_PMAL6DGzK_EHEb3GMsZFbevJ9_T4PZjaTCnCuC7u7xjcIu04fmTmwYC0PXDi-9jBaX2wIHBwCKmIsgYMXH2UKCGaP4IU/s640/blogger-image-1828040602.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Through all of this my weight fluctuated. I remember one summer between semesters I would go to the gym for 2 hours a day and I still couldn't drop those 10 pounds I'd found at college. When I got married I had managed to get down to my high school weight but between birth control, our battle with Crohn's disease and jars of the yummiest peanut butter, I gained 10 pounds in a few months. Months, guys! That's a lot of freaking peanut butter! I felt bad. No matter how many kind things Matt said, I knew that if I was going to take control of my life it was up to me and me alone! I remember seeing a friend on Facebook rave about her results with Team Beachbody, but I had more excuses than I could handle and so instead I threw away the peanut butter and started taking care of myself again. </div><div><br></div><div>Fast forward to this year. Somehow after I had Emiline I lost all of my pregnancy weight and then some. I don't know if it was from breastfeeding or magic or what, but despite wearing jeans I never thought I'd fit into, I didn't love the way I looked or the way I felt. Clothes didn't fit me the way I wished they would. My skin was loose and even though I carried around a baby all day I didn't feel strong or empowered; I felt overwhelmed. I discovered Beachbody on Demand and would workout from home as often as I had the energy. Then someone reached out to me and invited me to do a 21 Day Fix Challenge group. I almost said no! I was afraid I would be too weak, too unmotivated, but I was mostly afraid I would fail. </div><div><br></div><div>That's when I came across this quote: </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaf_9jn5gs4DI6pfa8Oy4Tzt9YeSHRARii18Vn-U9FpYhuJY6wW8gu3dscS06JS228rN7zUr7Lg14w3CjzprB-LDGotFKfFF9dRhtiX_E_2dBTomp-ebljZPwS_d85mORQLT-oqOHWbJU/s640/blogger-image--135278234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaf_9jn5gs4DI6pfa8Oy4Tzt9YeSHRARii18Vn-U9FpYhuJY6wW8gu3dscS06JS228rN7zUr7Lg14w3CjzprB-LDGotFKfFF9dRhtiX_E_2dBTomp-ebljZPwS_d85mORQLT-oqOHWbJU/s640/blogger-image--135278234.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And so I said yes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Now I've finished the 21 days and honestly, I didn't lose any weight and the only inches I lost was 1/2 inch around my waist. But that wasn't what it was about for me. I wanted to feel strong. I wanted to push myself in ways I had never done before. I wanted to reach for the potential that I believed I had inside. My body is sore. I missed brownies and Sodalicious runs and eating whatever the heck I wanted when I wanted. But, Matt tells<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> me I look stronger (and sexier *blush*) and I feel good! I feel happy and accomplished and motivated to do it all over again. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And that's why I signed up to be a Team Beachbody coach! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Stay tuned for what's sure to be an adventure. </div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-35341532605015240752016-02-04T15:14:00.003-08:002016-02-04T15:14:38.943-08:00Those Magic MomentsHave you ever been so overwhelmed with words and emotion and happiness that it's practically impossible to say everything you want to say? No? Hmm.. must me a "me " thing!<br />
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If you haven't already noticed, I don't usually have a lack of things to say--- something I'm sure I can relate back to all of those long research papers I had to do in high school and college. See! My mind is already running faster than I can catch it. Let me just say this:<br />
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Last night we danced around the bedroom like nothing in the world mattered.</div>
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Last night we laughed and sang and celebrated.</div>
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Last night everything was perfect. </div>
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I don't <u>ever </u>want to forget that. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Also, Emi crawled for her first time AND pulled herself up into sitting position!)</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-89193025853278332232016-01-25T20:05:00.001-08:002016-01-25T20:52:25.032-08:00Dreaming Dreams<div>
As a vivacious, yet awkward (shocking, I know) 6th grader I had a dream. I was going to be a fashion designer. I could could see it perfectly- me, dressed in layers of the finest fabrics and frosted with glittering jewelry, my hair long and pulled into a tight updo, presenting my renowned designs on the runway to a celebrity-filled room. Then, when I realized I knew nothing of fashion and was still rocking 90s bangs in one perfectly curled roll that dream changed.</div>
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I was going to be an actress! Oh man, it was going to be AMAZING! I say that in all caps because that's how convinced I was that A. This dream was going to come true, B. I was going to be marry Orlando Bloom and C. I was going to win an Oscar. </div>
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I kept that dream tucked away for a long time; longer than I like to admit. Even after I recognizing my paralyzing fear of rejection and total lack of confidence on stage, I quietly hoped that someday I would walk the red carpet. </div>
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Those were the days when nothing was out of reach. No dream was too outrageous, too unrealistic, too far fetched. I could do anything! I could be anyone. Now, here I am, lounging on my couch in my cat pajamas (I'm not lying) and it hits me.</div>
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I need a new dream.</div>
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12 year old Cami would be devastated if she could see me now. It's not that having day old makeup and baby food on my shirt isn't glamorous, because, I mean come on! I am KILLING this look! I have everything I didn't know I wanted. I have the silliest, sweetest baby doll little girl to pull my hair and kiss my face and a handsome, hardworking student of a husband that makes me laugh everyday (and even laughs at me sometimes)! Life is good. But what's next? What's my dream, my passion, my goal? </div>
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Hello 2016, let's go on and adventure. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-48109089520128214552015-12-15T15:00:00.000-08:002016-01-25T20:44:18.992-08:00Finding God in Motherhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Matt left early to study for finals and Emi's asleep. After yet another night of being up every hour with a screaming baby I find myself too awake to sleep and too tired to be productive. The TV is scrolling through a slideshow of stock photos because I'm too lazy to turn it off and I actually appreciate the calm the nature pictures bring. It makes the room seem alive, even if I feel dead.<br />
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I read through some of my old posts a few weeks ago, contemplating whether or not I should start writing on this thing again. One of my favorites, one written out of raw and honest emotion, was about the realities of being a mom.<br />
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Emi hadn't slept the night before. Her reflux was bad again and the medicine didn't seem to help. Add one stressed out mom and her first nasty cold and I really wasn't feeling well. I had missed church that morning. Matt took Emi and left me to wallow in bed. Of course, I didn't know I was wallowing at that point. I just felt tired. The kind of tired that you don't just feel but that you are. The tiredness filled my bones and overflowed into my mind. I knew I needed to get up; I needed to go to church. I needed that boost that only comes from sitting in a congregation of friends and strangers and listening to words about Christ. I remember sneaking into the back of the building and sitting on the hard chairs. The goal was to blend in. I kept my eyes down because I knew that anything could trigger a waterfall that I wasn't sure I could stop. I was dangerously emotional. A woman actually came up to me after the meeting and asked if I was new and I lost it! It wasn't just a cry. It was an all out <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">"horse cry". You know, where you start with the staccato breathing, unable to catch your breath so you start making the awful 'ee ee ee hoo" sound and end up with the hiccups. If you don't know what I mean ask me to show you sometime. It's almost as attractive as you're imagining. </span></div>
<div>
<br />
That summer had been difficult. Unexpected health problems, two back to back surgeries, a thousand miles of travel, and a new baby were making adjusting to our temporary circumstances harder than it should have been. Matt was working long hours at an internship that proved not to pay as much as we were hoping. We were living with my gracious in laws, and despite how wonderful they are it's hard not having your own home.</div>
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<br />
Those memories are jumbled now. New challenges replace old ones. Happy memories join those that are good. There are still lots of days, though, where motherhood is hard. I was praying the other night and found myself tempted to cry out, "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE!" A ridiculous thought, isn't it? In my shallow self pity and forgot that God has seen it all. He has wept for his Children. He has sorrowed in their misdeeds and I'm sure He too has fallen to his knees in near exhaustion. He gets it. As the realization hit me, my heart softened and I whispered, "Help me."<br />
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Being a mom is still hard. It's always going to be hard. "Anything easy isn't worth it." But, I'm not doing it alone. I have to give credit to an incredible husband that loves our little stinkbug more than I thought was possible and helps me get through the long nights and longer days. But, I have someone that is with me always- the perfect parent. He watches, guides, and comforts. Always. And that's pretty great.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-53285506219855989712015-08-23T12:25:00.000-07:002015-08-23T12:25:00.555-07:00Lessons Learned in Las VegasThis summer has been WILD with a capital Woah. Here are a few of the fun things I've learned living in the 110 degree weather.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Shake Shack. It's worthy of <b><u>all </u></b>the hype.</li>
<li>Having your child sleep 10 feet away from you for the first four months of their life is both the best and the worst.</li>
<li>Hobby Lobby is my happy place.</li>
<li>It takes approximately 7-8 years for a gallstone to form. I had 20 gallstones. Long story short I no longer have a gallbladder. </li>
<li>No gallbladder > 20 gallstones.</li>
<li>Parks and Rec. Where the heck have I been the past 5 years?!</li>
<li>If you eat the same cereal every day all summer long you will get sick of it.</li>
<li>I still cannot get tan. </li>
<li>Mom friends save your sanity.</li>
<li>Emi will never, I repeat, NEVER watch Caillou. </li>
<li>If you sleep with the humidifier on and the door shut you will wake up in the rainforest.</li>
<li>Netflix. I have never loved you more.</li>
<li>Do not stop in Meadow/Kanosh off the I-15 in Utah. You will die.</li>
</ul>
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Love,</div>
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Cami </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-49827464621764017792015-08-21T11:51:00.000-07:002015-08-21T12:40:17.773-07:00Dear Emiline<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear sweet babycakes sugar muffin Emi girl,<br />
<br />
You're in for a wild ride in this adventure called life, but I promise to fill the days with spontaneous dance parties, car karaoke, long walks outside, and chocolate chip cookies.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Your crazy momAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-35140800249626167092015-08-16T11:38:00.002-07:002015-08-16T11:47:39.470-07:00Being a mom is hard. My heart is so full today and I needed to share what is on my mind.<br />
<br />
Being a mom is hard. After weeks of sleepless nights and frustrated hours spent trying to get my sweet Emiline to eat I am worn down and raw.. I'm tired, and sometimes (more often than I like to admit) I am cranky. Having another person to look after, a person who can't tell me that her tummy hurts or that she just needs to be laid down or she's a little bit cranky too, has been a challenge. Many days I miss when I could run to the store without having to pack up a diaper bag and carry a car seat. Heaven knows I miss the full nights of sleep.<br />
<br />
Being a mom is hard.<br />
<br />
But, I have this beautiful little girl with big blue eyes and a smile to die for that I love more than I thought possible. Yes, I'm exhausted and I've cried in the shower over spit up in my hair. That's part of Mommy-hood and those things can weigh me down.<br />
<br />
There's this other part of being a mom, though, that is beautiful and incredible and unbearably rewarding. It's the first time she smiled at me. It's how even with a scratchy throat and stuffy nose she still manages to give me that big beautiful, full body grin! It's the way she looks at me at three in the morning while I hold her close to feed her and when she smiles at me for no reason and the milk drips out of the side of her mouth making me laugh. When she falls asleep on my shoulder while I'm burping her and her chubby little cheek squishes against me- that's when I feel heaven.<br />
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Life isn't an Instagram post. My hair is rarely done and I view makeup as a necessary evil. Everyday isn't rainbows and butterflies. It would be easy to write just about all the not so fun parts motherhood, but here's the kicker: being a mom is hard, but life without my baby was even harder!<br />
<br />
Emiline loves me with no makeup on and the same sticky t-shirt she's spit up on every night this week. She loves me even when I'm grumpy and selfish. She doesn't care if we don't get out of our Jammies until lunchtime and she definitely could care less if she gets a bath today! All she asks is that I love her (and make sure she's fed and gets her diaper changed at least a few times a day), because she loves me anyway. <b>She loves me anyway! </b><br />
<br />
Being a mom is hard.<br />
<br />
<br />
Because most of the time I don't deserve all of that love.<br />
<br />
<br />
Being a mom is hard<br />
<br />
<br />
Because loving someone so much changes a person and change isn't easy.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Being a mom is hard. And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. </div>
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Now if you'll excuse me, I have a sick baby that I need to let love me. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-52616344103886618242015-08-10T15:41:00.000-07:002015-08-10T15:41:43.309-07:00Life in the LVWho's completely and totally ignored her blog for the past few months? This girl! I would feel bad, but honestly, being mom keeps me busy and by being a mom I mean watching Gilmore Girls instead of taking naps and taking care of the sweetest baby in the whole world.<br />
<br />
This summer Matt has had an internship in the big LV so we've been living with his family since the beginning of June. Throw in two unexpected surgeries, about a million poopy diapers, spontaneous Target runs and hours spent kissing, talking to and cuddling with my little Emi and you have a snapshot of my summer. Oh yeah, there's also been a little bit of hanging by the pool and making way too many treats. Life is hard, isn't it?<br />
<br />
The really crappy part about neglecting my blog for so long is that I never know where to start. While I think on that and embellish, uh...., I mean think of some fun stories to share, I'm going to just leave this right here.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-1142771581724937682015-05-21T20:26:00.000-07:002015-05-21T20:40:55.962-07:00The DeliveryBefore jumping into the delivery story, I wanted to say a GINORMOUS thank you to all of the positive feedback I got on the first part of this story and my blog in general. I know I've neglected this baby in the past but your compliments have inspired me to give it the time it deserves.<br />
<br />
Now, on to the nitty gritty!<br />
<br />
April 17, 2015<br />
<br />
<i>10:30 pm</i>- The twenty minutes was up and I had recovered from my mini heart attack and started to breathe again by the time the nurse came back. I was about to have a freaking BABY!!! Okay, not a freaking baby- an adorable, perfect, sweet little angel baby, but a baby nonetheless. The nurse actually had gone to find the doctor because he hadn't expected me to be ready so soon! Emi and I make a really efficient team, obviously. Anyway, before the doc got there we did a few rounds of practice pushing to get my hoo-hah ready for what was to come. When you're a first time mom your lady parts aren't quite sure what their job is yet so it's best to ease them into things. We did about three sets of three pushes and then she grabbed the doctor. It was time for the big dance!<br />
<br />
<i>10:40 pm</i>- Cue the entrance of the doctor and his entourage of cheerleaders. By entourage of cheerleaders I mean the nurses from the nursery. Seriously, you guys, I was showered in shouts of encouragement and it was awesome!<br />
<br />
"You can do it, Cami!"<br />
"Keep it up!"<br />
"You're doing great!"<br />
<br />
I mean, it was like being an Olympic runner! I'll have ten more babies if they promise to do that every time!<br />
<br />
<i>10:45 pm to 11:04 pm</i>- Thanks to the magic of television I always imagined delivery to be back to back contractions and pushing, pushing, pushing.... but that couldn't have been more wrong! In fact, pushing Emiline out was the easiest part of the whole dang thing. Part of it had to be my incredible doctor. For anyone looking for an OBGYN in Utah County go to Valley OBGYN in American Fork. They are saints. I would push, and then we would hang out and chat for a minute before the next contraction came. I actually laughed during delivery! More than once in fact, and not because I had reached delusion. It was just so low pressure. I don't know very many people that can say that about squeezing a small human through a 10 centimeter opening!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzI7upShYRv9HVZxPGdf5bXJ7L0abek-SB3t2YZFy8oTbyKBmoQurRCzn4y-_w-R4tZMW8nXvZmJTu5Z24JCUM-jiRpHbH4SLwo92T1Jaq-jhTon7MJ-ZyayPzZDqbrYPCqqm_iuGM0U/s1600/IMG_1687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzI7upShYRv9HVZxPGdf5bXJ7L0abek-SB3t2YZFy8oTbyKBmoQurRCzn4y-_w-R4tZMW8nXvZmJTu5Z24JCUM-jiRpHbH4SLwo92T1Jaq-jhTon7MJ-ZyayPzZDqbrYPCqqm_iuGM0U/s320/IMG_1687.JPG" width="320" /></a><i>11:05 pm</i>- Not even thirty minutes since I had started pushing, sweet Emiline made her entrance into the world with one big shriek of joy (probably not joy)! That was it. She didn't cry or fuss or scream; she just made one little squeak so we would know she was alive and then she was silent! When they placed her on my chest my first thought was how tiny and perfect she was! Even covered in gunk with her cone head and squishy little face she was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. That's completely cliche isn't it? She had all of this dark hair like her Daddy and these big dark eyes just like me. And man was she tiny! At five pounds nine ounces she was the smallest baby I had ever held, but I wasn't worried about breaking her because she was mine! She was <i><u><b>my</b></u></i> baby! After nine months of acid reflux, swollen feet and the strangest dreams you could ever imagine, I had MY baby in my arms. And then I crashed.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She'll kill me when she grows up for posting this online, but<br />
this is too hilarious not too share! Doesn't she look like a<br />
grandpa? It's so adorable!! </td></tr>
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<i>The rest of the night</i>- Throughout my entire delivery I was alive with adrenaline and as soon as I didn't need all of that energy I was exhausted. That's an understatement. I was wasted! Running a marathon would have left me with more energy. To put it in perspective for you---I made Matt hold Emi because I was too tired to keep her in my arms! That's pretty freaking tired.<br />
<br />
The rest of the night/early morning was spent getting both of us cleaned up and moved downstairs. It's all a blur. I know that my epidural had worn off by the time they wheeled me out of Labor and Delivery but I was so out of it I didn't even notice the pain. Then it was off to bed for me while I waited for Matt to bring Emi in from the nursery. What a difference a bath makes! Her hair was a puff of dark strands and she had more color to her which meant she was at least twice as tan as me. Fair skin problems, ya know?<br />
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Anyway, that's the story of how Emiline joined our family. Looking back it almost seems surreal, and even though things didn't go at all how I had planned I couldn't be more grateful for this beautiful soul. She truly is what was the missing from my life!<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-18869611584531214302015-05-21T10:21:00.000-07:002015-05-21T10:21:00.030-07:00A Word on Epidurals <div style="text-align: center;">
Get one. Unless you go stir crazy laying in a bed for hours on end, </div>
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get a freaking epidural. Okay, I really don't care if you get one or not</div>
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because, remember, I didn't want one, but it feels like warm soup flooding</div>
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your veins and brings your blood pressure down so they don't</div>
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have to give you Magnesium. Oh wait, that last part only applied to me!</div>
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Really, though, they are magical. </div>
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Also, if they give you too much you can't move your legs and when </div>
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the nurse comes to check you you'll feel like an invalid, but it's mostly hilarious. </div>
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And you get the toots and can't control it. </div>
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It makes for uncontrollably giggling which only makes the toots worse. </div>
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Epidurals are fun. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-80910439748513763572015-05-19T11:46:00.004-07:002015-05-19T15:39:34.323-07:00A Labor Story Hello friends!<br />
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I apologize for the month long haitus, but we had some very exciting things happening at our house, obviously, and I've been taking in every second of my little one. Being a mom has been a wild ride. And in case you were wondering, we didn't get the nursery quite finished before she came! Oops! It's a good thing she's been sleeping in our bedroom so she wouldn't feel left out of the club.<br />
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I've written and re-written this post about a million times because I want to share Emi's birth story but because it is rather extensive I didn't want you to nod off before getting to the juicy stuff. Juicy stuff... yuck... probably not a great phrase to use in relation to having a baby.<br />
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Anyway, settle in for a hefty post here, and I'll try to throw in some unexpected jokes or inappropriate comments to keep it entertaining. What can I say? I do it because I love you guys.<br />
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Where to start? Where to start? I guess Thursday, the 16th, works.<br />
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4/16/15<br />
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<i>1:30 pm-</i> Time for my doctor's appointment. I was barely 37 weeks and had been dilated to a one the week before with 70 percent effacement. To say I was eager to see if I had progressed further wouldn't be true. I was ECSTATIC. So much in fact that when Matt told me he didn't want to come to the appointment with me I was majorly miffed! Hello, didn't he want to be there to share in the neat experience of a doctor shoving his hands into my hoo hah?! He's such a fun hater!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrxMUa-fpMBsKpi192MIsM6-UXYbaY3TMjU2cvJ0htaqfDuwXUC-bjQrJWqIYBrCM_3fLjhBevJ8aYld4Tg0Y2brn7d0fsuflc8imkDuqHtLDE8xrkoXGTFn3AbdoNoRi-EeTDRfu-xU/s1600/image2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZrxMUa-fpMBsKpi192MIsM6-UXYbaY3TMjU2cvJ0htaqfDuwXUC-bjQrJWqIYBrCM_3fLjhBevJ8aYld4Tg0Y2brn7d0fsuflc8imkDuqHtLDE8xrkoXGTFn3AbdoNoRi-EeTDRfu-xU/s320/image2.JPG" width="240" /></a><i>2:30 pm</i>- The bad news begins. My blood pressure was 138/94 and that was the second time they took it. That's high. High like John Travolta during the 2014 Oscars. Doctor's really hate high blood pressure during pregnancy because it can lead to pre-eclampsia so I was sent to Labor and Delivery for labs, fetal monitoring and to have my blood pressure checked every five minutes. That'll teach Matt for not coming with me, right? I don't think he's ever driven as fast as he did to get there to be with me.<br />
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<i>3:00 pm</i>- By the time Matt arrived I was hooked up to the monitors and deep into some Spa Music Radio on Pandora. I'd have done anything to bring my pressures down! Of course, between the threat of induction and the nurse teaching me how to do a 24 hour urine sample (ew) I was not being very successful. Fast forward a few hours and I got the fatal blow. I had to be induced. (side note- I didn't have to do the urine sample. small victory).<br />
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I cried. I'm going to be honest about it. I was devastated. My coworkers were throwing a baby shower for me the next day! I didn't have a nursing bra yet! We hadn't finished her nursery! I wasn't ready. And I certainly wasn't mentally, emotionally, or physically (if you know what I mean) prepared to have the baby.<br />
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4/17/15<img src="webkit-fake-url://2c07033f-787c-45b3-8c97-21f136e46513/imagejpeg" /><br />
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<i>9:00 am</i>- After a restless night including Matt finishing what he could of the nursery and a couple of long, hot showers for me, we grabbed our hospital bags and headed to the OBGYN. They wanted to check my blood pressure again and do an ultrasound.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCfsqS2oqzN-POjRp5R4eVEzpcu0ZxPLpdmXMNfxKUpj7bGkCMp4wQI_mHAmVLBMIIu5Y9g-o2rBqMPhliUOBgtXEfkLFcuvkEkg2hcN8AK_IdktJFTQeM16tF7nmkQ-VBJCT4VoMomI/s1600/image5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyCfsqS2oqzN-POjRp5R4eVEzpcu0ZxPLpdmXMNfxKUpj7bGkCMp4wQI_mHAmVLBMIIu5Y9g-o2rBqMPhliUOBgtXEfkLFcuvkEkg2hcN8AK_IdktJFTQeM16tF7nmkQ-VBJCT4VoMomI/s320/image5.JPG" width="240" /></a><i>10:08 am</i>- "The baby is measuring 35 weeks, 5 pounds 10 ounces, in the 11th percentile for weight." BAM. My baby had stopped growing at 35 weeks. I was going to have a "late preterm baby" that was "small for gestational age." Emiline was "tiny." That last one wasn't a medical term, but it was true. My baby was a peanut, a shrimp, a teeny weeny little thing likely to end up in the NICU. This was so not part of my plan.<br />
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<i>11:56 am</i>- Pitocin was started. Now, there's this really fun thing doctors sometimes do for an induction if you aren't very dilated called a cervical balloon. Don't be deceived by my smile. It was actually H-E-double hockey sticks. Imagine the worse cramps of your life and magnify that by 400. FOUR HUNDRED! Sorry, I just really need you to pity my poor soul. </div>
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<i>Between 3:00 and 4:00 pm</i>- I was trying to stick it to the man and not get the epidural until I absolutely needed it but the actual devil himself was in my belly! My saving grace was otter pops, 80s music, and of course that dang epidural.<br />
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<b>CONFESSION- </b></div>
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<i>I'm secretly crunchy and had been practicing meditation<br />
and relaxation techniques for weeks in preparation for a natural labor.<br />
Curse you high blood pressure. I will never get the chance now because <span style="text-align: left;">epidurals are HEAVENLY. There's no going back. </span></i></div>
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<i>8:17 pm</i>- Time for more magic juice. I developed this pain in my left cheek and I don't mean on my face. It felt like siatica or like when you sit on the floor for too long and your bum falls asleep except it was only a small portion. The anesthesiologist gave me a super dose because I was only dilated to a five and they didn't expect me to have the baby any time soon. Having complete loss of sensation led to some hilarious times. I'll explain more in a later post. You won't want to miss it *wink wink*. </div>
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<i>9:30 pm</i>- I decided to take a little nap since everyone told me I wouldn't be having the baby for hours. Rumor has it, "It takes 60-90 minutes to dilate one centimeter once you reach a five." Well, that is a dang lie! Okay, not really, but it sure was for me! </div>
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<i>9:51 pm</i>- I woke up to the pain of contractions- not the unearthly, would rather have a needle in my eye pain I had from the cervical balloon, but there was definitely something going on. I've heard contractions described as "pressure" by those who've had epidurals before, but that's not really what it was like for me. I didn't feel the need to push, I didn't have the "I need to go to the bathroom" sensation either, it was just something. To go from not being able to feel anything to suddenly having any sort of sensation was a lot like being doused by a bucket of cold water- not painful, but enough to send a shock through your system. </div>
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<i>10:12 pm </i>- The "pain" had gotten to the point where I wanted to be checked. Who knew you'd want someone stick their fingers downstairs, but dang, I'll tell you what, when you're anxious to get your baby into the world you don't care who does what or how often they do it. I'm sure that the poor lady that answered when I pressed my call light thought I was four years old. "Um... I'm in a lot of pain...". Eloquent, I know. But guess what! I was dilated to 9 and 3/4. Take that pessimists! I was going to have this baby before midnight! The nurse told me she was going to give me about 20 minutes to fully dilate and then....<br />
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IT WAS GO TIME!!! </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-13262010438522390452015-05-18T15:41:00.003-07:002015-05-18T15:41:49.813-07:00Emiline Paula Lish<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Welcome to the world!</span></div>
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Emiline came into our family three weeks earlier than expected on April 17, 2015 at 11:05 pm. </div>
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To say we are in love would be a gross understatement. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-30330036474981624472015-04-10T10:00:00.000-07:002015-04-10T10:00:04.145-07:00Some things never change<div>
Old News-</div>
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<li> Crap-tastic skin. I have never had such horrible skin in my life. Not even as a pre-pubescent teenager did I have to worry about zits like I do now. My face is splotchy and oily and just yuck. No thank you, pregnancy glow, no thank you. </li>
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<li>Acid reflux. Honestly since about 18 weeks I've had this problem <i>mostly</i> under control. But, occasionally, as a rude reminder that it's still around, I'll have boiling hot lava trying to break through my esophagus and kill me. It's really a neat experience. </li>
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<li>Moving. In general, I don't waddle, but do not make me get off of the couch, roll out of bed, or sit on the floor without taking into consideration that I do not bend anymore. I'm like one of those fat puppies that can't roll over because they're chubby rolls are in the way. It's not quite as adorable as that, however. Matt's been a real good sport about pulling me up and off of things. True love exists. </li>
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So, that's it. This is where I'm at and with the exception of some mild panic at the soon arrival of this sweet baby girl, I think I'm doing okay. Some days aren't fun... at all, but that's life. So many people have asked if I'm just ready to be done already, and honestly, being pregnant has been kind of a grand adventure. There have been ups and downs. There have been days that getting out of bed has been a serious challenge. I've wished I could sleep on my stomach. But, most of the time I feel good. I actually forget that I'm pregnant more often than I should until I spill my cereal on my watermelon tummy and remember that I'm growing a human. I would take better skin and a closet full of clothes that fit, but that comes back. I'm only going to be pregnant with this little person this one time. Maybe my next pregnancy I'll throw up the entire time or maybe I'll have flawless skin. I'm just trying to take things one day at a time and be grateful for each second I have of this special bonding with my baby. It's not always easy, but it's absolutely worth it. Here's to hoping she stays in until I have her nursery finished. </div>
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Love, </div>
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Cami </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-49454664214419307472015-04-09T17:29:00.000-07:002015-04-09T17:29:00.577-07:00The Bad and Ugly<div>
New and NOT fun things-</div>
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<li>Swollen ankles. What the heck? I have gone my entire pregnancy with zero swelling- no sausage fingers, cankles, pregnancy face, NOTHING. Then, this week happened. BAM! My poor little feet feel so sad! I was actually so emotional about it on Tuesday (the first real day I had swelling) that I almost had a meltdown at work. You can thank the pregnancy hormones for that. </li>
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<li>No room for food. I mentioned above that it's great not having to worry about food babies, but the truth is, there is no room for a food baby. I would like to blame my sister for this. I had been in eating mode for weeks until she asked me on Saturday if I had a hard time eating full meals because the baby was squashing my stomach. I proudly told her no. The next day, I couldn't eat barely anything. My pre-pregnancy body thanks you, Amanda.</li>
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<li>Late night pee sessions. I really can't complain. I wake up maybe once a night for a bathroom run ever since I was about 32 weeks. Not too shabby, right? Right. Still, super inconvenient when you're having dreams about hanging out with One Direction (yes, I am twelve years old. You can blame pregnancy hormones for that one, too).</li>
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This is a shorter list than I expected to write. To be honest, yeah, there are some other things that aren't so fun to be dealing with, like the awkward position in which I have to sit to tie my shoes or the fact that she likes to play punching bag with my gallbladder, but hey, I'm growing a human! That's kind of amazing. </div>
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Fingers crossed my feet go back to normal after I have her!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-31582165492664694632015-04-08T17:31:00.000-07:002015-04-08T17:50:31.986-07:00ONE MONTH to go and some lists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Monday was my official ONE MONTH mark! </div>
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Take that in for a minute. </div>
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ONE MONTH and I'm going to be a Mom. I am so freaked out and excited I don't know what to do with myself. </div>
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Can you believe how fast this pregnancy has flown? I realized today that I have been really pretty awful about documenting everything that has happened and changed and stopped, etc, etc. I feel like my mind is so full of baby doings that I can't hardly form a full sentence anymore. I think they call this pregnancy brain. </div>
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I originally wrote a post full of all of the "stuff" that I'm experiencing right now, but TBH (too be honest, I just found out what that stands for and I'm trying to fit in with the cool kids, so I thought I'd use it) it was kind of overwhelming to read. I wanted to update you on how I'm doing, what's new, what's old, what's awful, etc. But, because I love you guys, I decided to break it up into three separate posts. </div>
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POST NUMERO UNO: </div>
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New and fun things- </div>
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<li>Baby showers. I love baby showers. There is something entirely more fun about a baby shower than any other kind of shower, or party for that matter. Everything is miniature! It's cute and soft and ruffled! And the toys- oh my heck- don't get me started! I've gotten the most adorable trinkets and dolls and bunnies, so many bunnies! I've been totally spoiled with what I've received and couldn't be more grateful for the incredibly giving people in my life. This baby is going to be so spoiled!</li>
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<li>You never have a food baby, because you have a real baby. Seriously, you never know if you feel big because baby had a growth spurt or because you ate an entire steak burrito with tortilla chips! And, who cares!? You're growing a little human! </li>
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<li>My hair finally decided to act like I'm pregnant and has gotten intensely thick over the past month. Some people would think this is a bad thing, and it does make blow drying take extra long, but I feel kind of like a super model. Do super models have thick hair? </li>
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<li>Baby kicks... and punches... and dance parties. This baby LOVES to move! All day long she practices her contemporary dance moves and makes this momma so happy. Unfortunately my dance skills are lacking so I'm sure her technique is terrible, but it's fun to have the constant reminder that she's okay. </li>
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I'm sure there are so many things that I'm forgetting! Oh pregnancy brain, you win again.<br />
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Hugs and Kisses,</div>
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Cami and baby </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-40620336330767867362015-03-13T14:36:00.001-07:002015-03-13T14:36:09.350-07:00What to do when your husband leaves you (for the weekend)I realized halfway through typing the title of this post that unless I clarified what I meant by "leaves" people might get the wrong idea! Have no fears, I'm talking temporary leaving- like the kind after a Target trip. You can't stay away for long! <br />
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Now that we have that out of the way... I have felt like a part time widow this year. My poor little Matty poo (he hates it when I call him that. "I'm an adult.") has been traveling a few times a month since December to Vegas for work. I should be grateful, right? He has this <i>awesome</i> job that allows him to do most of his work from our apartment and all that's required is a few paid for trips down to his homeland a couple times a month. I don't know how people go months without seeing their spouse! One day and I start getting shaky from withdrawls. I'm kind of pathetic, actually, I just really really like him. But, I've been working on it AND I have come up with a few ways to survive when you're husband leaves you (temporarily). <br />
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1. Eat all of the food in the house- no need to go shopping. It's only you and you can eat every last morsel of that Special K with strawberries for dinner... and dessert.<br />
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2. Watch as many episodes of "your show" on Netflix as you can without feeling guilty- for me it's usually three. Then I have to switch to sappy chickflicks or DCOMs. <br />
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3. Pin everything- desserts seem to help with the loneliness in a way that only desserts can.<br />
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4. Attempt to make said Pinterest dessert- you'll feel better if it has the word "skinny" or "healthy" in it. Ain't nobody got time to waste on exercising while he's gone. <br />
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5. Paint your toenails/fingernails- do it right in the middle of the living room, and if you're really feeling risky, don't use anything "in case of spills." He'll never know... unless, of course, he comes home to a mint green nail polish spot on the carpet.<br />
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6. Break down and text him- it's not crazy because you're already married.<br />
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*evidence that: </div>
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A- I really did eat all of the food in the house</div>
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and</div>
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B- I really did text him multiple times in a row.*</div>
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I didn't even last until 8:00 pm. </div>
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Sad. So so sad. </div>
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7. Use that burst of motivation you got from having him text you back to clean the house- or don't. It's up to you.<br />
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8. Go to bed- all of that loneliness is exhausting. <br />
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9. Repeat as necessary. <br />
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My life is kind of embarrassing isn't it? If only you could hear my incessant giggles right now. I think I'm hilarious, despite being moderately pitiful.<br />
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Yours, in all her glory,<br />
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Cami Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-24053881121698041292015-03-03T07:36:00.000-08:002015-03-03T19:37:48.246-08:00R E N O V A T I O NOh. My. Heck. Who else is OBSESSED with my new template? Cue the happy dance. <br />
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....dance.... dance.... dance.... dance dance... <br />
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My beautiful friend Maddie from college is starting her blog design business and I offered to be her test drive dummy. I think this is the best decision I've made this year. Wait, let me think about it..... Yep, definitely the best decision so far! But, it was also probably one of the hardest I've had to make. I know, poor me, my life is so hard. I can't be the only one that finds it nearly impossible to make menial decisions, though, am I right? I take these things way too seriously, but hey, everyone needs a hobby right? Mine just happens to be freaking out over font size and color palettes. It's no big deal. <br />
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*sigh*<br />
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Okay, rant over, and if your blog needs a facelift too email maddie and maddiclinedesign@gmail.com! She will change your little blogging life and leave you on blogger cloud nine. <br />
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Love,<br />
Cami Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-71576135327796262222015-02-23T13:46:00.000-08:002015-02-23T13:46:05.479-08:00At last I blog and TEN weeks to goWho has two thumbs and has been the WORST pregnant blogger ever? This girl!<br />
Holy smokes, you guys, has it really been months since I've last blogged? That's embarrassing. I know you've all been on pins and needles wondering if I'm still alive, so here I am, and I'm going to post TWO posts this week to make up for it. I have a few posts started that I'll share with you guys so if it looks like I'm backtracking in this pregnancy, I am. I'll try to make it as least confusing as possible (least confusing? less confusing?).<br />
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I'm almost thirty weeks pregnant.<br />
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Let me say that again.<br />
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I AM ALMOST THIRTY WEEKS PREGNANT!<br />
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Who else is in semi-shock about this?<br />
I start to have a minor panic attack every time I think about the whole pushing a human being out of my lady parts thing, so mostly I've been ignoring it. I've seen labor, a couple of times actually, so I know what happens, but man, it is a lot scarier when you think about yourself doing it. It will be fine. I won't be able to sit or walk for a few weeks, but hey, who wants to do that anyway right?<br />
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Now down to the goodies:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">How far along:</strong> 29 weeks + 5 days</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Total weight gain:</strong> I don't believe in weighing myself at home, but a week and a half ago I was up 15 pounds at the doctor's office. I'm pretty sure this little baby waby had a growth spurt last week though, so we'll see when I go back in at 32 weeks. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Maternity clothes:</strong> Ross saved my caboose (literally) and provided some inexpensive stretchy jeans for my growing tummy. So far I have five maternity shirts and one pair of pants. Is it obvious I hate shopping?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Stretch marks:</strong> Zero so far. I blame my mother's great genes. And by blame I mean thank my lucky stars. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Sleep:</strong> I haven't gotten up to pee, uh hmm, excuse me, use the bathroom (sorry Mom) since I was in the first trimester. The restless legs have gotten increasingly worse, although, I had that before I got pregnant. I guess I don't have much to complain about. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Best moment of this week:</strong> I {FINALLY} had a patient ask if I was pregnant! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Miss anything:</strong> Being able to wear whatever I want, although, I've got a dang cute tummy to show off these days. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Movement: </strong><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The third trimester meant baby started running out of room and the movement hasn't been as constant, but when she goes, SHE GOES! It looks like something is actually going to break out of my stomach. And it's awesome! </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Food cravings:</strong> Water and chocolate, but only the weekends. Being pregnant is weird. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Anything making you queasy or sick:</strong> Nope!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Have you started to show yet: </strong><span style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Oh heck yeah. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Gender:</strong> Girl! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><b>Other changes: </b>The fatigue is back with a vengeance. So far I've made it through the days by listening to 80's pop and refusing to sit for more than 20 minutes at a time. </i></span><br />
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Until next time!</div>
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-Cami and baby </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-66608872670293810612014-12-22T12:20:00.002-08:002014-12-22T12:36:25.241-08:00Drum roll please....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGSRp1gTEoSjYxkGA2ll6E0YaFjg-kUda6IDe7gj442reJVZwcNF1U6NOjzhrrpT-8fh15F59es1M9xWA5hDlZiHdo-tsID2lHaiUuxs_6p2rKBF6LGTVJbUs1NG0ky25t10vwThm6_g/s1600/10697361_10152410869457282_4913321013373390636_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGSRp1gTEoSjYxkGA2ll6E0YaFjg-kUda6IDe7gj442reJVZwcNF1U6NOjzhrrpT-8fh15F59es1M9xWA5hDlZiHdo-tsID2lHaiUuxs_6p2rKBF6LGTVJbUs1NG0ky25t10vwThm6_g/s1600/10697361_10152410869457282_4913321013373390636_o.jpg" height="282" width="400" /></a></div>
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Get ready for everything pink, lacy, and hand picked for a perfect little girl! </div>
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We are so excited! </div>
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(Now if I can only convince Matt that we don't have to buy <u><i><b>everything</b></i></u></div>
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for her right now...) </div>
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Love,</div>
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The Lish Ladies and Matt</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-76619973163558191302014-12-15T11:05:00.000-08:002014-12-18T12:08:09.469-08:00One year later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know I told you my next post would be the gender reveal, but my heart and mind were too full of these thoughts today not to write.<br />
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Almost exactly one year ago I sat in the surgical waiting area at UVRMC while Matt underwent surgery to remove one foot of his intestines. The surgery wasn't complicated. We had a surgeon we trusted and I had enough knowledge from Nursing school to know what was expected. But I was terrified. I brought Matt's laptop thinking I would be able to keep my mind off of what was going on by scrolling through Facebook, and maybe even blogging (man, I was ambitious back then), but it turns out WIFI at the hospital is terrible and I only got a few solid minutes of distraction before my impatience set in.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My skinny mini husband before surgery.<br />He weighed 140 pounds. He'll probably<br />kill me for posting this picture... oops.</td></tr>
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Matt and I had been talking about having a baby for a while at that point. When we were dating we had decided to wait a year to "figure this marriage thing out" before we would seriously discuss expanding our family. Matt isn't very good at following my plans! It wasn't very long after we said "I do," that he brought up having a baby. Imagine my shock! We already knew at that point that his Crohn's disease wasn't cooperating with, once again, my plans for a healthy husband, and all Matt could think about was bringing a little bundle of joy into the world. I told him no. There was NO way I was going to raise a baby and take care of a sick husband while working forty hour weeks at a job I wasn't thrilled with. That was that.<br />
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Well, that was that for at least a month or so. Every time we saw someone with a new baby he would make a little comment about how much he wanted to be a dad. I wasn't interested. This went on for a long time, and it had only been after we decided Matt needed surgery that I relented my stubborn attitude and decided we could start <i>thinking</i> about babies.<br />
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As I sat in that waiting room I couldn't help but think about our maybe baby. I wanted my babies to have a dad that could play catch with them in the backyard and take them to the store for ice cream as long as they didn't tell Mom. I imagined babies with dark, curly, eyelashes like Matt framing big brown eyes like me. As the hours ticked on, my nerves started getting the best of me. He was supposed to be out of surgery by now!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Jfj-DOyXlEsw8gwNB_vsJJEnMHWxs6fFzHEcY1bjwxDzMQmtyXq6dNA89s6EslIkN7CWt3XHJZS3FsanSvnQhgh1VdSUAPGcdjJxNZEAz_C3HEsq-Uj8pNzMmOXvJHWBwhJAsOAnNHc/s1600/10149730_10151903585102282_1283608615_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Jfj-DOyXlEsw8gwNB_vsJJEnMHWxs6fFzHEcY1bjwxDzMQmtyXq6dNA89s6EslIkN7CWt3XHJZS3FsanSvnQhgh1VdSUAPGcdjJxNZEAz_C3HEsq-Uj8pNzMmOXvJHWBwhJAsOAnNHc/s1600/10149730_10151903585102282_1283608615_o.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a>The family sitting behind me had come in around the same time as me and whispered anxiously over those three hours we waited. I admittedly eavesdropped when their surgeon came in and asked them to go to a private room so they could talk. That didn't sound good. I knew it wasn't good. They knew it wasn't good, and the women didn't make it out of the waiting room before their crying filled the silent air. The next hour consisted of family and friends showing up with tissues wadded tightly in their hands and hugs being offered to the sobbing woman I assumed was the wife. She had a brand new baby in her arms. When Matt's surgeon finally came to me, hours past when I expected him, I gulped back concern.<br />
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But everything was okay. The surgery took longer than expected because they didn't realize fully how scarred Matt's intestines were. He was in recovery now and they were trying to wake him up and get his pain under control before they moved him to his room. An hour later the PACU nurse came and told me his pain was still uncontrolled but there was nothing more they could do so they were moving him to his room anyway. I forgot about that family I had shared the waiting room with. I was so ecstatic that my husband was okay, I didn't think again about the sobbing wife and child that would be raised without a father.<br />
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After Matt had returned home and the dust had settled around us I heard stories about a young man that had passed away in the hospital shortly before Christmas. I remembered that family from the hospital. I poured over articles about the woman who had lost her husband just days after giving birth to a beautiful baby boy. He was a BYU student. Just like Matt. He had a bright future ahead. Just like Matt. And, just like Matt, he had been in surgery that day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyjyOm59e51NRP10tPefsEhFToMFIyfZq4NwzJ23E9wUD4fiV6Y0gEjPXLiBqLpZYsCv42Vw2aLngik74R1pYEgOETJXtEkQE024ldfSA0oTKIMo78GuQzMgGMMM4F3CGZvFhs4WIiEs/s1600/10149782_10151902670097282_149086485_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPyjyOm59e51NRP10tPefsEhFToMFIyfZq4NwzJ23E9wUD4fiV6Y0gEjPXLiBqLpZYsCv42Vw2aLngik74R1pYEgOETJXtEkQE024ldfSA0oTKIMo78GuQzMgGMMM4F3CGZvFhs4WIiEs/s1600/10149782_10151902670097282_149086485_o.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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My heart goes out to that man's family, to the son that will never get to know his dad, and his wife who doesn't have a hand to hold in the car and a warm body to put her cold toes against at night. That's my greatest fear. Right now, I have a baby that dances inside of me when I play music and a husband that kisses me good night. Matt's healthy. Sure, he has bad days, but he's still around one year later.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-46343390635878933112014-12-02T14:20:00.003-08:002014-12-02T14:20:46.582-08:00That's not a burrito, that's a baby!<div>
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TA DA! The long awaited baby bump picture has arrived! I'll be 18 weeks tomorrow so this was a day or two ago, but it's something to start with, right? </div>
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Also, please excuse the poor phone quality and the pretty background of my front door, but hey, sometimes it's raining outside and your camera battery has to charge so you just do what you have to do.</div>
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Until next time (when I post the gender!!!) </div>
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Love,</div>
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Cami, Matt, and Baby </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5366325452364692715.post-22819180983835669662014-11-17T10:36:00.002-08:002014-11-17T10:36:13.588-08:00Orange you glad... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Super lame joke, I know, but Baby Lish is the size of an orange this week and I just couldn't resist!<br />
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Here are some exciting (and not exciting) things about this week:<br />
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> On Thursday we find out the gender. Okay, this one deserves about a million exclamation points!!! WE'RE FINDING OUT THE GENDER!!!!! Holy smokes.<br />
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> I'm <i>mostly</i> not sick anymore. I have to be super careful about what I eat still because the acid monster inside of me insists on throwing mad crazy fits if I eat anything he disagrees with.<br />
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> Zits. Kill me know.<br />
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> I have the body of a grandma and everything feels like it's falling apart. So help me, I might need a hip replacement by the end of this.<br />
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> I have a bump and a husband that won't talk about anything but baby. This is gettin' serious. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Imagine that being said with some kind of southern/country drawl, or whatever fits your fancy). </span><br />
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Here's to finding out the gender and the start of shopping for <u>everything </u>baby!!<br />
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Love, M+C+baby<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04565024381173052510noreply@blogger.com0