I was so nervous about ending up on full blown bedrest before I finished up the last 2 weekends of sessions. But I made it! And the sessions from this weekend went so wonderful. Both were return clients, it is always such a treat for me to be able to see children as they grow. To watch them go from babies to toddlers just full of personality. They were so wonderful and fun. It was truly an incredible way to go on leave. I'm not 100% on leave yet as I have orders to complete now, but things are slowing down and I have time to get last minute things ready for Brooklynne's arrival.
I have had a huge amount of inquiries for sessions lately, and since I don't know an exact date of when I will return I have started a waiting list. There are many families on the list already. About 2-3 weeks before I come back I will contact those who are on the waiting list to start booking sessions, so I anticipate a busy return for some fun in the sun summer sessions. (Then we will quickly be into the holiday rush! ACK!) If you'd like to be on the waiting list, there is no deposit for it and I have not announced a special but your name would be added and you will be among the first to know dates, specials, and have first choice for booking. And as I mentioned, we will be making some fine tuning adjustments to the business - so stay tuned for some exciting announcements! Alright, I've gotta go prop up the swollen feet and lay my poor aching back on the heating pad. I'm so huge it's not even funny.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
It's a race to the finish!
I have been telling you all for months now when my leave was going to start, and it always seemed SO far away. But it's actually here! It's kinda bittersweet for me. I am so excited to have this little girl, but I really enjoy my work. I do have plans to revamp some business things while I am gone, make things even better...but I will definitely miss my clients. I have been on "modified bedrest" or as my lovely doctor tells me I have been "laying low and calling in the calvary" for a week now. I like to call it house arrest. :) I at least don't have to just lay in bed, but I can't do much. I can hang out with the boys, go to church, take Reagan to preschool and of course do my last bit of work. But I can't go walking the mall, do any type of yard work or gardening, no heavy cleaning (yay for me), no lifting my kids (yeah right), basically I can't be on my feet much at all. I go back to the doctor next week and I will be 34 and a half weeks. The immediate goal was for me to make it 2 weeks, which is the day I go back to the dr. I suppose we will see from there what the next goal or game plan is. I just really need to make it to 36 weeks, then I am hoping they will say she's good to come any time after that. I will have a sono at 36 weeks to see how big Brooklynne is and to see how everything looks, and hopefully we will make a game plan from there. My body is tired and ready to quit now, so as long as we make it to the safe zone I will be happy to deliver. But at the very most I have about 5 weeks left. Last weekend and this weekend were my last 2 weekends of work. Last weekend went well, I had so much fun with both families and the pictures are lovely if I don't say so myself. But it's hard to go wrong with such fantastic and CUTE families! Anyways, I will be posting here more regularly now that things will be slowing down. Make sure to stay tuned for baby news. Myself or my husband will be posting here when she arrives, so if you aren't already subscribed for updates do it now! In the meantime, I'm sure to do a lot of rambling on here to pass time. :) Hope you are all doing well.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Being a MOM...
We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."
"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.
I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?"
That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.
That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moments hesitation.
I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.
She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell.
She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine.
That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma.
That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself.
That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child.
That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.
I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child.
I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike.
I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.
"You'll never regret it," I finally say.
Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. There are good fathers, yes, but only a mother can truly understand the depth of which I speak...Please share this with a Mom that you know or all of your girlfriends, or daughters, who may someday be Moms.
We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."
"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."
But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.
I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?"
That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.
That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moments hesitation.
I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood.
She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell.
She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine.
That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma.
That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.
Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself.
That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child.
That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.
My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.
I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child.
I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.
I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike.
I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.
My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.
"You'll never regret it," I finally say.
Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings. There are good fathers, yes, but only a mother can truly understand the depth of which I speak...Please share this with a Mom that you know or all of your girlfriends, or daughters, who may someday be Moms.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
99 Balloons
99 Balloons. For those of my clients that have been around for a while, you already know what I am referring to. For those that don't, let me introduce you to Eliot. Eliot changed my life, and moved my heart more in his 99 days that I would have ever imagined. Eliot came into my life by accident really. He has a family member that is a photographer, and she put out a prayer request for him. I contacted her having been moved asking for permission to pass the word on. She gave me the ok, and many of you took the journey of Eliot's short life with me. Every Wednesday an update was made, and every Wednesday I was there on the blog to see how he was doing. One week I hadn't checked in. I got a call from one of my clients who had been following Eliot's story. She asked if I had been to the site. I hadn't but knew right away what the news was just by the sound of her voice. I immediately logged on, with a huge pit in my stomach I read. I cried. I weeped for this 99 day old boy I had never met. I was devastated to be honest. I can only imagine the feelings of his parents and family. I felt as though I knew him and his wonderful parents so well. They had each impacted my life so much. If you haven't been to his blog please visit. And read the archives. It is life altering. But just make sure you bring your kleenex. But I'd like to encourage ALL of you, wether you have read the blog yet or not to please watch the 6 minute movie about Eliot's 99 day journey. Bring your kleenex, probably the whole box. It is still so amazing to me how a tiny baby, who couldn't breathe or eat on his own - can move so many people, change so many lives, and impact so many hearts. I have said it before, and will say it again...thank you Eliot. You and your parents continue to be such an inspiration. You can see 99 Balloons here:
http://www.ignitermedia.com/products/iv/singles/570/99-Balloons
http://www.ignitermedia.com/products/iv/singles/570/99-Balloons
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