holding hands and skimming stones.

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over seven months after my birth, i finally have had enough time to finish my birth story. #momlife pregnancy story here.

it was 6am on november 7th, and i lost my mucus plug. game on. (and gross, yes.)

with tilly, when this happened, i was at the hospital within hours. so, when it happened the second time around, i was ready. i was prepared. i had been waiting a whole week beyond my due date to meet this new baby girl. 

and then… nothing happened. 

i contacted my doula (shout out to mariah!), and she told me to rest. that labor would likely start within 24 hours. and so, i waited. i had a massage scheduled with a friend. she said she didn’t mind if my water broke on her table (ha), so i went and relaxed. maybe that would start labor.

and then, nothing happened.

the waiting is a cruel mindfuck that no one ever warns you about when you’re going to have a baby. you lack complete control. your mind spirals as you weigh all the choices. do you wait? do you induce? you poll all your mom friends and scour the internet for answers. you trust your intuition.

every little contraction feels like this could be the one… even the second time around. as an “experienced” pregnant woman, i figured i’d have some semblance of “been there, done that” to guide my knowledge, but nope. every baby is a new baby, and the body reacts differently.

since my mom was in town already to help with tilly, i took advantage and laid down for a nap. when i woke up, i decided to try the breast pumps again to stimulate labor. i pumped for about 15 minutes and then… contractions began! but were they real? or were they the same ones i’d been feeling for the last week? via text, my doula told me to wait and see if they lasted an hour and got stronger. 

and indeed they did. get stronger and stronger and stronger. within an hour or so, i was having to bend over the kitchen counter, head down, and take a beat as the familiar tight squeeze rushed through me. i sat on the floor playing with tilly and soaking in the final minutes of her as my only child. she was ready, cowgirl boots and all.

and then my water broke. right there on the floor, next to my first daughter and her kinetic sand.

things were definitely happening.

my contractions were five or so minutes apart. ryan was still in town (30 mins away) at work. i called him from the toilet to tell him it was time but had to hang up as tilly was jumping on me and another wave of pain took over.

my doula arrived, and i decided it was time to go. contractions were three or four minutes apart and getting strong.

she would drive me to the hospital, and ryan could meet us there since he was already closer to the hospital than home. but then, since i had not called him back when i got distracted on the toilet, he magically arrived at home just as i was about to leave. my hero.

i hugged tilly goodbye and cherished this final moment as a family of three. never again would things in our household be the same.

grandma and her waved as we climbed into ryan’s big work truck and headed back to town. every bump and curve reminding me that this baby was finally ready to make her grand entrance very soon. 

after checking in at 4:40pm and being escorted up to our room, i was checked by a nurse and told that i was already 9cm dilated. holy shit! she was on her way… and quick!

the contractions were painful, but my doula was there helping me through them with pressure to my hips and position changes. i let each wave of pain wash through me as i waited for the moment of rest on the other side of each contraction. i could do it this time…

with tilly, i had tried to give birth without an epidural but had tapped out around 6 or 7cm. but heck, i was already at 9cm! i could make it the whole way this time… have an unmedicated birth… feel everything the experience had to offer…

two hours of contractions later, my body naturally felt the urge to push. they called in the doctor to check on me, and she reported that i was only at 6cm. 

what. the. actual. fuck!

now, i will never know if the first nurse (who was apparently a student) was totally wrong or if my cervix decided to regress in dilation (which is apparently a thing), but my mental willpower was shattered. i thought i was so close to 10cm and now, not so close at all. the pain was intense, and i decided to bow out gracefully.

at 7:20pm, they called in the magic epidural man, and within minutes, i was laughing and cracking jokes with ryan again. i could still move my legs slightly and feel the pressure of each contraction. i kept the epidural light, so i could feel as much as possible yet block the pain. drugs are crazy.

i will never have that unmedicated birth story so many boast about, but everything always unfolds as it should in the end… again with the intuition. 

an hour or so of rest later, it was time. baby girl had labored down very far into my pelvis and was minutes from making her appearance. the doctor came in (who happened to be one of the ones i liked and had met once when pregnant with tilly, which was great since i had not really met any of the doctors in the hospital prior) and confirmed that it was time to push. 

at 9:36pm, i put on the same snowboarding playlist “mountain magic” that i threw on in a rush when tilly was born. as it played on shuffle, we let the music roulette gods select our the baby’s birth song. would it be the 1986 classic push it by salt-n-pepa again? 

i mean, we can’t that lucky twice, but there was, in retrospect, a shocking amount of baby and birth-appropriate references in the songs on the playlist…

“baby you’re a firework” (geez, i hope not.)

“baby i was born this way” (i hope so lady gaga!)

“don’t stop me now” (i mean pretty clear message, she’s coming now.)

“she’s a wild one” (oh faith hill, i hope this does not ring true…)

“rock me baby like a wagon wheel” (which played right when i was nursing for the first time.) 

i prepped myself and tried to remember everything my pelvic floor physical therapist had taught me to try to mitigate worsening any damage to my pelvic floor from pushing out another baby.

a contraction came, and i beared down. first push.

crocodile rock by elton john echoed through the room. interesting choice music gods…

“i remember when rock was young…”

another contraction. second push.

and there was her head… covered in dark brown hair. so much hair, that the doctor made a mohawk with it as we waited for the next push. 

baby girl was almost fully out, but the nurses had lost her heartbeat (or lost it on the monitor anyways), so now the doctor quickly pulled her out and in one swift movement unwrapped the umbilical cord loosely draped around her neck as our second baby girl started to cry. 

she made her debut at 9:48pm on november 7th (the day my maternal grandfather passed) at a whopping 9lbs. 9oz. and 22in. long. covered in meconium just like her big sister.

“Laa, la-la-la-la-laa La-la-la-la-laa La-la-la-la-laa”

we did it. a week and a day late. but we did it. and now, for better or worse, nothing would ever be the same. 

as i looked at the human i had just delivered earthside, that special connection between mother and baby brewed up inside of me. her tiny lips latched onto me for nourishment. her immense head of hair was soft beneath my fingers. her chunky limbs curled into my cradling arms. she was mine. and i was hers. 

but who was she? what would her name be? what did she want to be called?

ryan and i had landed on two favorites: morgan (welsh origin and meaning sea-born, sea-song, or sea-circle) and adelaide (german origin and meaning noble natured). 

at the beginning of the pregnancy, we were leaning towards morgan. but, by the end, we had switched to adelaide. but now, we needed to make a decision by the time we checked out of the hospital. 

we relocated to another room and settled into caring for this new being. it is crazy how quickly you forget things… it had only been two years since we were in this same situation. feeding, dressing, swaddling, changing diapers for a newborn. you’d think we’d remember, but we definitely had to be reminded of a few things. 

i rested. ryan got bored (of course). my body slowly recovered. my heart quickly grew. 

baby girl had a reputation with the nurses on the floor. “the nine-pounder!” oh yes, i was glad i got that epidural after all. 

and the little chunk with the full head of dark hair… she wasn’t an adelaide. she was a morgan. another daughter born to the sea on the island of maui.

but just in case… we named her: morgan adelaide grant.

on our final day in the hospital, my mom brought tilly to visit and meet her new baby sister. what a precious moment. of course, she had no idea how her life was about to change, but in that moment, she was so enthralled. so gentle. so kind. 

and in that moment, everything was as it should be. 

with one more night in the hospital, i savored the peace and quiet and support of the staff. and then, the morning of november 9th, we strapped morgan into her carseat and headed home to begin this next chapter as a family of four. with an infant and a two year old… heaven help us (and poor bowie).

surprises and decisions.

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wow. two years has flown by. so much has happened, and yet none of it has ended up on this blog. between a baby (now toddler), work, travel, and play, my personal writing has taken a backseat. to be expected i suppose, but also, not something i hope will continue indefinitely. 

however, as i opened up the blog word document that lives on my desktop for crafting my words before they reach the web, i noticed there were actually a few already written posts awaiting edits and publishing. oops. just another product of this new life we’re living.

but, before i go back and publish those, it is necessary to scrape my brain of all the details of our latest life event. another daughter.

seems only fitting that the last posts on this blog are my first pregnancy and birth story. time to add another one.

it’s already been two months. baby girl is two months old today. her entrance earthside already seems so faraway, but every time i’ve gone to put the memory down on paper, sleep and relaxation have won the battle for my energy. but today, i will battle through the sleep deprivation and take advantage of tilly having a babysitter…

———

her due date was october 30th. and this pregnancy was much like my first – except for the beginning and the end. 

at my annual gyno appointment in mid-march, i was informed that i was eight weeks pregnant… and i had no idea. 

i had been traveling in the months prior and thought the slight nausea i was feeling was from a cold or food poisoning like a friend i was with had gotten. i even took a covid test at one point. (it was negative.) i had not missed a period, and yet, when i returned home and went to that appointment, sure enough, there was a fetus on the ultrasound screen. a two month old fetus…

surprise! (watch out for wedding anniversary celebrations folks.)

and so it began again. another pregnancy and another birth and another baby. all things we wanted, just not things we were officially planning for yet. i immediately thought back to my last couple months – hot springs, skiing, wine, ahhh the things we do when we don’t know we’re not “supposed to” yet. 

but more so than the straightforward changes that come pregnancy, like cutting out alcohol and raw fish, preparing for our second child came with decision after decision after decision. 

would we stay in hawaii? move to australia? should we do it immediately? should we buy a house? should we rent a different house?

who would be the medical provider? (since maui only has two for our insurance and the one we used for tilly no longer does obstetrics.) should we get a doula? should we get the same doula? 

would i try to go unmedicated again? would i choose an epidural? would i get a c-section to help prevent worsening my prolapse from my first birth?

should tilly start daycare? would she adjust to being a big sister? would we be able to handle two kids?

there were so many more decisions at the beginning of this pregnancy… and near the end. 

all was well at our appointments over the weeks. at 12 weeks, we found out it was another baby girl. (thank goodness we still had all of tilly’s stuff.) at 20 weeks, we found out she had all her body parts.

(pregnant with first on left and second on right.)

and at 36 weeks, i thought i’d get another final ultrasound showing me a head down, ready to be birthed baby.

instead, the nurse told me they didn’t do ultrasounds at this stage. i asked her if my baby was in the right position. she put her hands up by my ribs and said, yep, feels like a butt. i left the appointment a bit skeptical as i was feeling kicks in my pelvis. i immediately hired a trusted doula on island as maui doctors were leaving me questioning their competence. 

i had another appointment at 37 weeks, and when i walked in, they said they were going to do an ultrasound. oh sure, now you give me an ultrasound. and low and behold, baby girl was breeched. so much for that butt. she was definitely kicking me in the pelvis, and i had lost a whole week to try to flip her (as i had decided i didn’t want a c-section if not necessary).

and so i had another major decision. if i could not get her to flip, what would i do? but for the next week, i didn’t think about that and tried everything to spin that baby and celebrate tilly’s second birthday.

i did headstands and laid upside down on an angled board. i got acupuncture and made ryan hold smoking herb sticks (moxa) next to my pinky toes. i looked ridiculous doing front flips in the ocean. but this one was a stubborn gal. she was staying put. 

at my 38 week appointment, the doctor mentioned getting on the calendar to do an external cephalic version (ecv) to manually flip the baby. the success rate is 50/50, and everyone i talked to about it seemed to know someone who had a negative experience. but i was willing to try everything to avoid cutting into my abdomen, and so a few days later, we went to the hospital.

and it worked! in a matter of seconds the doctor took his hands and pushed baby girl into a summersault. what a strange feeling. it wasn’t very painful (many said it would be), just weird and uncomfortable. but there she was on the ultrasound, head down. finally.

now i just had to keep her that way for a week or two. easy. or so i thought…

while i was closing in on my due date, the news broke that the maui hospital staff was going on strike for three days in early november. are you kidding me?! despite my endless braxton hicks contractions, as my due date came and went, i had yet again even more decisions to make. this scorpio gal had a mind of her own.

would she come during the strike? would i induce to avoid it? would i wait to go into labor naturally? how long would i wait? how long should i wait?

i tried to calm my anxiety and savor the last remaining weeks of tilly being an only child. i tried to relax, while still eating all the dates and spicy food i could stomach. i tried breast pumps to induce labor, sex, curb walking, all the things… i was huge, and ready to pop, but she was comfy as could be in there. i even tried dancing her out on the halloween full moon to no avail.

and so i scheduled an induction. i decided to give her a little more time to come out on her own and scheduled it for after the hospital strike. november 9th was the day they had available. hopefully she stayed head down until then…

push it real good.

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before all details have disappeared, let’s pick up where we left off with my pregnancy…

like many nights before, i woke up at 3am to pee. as i carefully navigated my overly pregnant belly back into bed, there was a new sensation…

that past saturday had been the full moon. they say that babies like to be born around the full moon and that dancing helps induce labor, so we ventured out to a friend’s beach birthday rave that night, and i danced under the full moon trying my best to call in the island birthing powers that be. 

but baby stayed put that night. probably for the best since we were an hour or more from the nearest hospital.

that past tuesday, in between final client work calls and baby to-do list tasks, i went to the chiropractor and acupuncturist. they say that these can help induce labor too. if nothing else, they helped me relax in my aching body.

i went to the doctor that next day, my due date. wednesday, october 12, 2022. no baby yet. the monitor showed i was having contractions pretty close together, zero centimeters dilated. all was looking well except that the baby wasn’t moving as much as the doctor wanted her to, but i knew she was just fine. i drank cold water and poked my belly to incite some motion. just as they threatened to send me to the hospital, she woke up. we passed the test and headed back home to wait.

i had never really gotten the feel for what braxton hicks contractions felt like. everyone said i’d be able to tell the difference, but would i? was this sensation just those false alarms? or gas? or cramps? 

and so when i laid on my side and tried to fall back asleep after my 3am potty break, i didn’t think too much of it. however, the cramps or contractions or whatever they were seemed to be getting more frequent. 

i got back out of bed and went to the nursery/office/guest bedroom and sat in our comfy hand-me-down rocking recliner chair. (thanks cadys.) i pulled out the journal i had been writing to our baby girl in for months. 

dear pumpkin… could you finally be making moves after nine months inside me?

as ryan’s alarm went off at 5:15am, i knew these feelings were different. he would not be going to work today. 

i texted my doulas. yes plural, as we had been working with two amazing doulas throughout my pregnancy. the one on standby for today began her journey with me. i often wonder what was happening at her house at 5am that morning as she prepared to be our rock through whatever was in store. 

in preparation for this moment, i had downloaded an app to time my contractions. they were about four minutes apart. the pain was pretty mild. my doula kept telling me to head to the hospital (a 40-minute drive from our house) when the contraction pain took my breath away or made it difficult to speak. but i was still feeling relatively fine. 

and then a lost my mucus plug in the toilet. i’ll save you all the bloody details, but that confirmed it. i was in labor.

it has been seven months since that morning. the details are already starting to fade. did i take a bath? who did i text? what was i thinking? what was ryan thinking? who texted chaz to make sure he picked up bowie? the memories are already a distant shade of gray. 

but i recall that i continued timing my contractions and texting my doula. three minutes apart. my water had not broken yet. i laid in bed with my dog and husband by my side and wondered when we should head to the hospital. just as i made the call to head to the car, my doula sent a text message that maybe it was time. 

i’m glad we both agreed.

every bump in the road made me breathe deeper with pain. the contractions were definitely starting to grow stronger as my old gray mazda 5 headed down the hana highway. how many centimeters dilated would i be upon arriving at the hospital? would they admit me? would they send me away to wait and labor in my car?

ryan dropped me off at the emergency room entrance of the maui memorial hospital around 9am on thursday, october 13th. our nephew’s birthday. as he parked my car, the staff led me to a desk to sign some paperwork. a difficult task when your contractions are now two minutes apart. 

they offered me a wheelchair to take me up the elevator to the exam room. sure, why not. but when they could not quickly locate a wheelchair, i told them to forget about it. i could make it up on my own. 

i do not remember if ryan was in the elevator with me or not. i don’t think so. i think it was just me and a nurse weathering my intensifying contractions together up two floors. i wonder what was going through my mind in that moment. i wonder what was racing through ryan’s brain as he parked the car and hauled in my carefully packed hospital bag.

into my frida mom dark gray hospital gown. selected for softness. and socks. i think i had socks on. 

the nurse checked my cervix. three centimeters dilated. normally, they do not admit mamas this early, but my contractions were very close together. i settled into my delivery room. this was it. my birth journey was fully underway. 

ryan and my doula, jamie, comforted me as i moved between the bed and a yoga ball, between the toilet and the floor. i had a well-thought-out birth plan that was quickly forgotten by my brain as the pain increased. 

my water did not break all at once. it was nothing like the movies. over the course of an hour or so, it leaked out everywhere. there was constantly liquid between my legs. i tried to breath deep and slow. i tried to listen to the cassette tape of christian science church hymns that i was raised on and always listened to when i was sick or sad as a child. i tried to focus on finally settling the debate if the singer was male or female, searching to find any thread of relief as the contractions creeped closer and closer together. 

my doula encouraged me to move and change positions but as the contractions hit back to back to back to back, all i could do was curl up in fetal position on the bed and squeeze ryan’s hand as tight as possible and yell through the pain. 

my yells were loud and guttural. they trailed off into sobs that made ryan’s heart hurt. my eyes were clinched shut for minutes, maybe hours, at a time. blacking out the waves of intensity coursing through my body.

after four hours of this, i was almost seven centimeters. three more to go. the contractions were not letting up or giving me the break i desperately needed. and although my beautifully designed birth plan clearly stated no medical interventions, i heard the words in my head, and then out of my mouth: help me.

the nurse made the call i wanted her to make. i sat up on the edge of the bed, tucked my chin to my chest, tried with every fiber in my being not to move during contractions, and had a man whose face i have no recollection of insert a crazy needle into my spine. 

yes, i got an epidural. and no, i do not regret it. 

although i tried to push through my labor and delivery without the aid of pain medication, in that moment, i knew i needed help to delivery this baby safely and with ease. and within minutes, my hospital room was a whole different space. the fear and pain had left completely. i could not feel or move my legs, but i could stop clenching my jaw and squinting my eyes. i could smile at my husband and crack jokes with the nurses. i was myself again. 

i’m not sure what the next few hours would have looked like if i had powered through. perhaps our baby would have arrived minutes later. or maybe i would have ended up on the surgery table. we will never know. but what i do know, is that i was present to witness the birth of my daughter, not blacking out in pain.

after a nap and a few hours of hanging out with ryan and jamie, it was time to push. we all think i was probably fully dilated before the doctor came in, but oh well, no harm in letting baby girl move a bit further towards her entrance to the world. 

around 7pm, a circle of nurses huddled around my lower half. the doctor spread my legs wide, with ryan by my side, and instructed me to push on each contraction. by this time, the epidural had worn off a bit. i could not feel pain, but i could feel pressure. i could feel the sensation of each contraction pushing baby girl out. 

with everyone else ready, i was told a contraction was happening, and it was time to… push! 

instead, i told ryan to grab the speaker and put some music on. i definitely wanted to push to some music. a dancer can’t give birth without some beats! i didn’t have a playlist picked out though, so as all the nurses, doctor, and doula waited, i scrolled through my iphone trying to decide. i quickly threw on a playlist i had made for snowboarding several years ago called “mountain magic.” 

the first song to come on was the nitty gritty band’s “fishin’ in the dark.” it surprised everyone in the room. not typical “pushing” music i was told… but i was into it.

for 30 minutes, i followed the rhythm of my body and pushed until i thought my head would explode. at one point, the doctor mentioned the possibility of an episiotomy as the baby’s head seemed stuck at the ears (ryan’s genetics i’m guessing), but i just blatantly ignored her and kept pushing. no one was slicing open my nether regions on purpose. 

some gladiator movie, maybe 300?, was playing on the small hospital television. fitting i thought. country music and gladiators raging out. this was definitely how i would want our child to enter the world.

and then, at 7:34pm, there was a rush of liquid and a poop covered (meconium apparently) baby girl with a full head of blonde hair was placed upon my chest. holy crap, i had just given birth to my grandpa. (or myself.) this child was definitely my daughter. complete with her great grandpa bird’s german cheeks and blue eyes.

ryan asked me if i could hear what song was playing on the speaker… i tuned out the chaos of the room and focused in on the music. ooh baby baby baby baby, ooh baby baby ba-baby baby…

that’s right. our baby girl had just been born to salt-n-pepa’s “push it.” i shit you not. i could not have asked for a more perfect entrance for our little matilda maple.

again, the details get fuzzy here, and i am sure i’m leaving out a million of them. but as i held our daughter, all 7lbs. 14oz. and 21 inches of her, i was so grateful for her safe and harmonious arrival. after we had a sufficient amount of snuggles, ryan cut her umbilical cord and watched in complete fascination as the doctor delivered my placenta and stitched me up. (he now is pretty certain he missed his calling as a surgeon and could sew up a vagina if ever called upon to do so.)

we relocated to our recovery room overlooking the iao valley and sacred hawaiian birthing pools and settled in for the next 48 hours. two hospital beds side by side with a cute little bundle swaddled up in between us ready for us to welcome her home. 

what a journey. birth is no joke. beautiful, painful, challenging, easy, disgusting, magical, all the things every mama tries to explain to you but you don’t understand until you’ve experienced it. and unique. this birth story is unlike another. this birth story is ours and only ours.

and maybe the sexy people. and maybe all you fly mothers… 🙂

red flags and faint lines.

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whether in our camper van in the back of a washington cvs parking lot or in the apres glow of big sky, montana’s mountainous sunset, at some point in the early weeks of january 2022, i became pregnant. over a year later, this feels like forever ago. and, just yesterday. 

no it was not an accident. and no it was not intentional. it was what i lovingly deemed my fear baby. 

after my older sister consulted a fertility clinic through her pregnancy journey, she suggested that although i was not yet purposefully trying to conceive, it might be good for me to do so as well. just to see what i was working with. i figured, why not? i was a “geriatric” mother (aka thirty-five or older) after all.

so i scheduled a phone consult. 

turned out i had “several red flags” working against me according to the fertility specialist…

i had been having unprotected sex for a year.

i had shorter menstrual cycles than normal since going off the birth control pill. 

i had a family history of low egg count.

i was old as fuck (again, aka thirty-five).

well then! i hung up the phone in a panic. i could feel the fear creeping into my psyche. did i want children? sure. did i need children? meh. my brain bounced through every possible scenario and emotion within minutes.

when my hubby got home from work, i immediately posed the question to him… 

you definitely want children right? 

yes, why?

i have several red flags and we should maybe actually start trying (instead of just pulling the goalie). 

we had been pushing becoming parents down the line as far as we could. perfectly content in the adventurous life we had carefully crafted together. as friends around us took the leap, we held strong, enjoying every child-free moment of ease. i mean, auntie life is truly the best life, am i right?!

but we always knew we wanted to try on the title of mother and father one day. and after that phone call, apparently it had to be one day soon.

so i whipped out the ovulation strips that a recently pregnant friend had suggestively sent home with me a few months prior. i peed on them until the lines confirmed what my body already knew. it was time.

and just like that, my fear about red flags dissolved and in its place a fear baby was born. and although a wise man once told me that “fear is a bad motivator,” this time it was just what we needed to finally take action. 

and that other age-old saying, “it just takes once,” well i guess sometimes it’s true…

while complaining about heartburn to a friend who had recently conceived, she jokingly mentioned i was probably pregnant. i laughed. i hadn’t even missed my period yet. but alas, she forced my to pee on a spare test she had laying around. 

boom. i was right. there was nothing. no line. i was not pregnant. 

she glanced at the test laying against the clean white porcelain sink and freaked out… that’s positive! you’re pregnant! she called my partner and broke the good news. 

i assured him i was not pregnant. there was no pink line. she was seeing things.

she strongly disagreed. just like a covid test, apparently even the faintest line equals a positive test. 

i was visiting family in chicago. ryan was back at our home on maui. i hung up the phone and left him in limbo. i couldn’t be pregnant already, could i?

she sent me home with a few more test strips and instructions to take one every day and see if the faint line darkened. turns out she knew what she was talking about…

and the universe had something else in store. my sister was pregnant as well. due the day before me. our family was about to change.

as the days went by, two naps per day and a bloated belly became the norm. first trimester was kind to me. no morning sickness. no weird cravings. no raging hormones. just an overwhelming exhaustion. sleep beckoned to me at all hours of the day.

as the genetics test week approached, we had to decide if we wanted to know the gender or wait. i’ve never been good at decisions. every day the capricorn in me battled the sagittarius in me. i needed to plan, but also, you don’t get very many true surprises in your life. 

like most major decisions in my life, i made a well-assessed game time decision. 

alone in the oahu specialist’s exam room, the doctor asked if i wanted his best guess. at that moment, with a 3-D image of the being growing inside me up on the screen, squirming and looking all alien like, why yes, yes i did. 

and then it was real. it was a she. the thing leeching all my energy would be a daughter. she would make me a mother. i let myself soak in the news. a special secret moment that would always be just between her and me. my hand on my belly. her tiny barely formed body swirling beneath it. 

it was easter when i told her father. he thought it was a girl. he wanted a girl. and yet, moments after confirming his wish would come true, he was already thinking about the next child. he now also wanted a boy. so much for living in the moment… 

which became harder and harder. 

time was flying by. second trimester came and went. with a renewed sense of energy, i picked back up to my pre-pregnancy pace. surfing, climbing, hiking, yoga, dance. i felt the activities that have defined me for three decades slipping away. the pause button was inching closer and closer as my toes disappeared below my belly inch by inch. 

my bump had finally popped. i no longer just looked like i ate too big of a burrito for lunch. i was halfway through seven different pregnancy and birth books. i was interviewing doulas and making overly detailed never-ending to-do lists. i was researching temporary disability insurance and maternity photographers. my instagram feed was suddenly filled with birth stories and parenting tips. 

motherhood was creeping in quicker by the day, and i had not yet come to terms with this new identity lurking for me come october.

october 12 to be exact. or rather, not exact at all. science’s best guess at mother nature’s timeline. 

in three months, i would be a mother. sure, i was already technically a mother to the human growing inside me, but i was still sara to others. i could still shake it on the dance floor until two in the morning. i could still fly to alaska and trek out onto a glacier. i could still hike out for sunny day waterfall parties. i could still tie my own shoe…

and then i couldn’t. 

we celebrated the two baby girls heading to transform the schneider sisters into mothers at the same time. a joint shower in illinois and a solo one in hawaii. this baby would be loved by all the people who had touched our lives, around the globe. very loved. and very blessed to have such rad humans awaiting her arrival.

sleepiness set back in as i entered my third trimester. i pleaded with ryan to massage my swollen feet every night. i planned my maternity leave and submitted my insurance forms. (although i am still unsure if i was supposed to check “accident” or “sickness” for my temporary disability cause.) i noticed our pup becoming more protective and snuggling even harder than usual.

as ryan built me bookshelves, i collected the necessities from as many second hand sources as i could. i sorted through the wonderful gifts and hand-me-downs we had received and watched my office/guest room quickly become overrun with baby stuff.

i finally decided on a doula and ate as many cinnamon rolls from baked on maui as my two hearts desired.

baby girl was on her way. were we ready?

wintering.

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another late post, just in time for spring…

the biting, winter cold revitalizes a part of my soul untouchable by the warm, ocean breeze. a nostalgia that cannot be replaced by sandy toes and rolling waves. i am born of the seasons. rosy cheeks did not come from the sun but rather from the wind. i understand the true definition of layering and that indescribable feeling upon your face when the sun shines through the snowflakes. 

and i am grateful. 

the beauty of snow-capped peaks looming down over quaint mountain towns… nothing else makes my insides shine quite as bright. and although the midwest may be lacking in altitude, and i didn’t necessarily grow up staring at an epic range, the snowy air runs deep through my veins. 

ice-crusted evergreens and barren deciduous branches bring me back to my fondest memories. sledding the rickety toboggan down the old windmill hill. knocking human-sized icicles from the roof of our big green house.

learning to handle my car in the snow by chucking donuts in the church parking lot at the end of old kirk road. instantly being frozen awake upon exiting my dorm en route to my 8am psych 101 lecture. shredding icy canadian hills with fellow snowboard club delinquents. annual sister snowboard trips to new slopes.

maybe being born in december innately draws me to the magic of winter. or perhaps it is the contrast of the warmth we are forced to find inside set against the stark chill of the dark awaiting us outside. we hibernate. with each other. 

although my thick skin has thinned from a decade away from the cold corners of the country, the sight of my breath on the freezing air makes me smile. i may whine about the below zero temperatures when i return to the midwest in january and joke that i don’t understand how anyone lives in this climate, but beneath my complaints, i am reveling in the sensations.

the snow crunching beneath my salt-stained boots. every inch of my bare skin frantically trying to hide behind wooly scarves, mittens, and hats. odd sound effects jumping uncontrollably from my chattering lips. 

in hawaii, the days never grow short. the sun pushes me to do more, always. but i am a child of winter. i need nature’s permission to slow down. to wrap up in a blanket and sit by the fire with no pressure to chase the day’s last light. for four months, we are subconsciously taught to cozy up. to leave the nighttime play for endless summer evenings.

and yet, after a week of bone chilling, i am glad to be returning to the warmth. to ditch the socks and defrost. 

but i am grateful.

to know winter in all her glory.

an ode to journals.

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extremely late to post per usual, from october 2021.

on october twelfth, i finished another journal. i do not have my rubbermaid bin of past finished journals on hand (since it still lives in our portland storage unit), but if i had to guess, this is probably number twenty-something. 

each one has drastically varied in completion time. in the early angsty middle school days, i could plow through the pages of a fresh journal in months. filling the lines with dark poems, hopeless romantic musings, and skewed illusions of the future. 

but this one took over two years. 

sure, some journals are bigger than others. some have lines, some have blank pages, some have dots. some are hardback, some of spiral, some are softcover. but overall, the length of time it takes me to complete a handwritten journal has steadily increased since fifth grade. 

the days of sitting in a dirty college cafe and whimsically crafting stories about the couple arguing in the corner are few and far between. now most journal entries are written thousands of miles up in the air. when i am alone (and without internet). 

like right now. on a flight from oakland back to maui.

and yet, nowadays i must choose. do i scribble in my new cardboard cover moleskine with crisp, fresh white pages? or do i type up something on this blog to keep fueling my father’s super fan status? 

the answer is always both.

buying a new journal is always a fairly ritualistic and meaningful experience for me. as i see pages starting to dwindle in my existing one, the excitement builds. every stroll through the local letterpress shop or bookstore becomes a potentially life-altering moment. sometimes i regret my decision. sometimes i wish there were more pages to fill. over the last twenty-five years, i have acquired some preferences regarding style, paper, and size, but in general, my collection is quite diverse.

the small orange geometric-shape-covered journal that i’ve carried around with me since june 2019 says “you got this” in gold on the front. when i purchased it, i had no idea how much i would need that simple reminder. no idea that its pages would include my mind meanderings over the course of my two weddings, covid-19 lockdown, moving back to hawaii, and starting a new job after eight years with the festival. 

i do not re-read my entries right away. i let them simmer and stew. and then, on those nostalgic likely wine-induced evenings, i revisit past memories, past stories, past emotions. 

what will stand out from this past twenty-eight months? what will be hard to read? what will make me laugh out loud? what will i learn? how did i grow?

what a blessing to have been called to write routinely at such a young age. a chronicle of my life lies at my fingertips ready to remind me of my past, present, and future (minus the one journal that mysteriously went missing in an airplane seat back pocket). 

more than once, my journals have saved me. they have fallen open to the exact right page in the hands of another and revealed what needed to be seen. they have given me a way to make sense of the insensible. they have listened when i didn’t feel like talking. 

today as i filled the first page of my new journal, i felt such gratitude. for the writers before me. for the writers after me. 

and as i went to close my journal and open my laptop, i thought i was going to tell you the story of my twenty mile hike through the haleakala crater. 

but instead, you get an ode to my journals.

en route: another world.

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there is a tinge of cigarette smoke in the air. almost thick enough to taste with every labored breath through my sunflower mandated mask. it is so rare these days. to be indoors and trapped with that hint of nicotine. but large neon letters spell out a welcome place to inhale and exhale. right next to my gate.

a constant hum of chatter is interrupted with animated electric beats and jackpot dings and bings and rings. the bright colors flash and spin enticing me to sit down and zone out for a minute, or ten. i resist.

this is another world. 

even before you step outside the airport and into the seething desert summer heat, you are engulfed in the chaos. 

i go to the bathroom twice in the first thirty minutes of wandering around in search of a decent meal to take with me on my long journey across the pacific. not because i really have to pee, but because the overwhelm of the stimulation is unnerving. in the stall, i feel safe. invisible. protected.

i am tired from two weeks of traveling. staying up too late feeding my latest screen addictions. waking up too early trying to squeeze in more love sessions with my favorite people. 

but i am so energized. soaking in the feelgoods that come along with trips down memory lane. sinking into the nostalgia and letting feelings of sheer gratitude ooze out of my every pore. cherished memories of people and places that have made me this girl. this woman. a reminder that i still am this person.

i sit on the end of a row with outlets to recharge. too close to the slot machines, but prime location for people watching.

good old las vegas. 

this is just a layover, but i cannot help but get lost in the glitz. and gloom. it is hard to describe this bubble. its reputation telling its own story before i layer on my own. 

i have been here many times before. as a child, for dance competitions. as a young adult, for amusement. lately, for climbing. but today feels different. i do not remember the airport feeling so… much.

over the past year, i have traveled more than most. despite the pandemic, i found a way to feel responsible and safe. but, here, right now, i am flabbergasted. wide-eyed and staring as hoards of people dance past me in rhythm to the sea of artificial sounds. 

do they know they are part of this performance? 

they dress the part. brightly colored ensembles. escalating movement and frantic meandering. there is a scene from across the universe where a new york sidewalk crowded with pedestrians navigate the chaos to the beatles’ come together. it has always been one of my favorite pieces from that film. 

today i am jojo. slowly and consciously strolling amidst the crowds. taking it all in. watching my thoughts react. and release. and come together, right now, over me.

and then, there is an eerie silence that takes hold of the las vegas airport. all the slot machines are quiet. all the people are quiet. only a faint beeping of a cart cruising past alerting travelers to step aside. 

mmmm. the juxtaposition is unexpected, and so noticeable.

a line is forming in front of me. it is time to get ready. pre-clearance for entrance to maui. proving we are healthy. just like when i fly to australia, i stare at the faces. can i tell who is just visiting and who calls the island home? i imagine what they will do when they land. go to costco to stock up? jump in the ocean? stand in awe of the west mauis and haleakala?

i smile knowing exactly what i will be doing… embracing two of my favorite beings, grateful to be home.

the electronic bass of the nearest money making machine fires back up, and they are at it again. 

settled into unsettled.

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publishing four months after writing… i promise one day i’ll get better at posting in the present moment. but airplane internet usually keeps me from sharing my airplane writing immediately. 🙂

—–

my definition of home was pretty concrete growing up. i lived in the same house for 12 years, built by my grandpa’s hands. the big green house on old kirk road. for the majority of the time, i had the same bedroom with the one slanted wall and the weird closet door that led to a hole looking down into the utility/laundry room. i knew everyone on the block and all the places to steal a good view of the minor league baseball stadium’s friday night fireworks display. 

until about 12-years-old, i was settled. 

at which point, my parents got divorced. my childhood home became my part-time home. and i moved six times in the six years following that first move. 

six different spaces to call home. a few apartments, a townhouse, and a couple single family homes. as my mom settled into a beautiful tudor style house for several years, my dad sold our childhood home and moved to a neighboring town with his new significant other. every ounce of childhood consistency associated with a specific physical location evaporated. 

and my cycle of constant movement continued full steam ahead… 

i headed to the university of michigan and lived in a different dorm or apartment each year. four new places (in four years) to call my home away from home. 

after graduation came a new city and three new homes. i was officially an adult (or something resembling one). i planted my roots. i was in love with michigan, in love with grand rapids. finding joy in my work. joy in my hobbies. joy in my community. 

and so i left. 

because, why not?

i packed up my blue chevy cavalier and headed west to portland. four more roofs over my head in the span of two years. my work shifted, and i became fully self-employed. able to complete my work from anywhere with halfway decent internet. so settled into being unsettled that i subconsciously crafted a career that would allow me to continue my rootless journey. 

a journey that led me to my match. 

after being without an official address for a year, i met a man who seemed to be equally, if not more, transient than me. 

it was the end of his year long holiday in north america. we headed back to the middle of nowhere australia and took up a temporary residence in a house he owned. i flew back and forth from the u.s. to australia for two years. sending all my mail to my dad’s house. staying with friends and bouncing around the country with no plan of settling down in sight.

tired yet?

i was. i was almost 30 and starting to think about what it might look like if i stopped moving. what would it feel like? could we do it? would we be content?

we tried it…? in hawaii. for two years. in three different houses on oahu. and then six months on maui. and then three months on kauai. 

during all our island living, i was still regularly flying to and from portland for work. when an opportunity came up to move back to the pacific northwest and create a home on a 675 acre mountain, i thought, okay, this must be it. this must be where we are meant to plant some roots. 

we fueled our travel bug and lived in our ryan-custom-built camper van for six months and then prepared to park her and dig into our new home. our forever home?

but, even there, neighbors to rural families who had lived there for generations, we were unsettled. living out of boxes in a construction zone for a year and finally unpacking into a beautifully ryan-remodeled basement apartment just in time for the covid lockdown. 

months and months of forced stillness. we bought plants. we hung artwork. and just as the leaves began to fall in rainbows on the earth, we packed up yet again. three more months in the camper van adventuring, visiting my mom’s new home in palm springs with her significant other, and seeing the rest of the family in the chicagoland area.

and now we are back on maui. 

and now i am tired.

and now i see the pattern. the habit. the lifestyle.

if you’ve read this far, i applaud you. truly. what a wild ride…

when i opened up this blank document, i did not know what words would reveal themselves. since i’m on a flight from maui back to chicago for my sister’s 40th birthday, my brain was engulfed in the nostalgia of home and family. as i veered towards the topic of home, i did not realize the rabbit hole that was ahead of me. 

that i have been in a constant state of motion for the past 22 years.

and now i am left wondering… will we ever “settle” down?

rambling on returning, in february.

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unintentionally we complete our own cycles. always around the lunar new year it seems.

in early february… 

2016, ryan and i decided to move to hawaii and live together (not long distance) for the first time in our relationship. 

2018, we decided to elope and then move back to the mainland to live in a van.

2019, we settled in the pacific northwest to try our hand at life on a 700 acre mountain.

2020, we returned from our australian wedding celebration and entered the crazy covid lockdown phase.

and now, in early february 2021, we are returning to hawaii. (this time with a pup.)

it is crazy how every major life change has happened for us in early february. a time ripe for newness and change. we board a plane and our world shifts. our address changes. our clothing changes. heck, sometimes even our names change (or mine anyways). 

and yet, this shift feels like a return home. an escape back to the known. a place where the sun is warm, where the rain is warm, where the ocean is warm. 

ryan and i have continuously been stuck between choosing the mountains or the ocean. the forest or the beach. we feel at home in both. however, my childhood home was always the forest and his the beach. we bounce back and forth trying to find the perfect recipe of ingredients to satisfy our wanderlust. 

how do you combine two youthful nostalgias into one? how do you redefine what feels like home? 

after seven years of trying to navigate this question, i do not have an answer. but, it feels like we might be on the verge. on the verge of finding what fits for us. for our lives. for our futures.

it is always an interesting feeling to return to something. whether to a place or a job or a relationship. the notion of going back to something can feel like a cop out, like a step backward instead of forward.

it can also feel oh so good. like returning to a routine or an unfinished project or a forgotten hobby. picking up where you left off can be welcoming and comforting. a reminder that perhaps you were supposed to be here all along. perhaps you only left so that you could remember why you must return.

the eternal cycle of departing and arriving. 

so today, we departed. we said goodbye to a beautiful and magical mountain in the wet, mossy, fern-filled forests of battle ground, washington. we reluctantly bid farewell to a community of neighbors who truly are like family to us. and we boarded a plane.

and in a few hours, we will arrive. we will say aloha to the sound of waves crashing on the shore. we will inhale the sweet smell of plumeria (or frangipani if you’re aussie). we will joyfully greet the friends and family we left behind. and we will have arrived.

a new chapter to this crazy story we’re writing… 

our australian wedding (anniversary).

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a year ago today, i married my best friend for the third time on our second anniversary. 

let that sink in. 

it has become a running joke… the fact that we had three weddings, one per year for the past three years (2018, 2019, 2020). and now, as 2021 begins, the first year without a wedding, i can’t help but desire a fourth… and a fifth and sixth and so on forever. i think annual weddings should definitely be a thing.

but instead, i’ll let myself sink back into the sweet memories of february 1, 2020. our australian wedding…

what a blessing it was to have my immediate family and a few close friends fly a million hours across the ocean to experience ryan’s home and share in our wedding day. wow. i am still filled with complete and utter gratitude for the commitment and gesture to join us so far away. 

the week leading up to our australian wedding day was unforgettable to say the least. ryan was on cloud nine showing off his country, his culture, and his favorite home town spots. his childlike joy was palpable, and our foreign friends and family were eating it up. indulging his extreme enthusiasm. 

we toured up the coast to airlie beach and the whitsundays with my sister, two childhood besties, and their partners. although it was the rainy season, we still managed to find fun around every corner. and geckos. and frogs. and jellyfish. and stingrays. and magical silica white sand. because… australia.

the classically charming aussie flight attendant force fed them vegemite on the flight back down to the gold coast (ryan’s home), and the weeks of endless laughter and smiles began. 

an intense cold also began for me.

the days leading up to our wedding day were filled with mucus and endless snotty tissues for me. my head was on the verge of combustion for days. but, i put on my big girl pants and tried to be the best hostess i could be. surely i would be well by saturday; it was only wednesday…

more and more guests arrived from america and other parts of australia. we visited the venue – the pacific beach surf club, a staple of ryan’s childhood – and finalized all the details. 

it was slightly difficult to plan a wedding from 7,000 miles away, but with the help of ryan’s family and my extreme love for planning, it was nothing short of amazing. 

on friday night, ryan’s dad hosted all the usual suspects at his house for a barbecue. like the american wedding, my heart exploded to see such love and laughter fill a space. our two worlds colliding. our two families connecting. ryan’s childhood friends meeting some of mine. and through it all, i was laid out on various couches, near death.

was it this new thing on the news called covid-19? dr. don assured me no. he arrived at the party for our late night emergency call (a longtime family friend and doctor). he took me aside with his stethoscope, assured me i’d be fine, and wrote a prescription for some codeine. and just like that… i was healed!

on that miraculous night, we also gained an epic groomsmen. ryan found out last minute that one of his groomsmen was not going to be able to fly in for the wedding, but luckily, friday night shenanigans were able to produce an outstanding alternative and a hilarious tale that will definitely stand the test of time. 

the beers flowed all night, as they usual do at gordie’s house. some intense pool volleyball (or some water sport) went down in the backyard. and although i took my sick butt to bed before midnight, ryan stumbled back to the beachside apartment (that our friend’s so graciously lent us for a couple days) well after that.

but he was happy. oh so happy to be home. 

and then the day was here. technically our two year wedding anniversary. (yes, we secretly eloped at a honolulu courthouse in 2018, but that’s another story.)

when we awoke, i could breathe! it was a wedding miracle! and thank goodness because wedding days are long and full of excitement. i knew, i already had done this before…

we ran a few last minute venue errands, then i met all the women at my sister-in-law’s house. ryan met all the men at his dad’s house. and we did the things… again. 

it is rare you get to relive your wedding day. do your hair differently. do your makeup differently. wear a different dress if you want (i didn’t want). remember to take it all in because the day goes so fast. and it was such a blessing. 

the wedding dj i had hired referred me to a makeup/hair stylist who was on point. her team was amazing. we skipped the professional “getting ready” photos this time around, but my bridesmaids and mothers all looked amazing. we were ready for this beautiful beach wedding.

and i was ready for my grand entrance. driving up onto the beach in ryan’s dad’s beautiful old fb classic car. my father escorting me out of it and down the aisle. sunflowers in my hand. my husband already awaiting me at the other end. a live rendition of nick cave’s “into my arms” filling the air.

wow. we are so lucky. all of our australian friends and family surrounding us with their smiles and joy.

as i said in my post about our american wedding, this is why i had a wedding. (or three.)

there is no other time when all the people from your life will gather in one room (except your funeral). no other time that you can look out over the crowd and share a special bond with every set of eyes you meet. no other time when every one you love is loving you right back at the exact same moment.

and again as i said in my other wedding post…

as we approached the altar, i melted into overwhelming gratitude. my big brother ready to marry me to the love of my life. my mother and father to give me away. my sister, best friends, and sister-in-laws standing by my side. both of our families lining the front rows with pure happiness. what a blessing.

although we followed a similar ceremony, nothing felt like a repeat. this day was its own day. this wedding was its own wedding. reading and hearing our vows for a second time only deepened their meaning, only strengthen our commitment. i was choosing this man, for the third time, and he was choosing me. 

swoon.

now onto the photos! a complete juxtaposition to our american woodsy wedding. we strolled the beach barefoot and kicked up sand. we ran from the waves and felt the wind in our hair. 

meanwhile, our guests moseyed on upstairs to our surf club reception. as the dj announced the wedding party, i was excited for the fun to continue!

although the venue does not allow live bands (and neither did our second wedding budget), i found a way to make do on the dance floor. i’m not quite sure if i actually left the dance floor at all that night. and as my champagne glass was emptied and refilled and emptied and refilled, i tried harder and harder to force people to join me in my dancing endeavors. once a dancer, always a dancer…

contrary to typical australian weddings which tend to be casual when it comes to traditions, i insisted we stay traditionally. we joyfully repeated the father/daughter and mother/son dances. we listened intently to our family’s toasts and speeches. and i would do it again if i had the chance.

ryan’s dad had used his social “mayor” of gold coast connections to secure us a fabulous chef to provide an assortment of seafood, skewers, and other delicious samplings to keep our bellies full. ryan’s childhood climbing friend happens to be a stellar baker and thankfully agreed to offer us her impeccable desserts. 

by the end of the night, i was reliving those same emotion i had felt in september…

it is so hard to do it all in one night. there were so many people that i barely got to hug. so many friends that i wanted to talk to more. so many family members that i wanted to laugh with more. so many dances left to be had. so many drinks left to be drank. (well, maybe not that last one. our final bar tab was pretty impressive.)

and now, a year later, this post lets me (and all of us) relive it. every moment of sheer joy. every lyric of our impromptu american dance floor singing showcase of “home among the gumtrees.” every scavenger hunt item requested by our crazy dj. every moment of core-crippling laughter.

oh what a night. the perfect addition to our love story.

over seven years of togetherness, and now, today, three years of marriage. 

i’ll let you know when to save the date for our fourth wedding! 🙂

(all professional images by wallflower weddings)