Some Pregnancy "Final Thoughts"

I have reached the “finish line”, so to speak, in my third pregnancy. When you think about it, 36 weeks technically equals 9 months anyway. I have enjoyed my pregnancies, for the most part. Each one has had its bumps in the road, but I’ve never hated being pregnant like some people I know. Usually they have good reason to despise the condition: morning sickness, bad acne, large weight gain, bed rest. I have been fortunate enough not to experience those side effects. So while you could say I’m a seasoned pro when it comes to pregnancy, I am no expert, and I realize that everyone’s experiences are different.

During three pregnancies, people have dispensed advice and opinions at their leisure, telling you what to expect (while you’re expecting). I’ll admit, I like talking to people about being pregnant, and it is something that truly resonates with women in conversation as we each have our own experiences to share. While it is deeply personal, I have been in a room full of moms, and there are no holds barred when it comes to sharing those birthing stories! Talking to strangers about pregnancy can be interesting too, and while gory details are spared, I’ve had some nice conversations with some customers in the pharmacy I work at, comparing pregnancy notes and chatting about our little ones.

I find that most people are pretty joyous when it comes to discussing the prospect of a new baby on the horizon. I have been surprised with this pregnancy that I did not gain weight right away and my belly is just kind of like a basketball. I would’ve thought with the third I’d be as big as a house. This time, nearly on a daily basis, I am told how cute, great, gorgeous I look. That is not to boast, because obviously I don’t often feel that way, especially when I think my stomach can’t stretch any further. But it is so nice to hear considering that when I was carrying Kelsey and a customer actually said, “Hi chubby!” I gave her a Look and laughed it off with an obvious sarcastic growl undertone. I don’t even know how she would’ve thought that would’ve been remotely funny to say, and I still don’t care for that customer to this day! (No words have been spoken of my body size this pregnancy.)

I find that the older population thinks it’s pretty neat that we don’t know the gender of our child. “How wonderful!” “What a nice surprise!” It’s often my friends who comment, “How can you not find out? That would drive me crazy! I have to be able to plan!” Quite frankly, I think anybody who is pregnant more than once should NOT find out at least one time. I’ve had the experience of knowing that Averey was a girl, and I was thankful to have that knowledge, even though it’s not how I would’ve chosen originally. But with Kelsey and this one as a surprise, well, it’s pretty amazing. How often in life do we have good surprises? How often in life do we just sit back and NOT have everything planned? We have enough gender neutral onesies, and if we have to paint the bedroom again, it won’t be that difficult a task since the baby will be in our room with us for a couple weeks anyway. Jake and I have both come to the realization that either gender will be a wonderful addition to our family. Considering the miracle of conception to birth, I can rest in the fact that not knowing the gender will give me good reason to push even harder! Besides, when the child arrives, that is when you meet him or her for the very first time. Sure, you see the ultrasound photos and the movements rocking your belly in the weirdest motions and you’ve had time getting acquainted, but the delivery is the moment of truth. Does it really matter that you knew their gender four months ahead of time?

There are some things I won’t miss about being pregnant. Discomfort in sleep, pressure on the bladder, sciatic pain, a desperate need for an overload of fiber… and annoying comments. This goes beyond “Hi chubby!” This is the your-pregnancy-is-exactly-like-mine-and-I-know-exactly-what-I’m-talking-about type remarks. Honestly, I think most people mean well, but I think it’s the pregnancy myths that people believe that clearly must be true… and make no sense whatsoever.

Case in point, a conversation I had yesterday with a customer.

Customer: Are you having a boy?

Me: I don’t know!

Customer: You’re carrying out front like you’re having a boy!

Me: I actually carried the same way with both of my girls, so who knows?

Me (what I really wanted to say): And how am I supposed to carry a girl? Off to my side? In my rear?

This drives me BONKERS! I apologize if there are any of you that are convinced gender determines how you carry, but personally, I think it’s a bunch of hogwash. During my pregnancy with Averey, I was working in a hospital. While waiting for an elevator, another employee says, “Oh, you’re having a boy because I carried just like that with mine.” Having the knowledge of my ultrasound actually came in handy so I could curtly say, “Actually, I’m having a girl.” Come to think of it, anytime someone makes a remark on how I’ve carried in ALL of my pregnancies, they always determine that I’m having a boy! This time, they could be right, but the track record isn’t so great thus far. And how, may I ask, does a baby’s genitalia establish the positioning in one’s uterus anyway? I have never once looked at a pregnant woman and felt compelled to say the baby’s gender based on the position of her bulge.

Then there’s the heartburn/baby hair myth. I had heartburn and some disgusting reflux with Averey, and while she had some hair at birth, it was hardly enough to comb after a bath. Kelsey came out with a decent crop of spiky blond hair, but not once did I have heartburn with her. It also could be due to the fact that I chomped down Tums every night before bed, but still. This one has given me some heartburn, but we’ll see about the hair. I’m just not sure how hair (encased inside amniotic fluid nonetheless) could actually cause the heartburn. Yet I’ve heard fervent discussions over this matter as if it has some merit.

Then there’s the gender determining tests: the string test, the Chinese birth calendar, peeing in a toilet full of Drano… you’ve heard them all. While they can be fun (or funny), I’ve found only one test determines the gender: birth!

As I head into my final four weeks (or less) of pregnancy, I anticipate the compliments and brace myself for more doozies as I will continue to carry this baby out front (because I’m not sure where else to put it), and people learn that this is my third pregnancy (Wow, your hands will be full!). While we’re entering uncharted territory, I am eagerly awaiting to meet this karate-chopping baby who thinks my bladder is a trampoline. And hopefully someday, I won’t be dispensing unwanted opinions on others’ pregnancies, but sharing in the joy and miracle that bringing a child into this world really is.  

It's So Hard to Say Good-bye to Yesterday

It was 15 years ago today that I entered the Montoursville High School gymnasium in my royal blue cap and gown, ready to move on to the next phase of my life. After my senior year, I was a mix of emotions, and graduating symbolized a lot more than just getting a diploma.

I remember being so excited about being a senior after watching the previous classes leave. It seemed that being part of the senior class would be fun and full of activity. Each class had their Class Day: all the seniors wore white, performed in skits poking fun at their time at MHS, showcased a slide show and then sung their class song. While it could bring tears and the reminder that the graduating class was really leaving Montoursville, I still looked forward to the event. When the class of ’96 graduated, it was our time to shine.

And then Flight 800 happened.

Summer trips to Mexico for the Spanish Club were routine, but the French Club hadn’t travelled to France during our time at the high school. On July 17, 1996, 16 students and their 5 adult chaperones left for Paris aboard TWA Flight 800 from JFK Airport. A few of my friends were part of this trip, and to say they were excited was an understatement. But the plane crashed minutes after takeoff, killing all 230 passengers. Some say this is how the “real world” came to Montoursville: a rude awakening for a town of 5,000. We lost six members of our class, and words can’t even explain the profound loss of so many youth. As one of my closest friends, Monica Weaver, perished in that horrific incident, I was extremely saddened that someone I had grown very close to over our junior year would not be around for the fun senior year we were anticipating. My cousin (and one of my best friends) graduated in June and would head off to college in the fall, and while a couple of my other best friends and my boyfriend were still in school, they were in classes below me. Monica was that one friend I was going to spend so much time with, and she was gone. This inevitably changed the course of my senior year.

The first day of school was unlike any other, and while the events of the summer were still fresh in everyone’s mind, it seemed to me that people were moving on. I ended up taking a step back as this was the day that Monica’s body was identified—the last of the Montoursville group. As we got further into the year, I felt as if people were forgetting. A foolish assessment, but I was sad a lot more than I let on, and I just didn’t feel that anyone felt the same. My friend Erin (a junior) and I grew close over the year because we had both lost very close friends, and she originally was supposed to go on that fateful trip. That friendship was positive for the both of us, and while we are in different phases of our lives and live far apart, we can pick up the phone after a couple months and ease into conversation to this day. I think the bond developed out of the loss of friends truly cemented our friendship.

In Psychology class, we had to complete a project, and a lot of people sent surveys around the school to collect data on a certain subject. I chose to do my report on Flight 800 and how the student population was affected by the tragedy. I saw that the effect on a lot of people, whether they were friends with someone or not, was greater than I expected. However, my report went missing from the blackboard in the Psych room. I have no clue what happened to it, and I was disappointed not to have that piece. But being the pack rat I was (am), I saved the surveys with all of my other Flight 800 memorabilia.

My senior year still had some bright spots, and I tried to make the most of it by spending time with friends, my boyfriend, participating in “Guys and Dolls”, and enjoying the school dances and prom. I do believe people seemed a bit friendlier that year, and that was a positive result of such a terrible tragedy.

I would have to say that the happiest and saddest day was Class Day. It was a little strange to see all the members of my class dressed in white, but as we waited outside the auditorium that beautiful June day, a rainbow formed around the sun. Was it a sign? We liked to think it was. We all carried white roses tied with blue and gold ribbon, and as we entered the auditorium to Rusted Root’s “Send Me on My Way”, each of us made our way to the stage to drop off our roses in memoriam of our classmates lost. This was mentioned at the introduction of Class Day, and after a brief moment of silence, the show was underway. With two hilarious sketches, “wills” from the seniors to other classmates or people in other classes, people named “most likely to…” or “class (ditz, yuppie, mooch, fill in the blank)”, we got to the good part: the slide show. Set to music, a majority of kids in my class had a specific snippet of a song played for them, describing their personality, or name. (For instance, some Jeremys in my class had “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam. Obviously.) Some were flattering, others not so much. Mine was “Supermodel” by Jill Sobule… and to this day I’m still not sure why, since it should’ve been the “Hokey Pokey”, referencing my maiden name Polk.

After lots of photos of our class, the screen flashed blue with the words “In Memory of Flight 800.” The auditorium grew silent. A photo montage of the six members of our class, Jessica Aikey, Jordan Bower, Amanda Karschner, Kim Rogers, Monica Weaver and Wendy Wolfson, was set to “One Sweet Day” by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men. To see their baby and childhood pictures on the screen immediately set me off in tears. Near the end, I was surprised to see myself in a photo with Jess and Kim from about 8^th grade, and then when a photo of Monica and I flashed on the screen from the last day of our junior year, I could hardly take it. After the slide show ended, you could have heard a pin drop (if it weren’t for those of us crying) until loud, clear applause broke through the silence.

Then it was time to take the stage to sing our class song, “These Are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs (which I hated before that… but now hold dear for sentimental reasons). I was a wreck but pulled myself together to enjoy the moment. The juniors sang us the Beatles’ version of “With a Little Help From My Friends” (and adding on “Hit the Road Jack” at the end—we poked some fun at their class that day as we thought they were a little more favored by the faculty).

I heard some people from my class were going to take the roses up to the cemetery where our classmates were laid to rest. I knew I couldn’t go up there as I rarely visited the cemetery that year. But as I drove out of the high school parking lot and saw my classmates up on the hill, I turned up the road towards them. Arriving up there, seeing my classmates arm in arm, each group of friends by the headstone of their dearest friend, crying… I realized I was not alone in my grief nearly 11 months after the incident. I sat in front of Monica’s grave, sobbing, while a couple of my friends consoled me. We started talking about Flight 800, our friends lost, our senior year, saying good-bye, and before we knew it, there were only five of us left up on that hill. One of my friends commented that he never realized how hard it would be to say good-bye.

Two days later would be our final farewell to MHS at graduation. We were stuck indoors as we were told the football field had just been re-sodded (or whatever you do to keep football fields nice), but we were all pretty much convinced that the administration did not want us outside due to a media frenzy over our class being the first to graduate after Flight 800. We didn’t think it was going to be a big deal for the media. But wouldn’t you know it? When we pulled in to the parking lot, there were cameras lined up the street. I heard one classmate went as far to unplug some of them.

It was a fitting ceremony; the top three guys in our class spoke about our time at MHS, Flight 800 was not forgotten, but yet the living were much celebrated. Soon we were lined up to receive our diplomas. When my name was called, I learned I was also receiving the Monica M. Weaver Memorial Award. It seemed surreal to be receiving an award in honor of the friend who I expected would be receiving her diploma with me, so it was a bittersweet moment. After our row got their diplomas, I looked inside the shell and nearly panicked when I did not see my diploma. My friend next to me whispered that we would get them after we turned in our caps and gowns, remember? Must not have been paying attention to that one. Alas I had to have one more stupid moment before I left school.

The six in our class that died on Flight 800 received their diplomas posthumously. I could not imagine being in our class president’s shoes as she had to read those six names, each responded to with thunderous applause.

Thirteen years from the time (most of us) started Kindergarten in 1984, and it was over just like that. And now 15 years have flown by! I find it hard to swallow that so much time has passed, and yet sometimes, I don’t feel any different than I did back then. I would like to think I’m a little bit cooler than I was, but in reality, probably not. While I had no serious career ambitions (and that is how one ends up a pharmacy technician!), I knew more than anything I wanted to get married and be a mom. Well, I certainly filled in that blank, just not in a way I ever expected.

Some people look back on their high school days with pain, some look back in laughter, some look back in regret, and some look back to reminisce. I can say that I do all of those. My senior year truly encompassed all of those emotions. In some aspects, I was glad to leave, but for awhile, I did have a hard time letting go. I figured someday I would settle back in Montoursville, but it was not meant to be. I view that as a good thing for me—I needed to get away and move on. While the path I traveled was a bit crooked and unconventional, I am grateful to be living in State College now. Far enough away, but close enough that we can still enjoy a visit (and that my parents can come and see their grandchildren). I am thankful for the life I had in Montoursville, but even more so that my narrow teenage eyes have been able to see greater things than I imagined possible as I left Montoursville High School for the last time.

Reflecting on Those High School Years...

Jake and I mark a small milestone this year: we’ve been out of high school for 15 years. Seriously? I can remember when my mom was out of high school for 15 years. It was 1988, and she got a booklet in the mail that listed all of her classmates and what they’d been up to since 1973. I was fascinated by this and would delve into her yearbook and match up the people with their pictures. I had nine years before I would graduate high school, and it seemed so far away. Over the years, I would look at my mom’s yearbooks again and have a good chuckle at her pictures, and the clothing and hairstyles. She warned me that I too would laugh at my yearbooks someday. Fifteen years later, I still don’t think I look quite as ridiculous as my mom, even if I was totally rocking the Jennifer Aniston ‘do in my senior pictures...

I look back on high school with some fond memories. Jake, on the other hand, was glad to leave. I graduated in a class of 170 people; Jake graduated with over 400. I didn’t know every single person in my class, but I at least knew their names. I don’t even know how you could begin to find your place in a class that large. Other than the fact that Jake was tall (people mistake him for being a football player all the time) and teachers knew his brother (which occasionally was a strike against him), he skated through State College High School under the radar (which is something he didn’t seem to mind). When we talk about our high school days, the only regret he seems to have is that he didn’t work to his full potential. Maybe.

I can’t say I have numerous regrets about high school. When I take the time to read old journal entries, I sometimes cringe at things I said or did and can’t believe how stupid I could be. But I guess that’s all part of growing up and maturing. Other than the choice of some of my classes during my senior year (I so wish I would’ve taken more art classes than the unnecessary Advanced Chem and Pre-Cal, which just made me feel dumb), knowing I could have done better in some classes, and perhaps more involved in activities, I’m pretty satisfied with my high school career. And really, 15 years later, how much of it even matters anymore?

I had a good group of friends over the years, and I wasn’t much for teenage rebellion since I didn’t want any privileges taken away. I was (and still am) a horrible liar. I never could’ve pulled off lying to my parents… oh, I’m sure there’s a couple things I got away with, but I didn’t sneak out, the parties I attended were sans alcohol, and I paid enough attention in health class that I feared ever trying any illegal substance. (And still do to this day.) I focused my dramatics on boys. I was never quite happy with my appearance since I wore glasses through 8^th grade (and glasses from the late '80s and early '90s were anything but cool), and even contact lenses didn’t make me feel any less of an ugly duckling. I was never without makeup, and even when my friends were kind enough to tell me my lipstick was waaaay too bright, I perceived that as an insult to my appearance. It didn’t help that my complexion was anything but clear and had the tetracycline/Retin-A combo to treat my acne. Thankfully, I didn’t have the super-visible-not-able-to-cover-up-with-makeup-acne, but a lot of it was my own fault since I liked (and still have this terrible habit) to pick. The bright side to my (still) oily face is that my mom constantly reminds me that I won’t have wrinkles when I get older since I was lucky (?) enough to inherit her oily genes. Not what you want to hear at 16 though. Nor did I enjoy hearing friends say, “Oh my gosh, I have A zit!” I’m like, “Okay, let me show you all of mine. I can play connect-the-dots!”

Being a high-schooler in the mid-‘90s was pretty carefree. Not that I can speak for everyone. I was fortunate enough to have a decent home life, and in spite of getting doses of real life through seventeen magazine (no cable at my house), I lived in my own little world. I didn’t give much thought about college, and after a sampling of dorm life at Penn State during 4-H State Days, I was a little uneasy about attending college. I knew it was what I was supposed to do after high school, but I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. (Oh wait, I still don’t!)

I am very nostalgic about the ‘90s. The movies I watched repeatedly (Clueless, Dumb & Dumber), the music I overplayed (Live, Alanis Morissette), the TV shows I obsessed over (Friends, hence the haircut)… I’m sure my kids will make fun of me someday for all of that stuff, and not to mention some of my clothes (I’m making fun of me too for some of those outfit choices—yikers!), but those things will always remind me of my teenage life, which in all honesty, was pretty darn easy compared to some of the stuff I’ve dealt with as an adult.

But were they the best years of my life? As I'm a working mom and a wife and just trying to keep up with housework, bills and remembering all the things that need to get done for the day... not even close. I am blessed to be at this point, something that was so difficult to imagine 15 years ago.

Kelsey's Birth Day

It is hard for me to believe that Kelsey arrived into this world three years ago today. She did arrive two weeks early, so we were a bit surprised, but when I think about her birth day, it really is proof to me that God cares about the little details.

Prior to our April 2008 nuptials, my baby fever was at an all-time low. And understandably so, being a (legally) single mother and all. Shortly after Jake and I got married, it started to kick in. But I said I didn’t want another child until Averey was potty-trained. Lo and behold, she was potty-trained within a weekend in mid-June. Baby fever was in high gear. Jake was content to wait awhile before we thought about having another child, but somehow my powers of persuasion (and the fact that I wanted one more child before I would turn 30 on May 28, 2009) influenced his decision to say that I didn’t have to fill my birth control prescription anymore that August. His adoption of Averey would be finalized at the end of that month, so perhaps in knowing that she would be his (legal) child was an influence likewise. Plus, it could take awhile before I got pregnant. In my mind, I figured since it didn’t take longer than 6 months to get pregnant with Averey when I was married to someone who didn’t really care about me, it would figure that it would take a long time (or not happen at all) for me to get pregnant to my nice husband.

One night in September, I went to Target with Averey to pick up a few things. Among those items was a pregnancy test… just in case. I would need it eventually, right? After I arrived home, I asked Jake if he could get Averey in her pajamas, saying I urgently needed to go to the bathroom. I doubted he would think twice about questioning that excuse. I unwrapped a pregnancy test, whispering to myself how ridiculous it was for me to be doing this as I hadn’t even missed my period. I placed it on the counter and removed my contact lenses. When I put my glasses on and picked up the test, my heart skipped a beat when there were two definite pink lines. By this point, Jake seemed a little concerned over my time in the bathroom and knocked on the door.

“What’s going on?”

“Guess what?” I asked him as he entered.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out, flashing the evidence in front of face. (I imagined his response: he would get an excited look upon his face and wrap me in a hug.)

His real response? “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking a test?”

Okay, so much for my little dream response. Poof!

As the night wore on and we talked in bed, I knew he was happy, but I think both of us were in shock. I honestly had no intuition that I was even pregnant. I knew it was a possibility, and I figured that if I took a test this month and it was negative, I’d still have two more for later. But to a woman that could possibly be pregnant, having a pregnancy test in the house and not taking it is like chocolate in the house and not eating it.

Well, at least that’s how it was for me.

The next day I was on the phone to the OB-GYN’s office. Since I didn’t really have any recommendations from anyone, nor were Jake and I revealing our news for awhile, I called one of the bigger groups in town. It just so happened that during the summer, I saw an ad welcoming an OB-GYN back to the area; it just so happened this was the exact same doctor that delivered Averey in Harrisburg. I joked to Jake that if we got pregnant, we could have the same doctor deliver the next child. What I didn’t realize is that I would have to see all the doctors in the practice, so the chance of her delivering my second child seemed unlikely.

At eight weeks of pregnancy, we had our first check-up, first ultrasound, and then we could start spreading the news. My pregnancy went pretty well, much like my first one. I was even going to be a bridesmaid in one of my best friend’s weddings nearly two weeks before my due date. When Erin first asked me, I wasn’t pregnant. When I told her the news and my due date, she seemed a little unsure that I would be able to perform my bridesmaid duties in that state (her mom is an OB nurse, so I’m sure she was well aware that I might not make it through the wedding, let alone to the wedding) and let me know that if I didn’t feel I could do it that I could still be a part of the wedding in another way. I told her I’d wait and see what happened at the 20-week ultrasound, and we’d go from there.

Twenty weeks approached quickly, and Baby G (as we referred to our unborn child) appeared to be healthy. We also decided not to find out the gender, much to everyone’s dismay. While I had known that Averey was a girl (and am glad I knew her gender due to the situation I was in), I had always imagined giving birth and the doctor announcing, “It’s a…!” Jake was happy not to know also, as we both agreed there are few good surprises in life, and we could wait until Baby G was born to know. So I told Erin I still wanted to be a bridesmaid. After all, she was in (both of) my wedding(s)!

Aside from sciatic pain, a bout of bronchitis, failing my 28-week glucose test, and having people tell me just how huge I was (“You look like you’re about to pop!” “Oh really? I still have 20 weeks to go, thankyouverymuch!”), I still enjoyed being pregnant as much as I did with Averey. When I had to do the 3-hour glucose test, I passed with flying colors, and eventually my weeks started to coincide with how big I was actually supposed to be.

On May 23, 2009, I was perhaps the most pregnant bridesmaid EVER. While my feet were starting to swell, I was thrilled to be a part of Erin’s special day. I didn’t let being hugely pregnant get in the way of having a great time at her reception, which meant I danced. A lot. I told people I was going to dance this baby out since at my 37 week check-up I was not dilated one little bit.

We arrived home on Sunday afternoon, and since the following day was Memorial Day, we had plans to get lots done around the house. We went out to eat, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. Afterwards, we headed to Target. I opened my big mouth to Jake and said, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we had the baby on Memorial Day because I was born on Memorial Day, but we wouldn’t have the same birthday?” He didn’t seem to think it was the coolest idea. I also called my parents—on their cell phones, on their home phone, and no one picked up. When they called back a little while later, I said, “This is only a test, but if this had been the actual delivery of Baby G, you would have missed it.”

We went to bed that night around 11, super tired and geared up for the next day. At about 2:45 Monday morning, a little leak woke me up. I just figured it was typical pregnancy yuck (and many of you will know exactly what I’m talking about), so I went to the bathroom, added some feminine protection, and went back to bed. A few minutes later, I had a contraction. I whispered, “Ow ow,” and went back to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet, leaking, but not actually peeing. Jake came in and asked if everything was okay. I said, “I think my water broke, but I’ll get back to you on that.” I was afraid to get off the toilet, so I had him hand me a pad and with much trepidation, went back to our room. We called the doctor, and since I had tested positive for group B strep, I was to come in and get started on antibiotics if my membranes had ruptured. Jake tried calling his parents, who were at their campground about 30 minutes away. They didn’t answer right away, but thankfully, they soon picked up and were headed to our house.

We arrived at the hospital a little before 4 a.m. I was fine heading up to the 4^th floor on my feet, but some crazed orderly practically shoved me in a wheelchair. I ended up in the LDR room with the big tub that we had seen on our tour of the hospital. I got all set up in the room while Jake called my parents, informing them that it was NOT a test, and Baby G was on the way. I don’t remember how far dilated I was, but the doctor that saw me was the ONLY doctor in the practice I hadn’t seen. However, she informed me that Dr. Patel would be in during the next couple of hours. Dr. Patel was the one who delivered Averey—and she really would be delivering my second child! Unreal!

After bit, I was told I could walk the halls. I was a little grossed out by the idea since I was leaking fluid, but they gave me plenty of goodies to ensure I wouldn’t leak on the floor. We did so many laps that morning, but it did not progress my labor enough, so they turned on the Pitocin, much to my dismay. At first, the contractions didn’t feel that much worse, but as they kicked it up a notch, and another notch, and another notch, I was squeezing Jake’s hand pretty darn hard. With the breathing and squeezing, I figured I could make it without the epidural. But when I was in enough pain to not want Averey to see me that way (and not want our parents in the room anymore), I decided I needed that epidural.

Around 12:30 (and nearly 10 hours into labor), I finally felt some relief. It was short-lived though, as my blood pressure plummeted just like it did when I had the epidural with Averey. The baby’s heart rate dropped, just like Averey’s did. With Averey, they were able to stabilize everything with ephedrine and oxygen. Unfortunately, this time, nothing worked. I felt extremely exhausted and fearful to close my eyes. They even said that my diastolic pressure was down to 33. Yikes! The only solution was to turn off the epidural. What a waste.

By 2 p.m., I felt the urge to push. Jake preferred I waited until the Dr. Patel came in the room. And then it was lights and action (no cameras involved)! Unlike my previous birth experience, I could feel EVERYTHING this time. I just hoped that our families could not hear me down the hall in the waiting room! Fortunately, the pain was great motivation to push, and the baby was out in less than 10 minutes (or maybe less than that—I wasn’t watching the clock). Dr. Patel told Jake to call it, and he looked at me with a small smile and said, “It’s a girl.” The baby whose gender that we hadn’t known, and the name we had kept secret (Kelsey Kaylen) was wailing in front of us. It was just how I imagined giving birth, with my dear husband next to me. Although he’ll never admit it, I know there was some emotion in his voice and eyes.

Jake went to announce Kelsey’s birth to our families and brought Averey back to the room to meet her sister. Her sister! Jake and I both have brothers, so this was all new for us. I couldn’t believe I was the mom of two sweet girls. I thought for sure that Averey would be the bossy big sister of a little brother, just like I was. Jake was pretty convinced all along that we were having a girl. So much for my motherly instinct!

So Kelsey’s entrance in the world ended up being a pretty awesome day for her to be born. We named her Kelsey (because we liked it), and her middle name Kaylen is a combination of Jake’s mom’s middle name KAYe, and my mom’s middle name HeLEN . She was born exactly two weeks prior to her June 8^th due date, which meant I had another child before I turned 30. She was born on Memorial Day, just like I was. She was born on Jake’s late grandfather’s birthday, and we live in the house that he built. She was also born on the same day that my great-grandmother passed away at age 99 in 2007. I also found out I was pregnant with Averey on May 25, 2005. Then the fact that Dr. Patel delivered Kelsey here in State College, while she had delivered Averey in Harrisburg. What were the chances?

Kelsey was truly meant for May 25, 2009. She surprised us for sure, but God’s plan for her to arrive into the world on a day that ended up having so much meaning in both of our families proved to us that it was more than just coincidence. 

Our Love Story: It All Comes Together

I thought at one point in my life I had a plan. I never gave too much thought to my career, hence the school I went to, the worthless degree, and the fact that I ended up as a pharmacy technician. I really just wanted to be married with children. Being a single mom at 27 and starting out in a new relationship (with someone from my past nonetheless) was the last plan I ever imagined for myself. I must say though, it truly was an incredible plan (on God’s behalf).

After our first date as adults, Jake and I soon starting seeing each other on a weekend basis. He travelled to Harrisburg a lot to see Averey and me at first, but within a couple months, Averey and I made the trip up to State College. I met his parents when we dated back in ’98, but I was a bit nervous to meet them again with a baby in tow. While I didn’t give much thought to what people thought of me being a single mom (since most everyone knew that it was not by choice) but I was still ever so slightly concerned about what they would think of me. They were kind enough to offer to watch Averey so Jake and I could go out to dinner, so I pretty much knew I had nothing to worry about.

Jake and I knew that we wanted to be together, and this time, the distance did not matter (and it helped that Averey was so portable!). He asked me to go on a cruise with him and a group of friends the following May, so hearing that in October pretty much sealed the deal that we were a couple! I couldn’t believe that we were together, and that those feelings we had as teenagers was really what Jake once described as a “connection” between the two of us. A couple months into 2007, we had the big discussion: what about Averey? Jake was fortunate enough to be in our lives and have no worries about my ex resurfacing. There was definitely a connection between Jake and Averey; in fact, she took her first steps towards him! I wasn’t sure what to expect, but he surprised me by saying that when we would get married, he would want to adopt Averey. I never even had to ask, and I thank God for that!

It didn’t take long for us to realize that one of us would have to relocate for the relationship to thrive. It didn’t take long for me to realize that it would be me. Jake grew up in State College, he’d been working at Penn State since he was 18, and his family was there. While I adored Harrisburg, my friends, and my job, there weren’t any deep roots to keep me there, nor were there any for Jake to plant. I just had no idea how I was going to find a pharmacy technician job in State College and make as much as I did in Harrisburg so that I could still take care of Averey and myself. I had been blessed with that aspect of being a single mom: I never felt that I struggled financially. Looking back, it’s quite amazing that I didn’t, but God provided. And where would I live? Would I find great in-home baby-sitters for Averey like I had in Harrisburg?

These were all questions no one could answer for me; there was just a lot of prayer involved. Before I knew it, Jake’s friends told him there was a help wanted sign at a pharmacy within a Geisinger clinic. I called the number, and they actually wanted help in the store across town. The technician position involved mixing chemo, and one of my favorite aspects of being a hospital tech was mixing IVs. Before we left for our cruise in May, I had a brief interview at the site. Within a month, the job was offered to me, and amazingly, I only had to take a 50 cent pay cut! That was the one thing I needed before I could move to State College, and I got it. A place to live fell into… well, place. Jake’s friends had a basement apartment available to rent after July. It was a lot smaller than my Harrisburg apartment, but quieter. Trying to find a cheap place to rent in State College was proving to be difficult, and so this was the best option available to us. I also found a baby-sitter for Averey.

One year from our first (second) date, in August 2007, Averey and I moved to State College. It was bittersweet, but it was a new start, and I was excited. Little did I know that when Jake and my dad took the moving truck back, Jake was asking my dad for my hand in marriage.

In October, Averey was going to fly to S. Carolina with my mom to visit my aunt. Jake and I decided to take a little road trip. I chose Niagara Falls as our destination. We spent the day walking around, enjoying the sights and each other’s company. Now this is where Jake’s version of the story and mine differ. My version is that Jake seemed to be in a slightly blah mood as the day wore on because he had a headache. His version is that I seemed like I was in a poopy mood because I was expecting a proposal, which I was NOT. Okay, so maybe a small part of me thought that could happen, but I wasn’t getting my hopes up. Either way, by the time evening rolled around, we were both tired. We headed back to the hotel. I plopped myself on the bed while he went to the bathroom. He soon plopped himself by me, told me to close my eyes, and upon opening them, saw THE RING, and he popped the question. When we say that we got engaged at Niagara Falls, people tend to think BY the falls. Not quite, but still memorable. I admired my ring the entire drive home.

Planning our wedding was a lot of fun, and we did it in 6 months! We joked that we should get married at Camp Brule, but it would be quite a hike for all of our guests. When we visited the Lodge at Tussey Mountain (coincidentally, where we had our very first State College date), we liked the rustic appeal and being able to have the ceremony (outside) and reception all in one place. It was close enough to getting married at 4-H Camp!

On April 26, 2008, nearly 14 years after we first met, we tied the knot. It was a beautiful day in spite of the forecast calling for 80% chance of rain. The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and blowing so much that we couldn’t get our unity candle lit. Averey was 2 years old. She was our adorable little flower girl, and my escort down the aisle. I met my dad at his seat, and he gave me away to Jake. Our ceremony was simple, and the kiss… well, that was a good one!

Jake does not enjoy being photographed (even I think he’s quite photogenic), but he was a good sport for the day. We had fun getting shots in the spring sunshine, until a huge thunderhead loomed over Beaver Stadium. Fortunately by then, we were pretty much done. We headed inside to have dinner, and then the storm unleashed its fury. We ended up with the warmest day that April (81 degrees) and the rainiest (1+ inches). The food was fantastic, and our reception was enjoyable. Jake is not much of a dancer either, but I got him on the floor for a couple minutes of fast dancing. The only dance that really mattered was our first dance. We had a couple songs in mind, but we ended up choosing “When You Say Nothing at All” by Alison Krauss. It was popular during the summer of 1995 when we liked each other, and I had confessed to my journal that was one of the songs that made me think of him. We also had our little inside joke displayed among our cupcakes. We discovered back then that Gummo and Polk could be Gumby and Pokey, so our cake "toppers" (so to speak) were Gumby and Pokey figurines. 

Our reception flew by, and then, well… the wedding night. We stayed in a hotel while my family stayed in our new house. We opened our gifts and cards Sunday afternoon, and headed to our honeymoon in the Bahamas on Monday morning. It was our moment of relaxation from the whirlwind that had taken place, and would continue to take place in 2008. We bought our house at the end of March, got married in April, Jake officially adopted Averey in August, and I got pregnant in September. Phew!

So here we are, 4 years later. We’ve had our ups and downs (which really goes without saying), and while I love looking back on our wedding day, I love how far we’ve come from that day even more. We may have had an unconventional beginning, a gap of non-communication, and started our marriage with a child, but it just makes me appreciate everything we have so much more. I am grateful to God that He blessed us with a second chance, and that His plan is bigger than any plan I’ve ever thought out for my life. Yes, I get to be a mom and wife, but getting to this point the way I did was never what I would’ve chosen for my life. But going through all the hardships I went through to get to Jake and the life we have now was more than worth it.

Our Love Story: You Don't Know What You've Got 'til It's Gone

There were a couple times in my life when I was certain that I found “The One.” It seemed to be based on how fast the relationship moved (in an emotional way), how the guy treated me (buying me gifts), and how well we got along with each other’s parents. Jake and I didn’t quite have the connection in that sense, but according to a journal entry I came across from June of 1998, I listed the pros and cons about us being together. One of the pros was, “He seems like the kind of guy I would want to marry.”

Our letter writing from the fall of ’97 through the spring of ’98 slowed a bit, and I was interested in a couple different guys during that time. As June arrived, I was ready to take a trip up to Camp Brule and visit Jake. We hung out and talked for a couple hours, and those feelings resurfaced. Within a month, we were seeing each other nearly every weekend. And after 3 years, we had our first kiss underneath the stars. Ah, a sweet moment. I made my first trip to State College, and our first date here was dinner at Pizza Hut and go-kart riding at Tussey Mountain. With nothing else in the way, our schedules coinciding, and our own vehicles, we decided to make it “official”. All went well for a bit, and then I thought perhaps the grass might be greener on the other side…

One of my BFFs entered her first semester at Lycoming College back home, and she met a new friend down the hall, who was also local. He saw my picture, thought I was attractive, and who doesn’t like a little ego boost? Upon meeting him and chatting, I felt that perhaps Jake was just too shy, the distance was too far, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to settle down at 19. My relationship with Jake wasn’t following the “pattern” that I had experienced before in my serious high school relationship, so surely there was something missing!

Telling Jake that I thought we were better off as friends was not an easy thing to do, but when he didn’t react how I expected (broken, begging, upset), then I figured perhaps he didn’t care for me as much as I had hoped. As I would learn years later, I had my mind made up—what could he possibly have said that would’ve changed it?

The next relationship I entered into fizzled out pretty quickly. While I held out an olive branch to Jake in trying to be friends, I should not have been surprised when he didn’t respond to my final letter. I effectively ruined our romantic relationship and friendship all at once. It was time to move on. I guessed it just wasn’t meant to be.

When I met someone new in early 1999, and our relationship followed the pattern I felt it should have, it seemed clear to me that he was “the one.” Two years later, we were married, and nearly four years later, I became pregnant with Averey. All seemed right in my little world, and then everything came crashing down. To make a loooooooong strange story very very short, my then-husband began cheating on me shortly before or after I took that pregnancy test. It goes without saying that a divorce was looming. But this story is not about that story.

During the summer of 2005, I spent a lot of time by myself. I delved into my journals from 10 years prior, because the summer of 1995 was truly one of the greatest summers of my life. In those journals were stories of Jake. I had always felt bad about the way I treated him, but tried to forget about him by not reading journal entries about him and getting rid of most of his letters. That summer, however, I re-read everything I had written about him and realized that I had been so foolish in not treating him the way he should have been treated. I searched for him on the internet and saw he was still working at Penn State. But what could I do? Surely my pregnancy hormones were taking over, and the fact that my husband was altogether ignoring me played a part in grasping at my past with Jake. I had moved on, and surely so did he. I just had to let it go.

After Averey’s birth, I had a lot of time to think and reflect (and deal with my crazy situation). I had known for some time that there would not be any chance of reconciliation with my husband, and having Averey confirmed that. I did not feel any attachment to him because of her, and we were starting out a new journey in life. Little did I know what path God was carving out for us.

I thought about Jake. A lot. I wrote him an apology letter just to write it, not to send it. I eventually confided into a couple of close friends about him, trying to confirm that maybe I was a crazy single mom hanging on to her past. No such luck. The first hint of things to come were 2 reconciliations of friendships that had gone by the wayside. When those friends surprisingly reached out to me, I held out hope that maybe I would be able to reach out to Jake in the same way. One of those friends was a lifelong BFF (with the exception of the 3 years we didn’t speak) who was there for the whole Jake ordeal. I confessed to her what I was thinking, and she said, “He’s not married! He still goes to 4-H Camp!” (as adult staff, of course).

After much deliberation, prayer, conversations with trusted friends, the fact that I was awarded full custody of Averey and my ex was out of the picture, I took that rough draft of an apology letter, revised it and sent it. I had no idea where he was living, but I guessed that if I sent it to the last address I knew him to live at (his parents’), that it would somehow get to him. I was at peace if I never heard from him. Sure, I would be disappointed, but I had no clue what was going on in his life. I just wanted him to know that I was sorry for the way I treated him all those years ago. Ours was the one friendship that I effectively ruined, and he at least deserved to hear (read) my apology, even if it was 8 years too late.

Opening my mailbox and seeing his familiar handwriting on an envelope over a week later sent shockwaves through my heart. As I unsealed the envelope with shaking hands and read the first few sentences, I breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t forgotten about me either and had often wondered about me over the years. (By the way, he had known before I had written him that I had gotten married.) Our friendship had meant something to him too. Wow.

In our next exchange (upgrading to e-mail), I told him briefly of the situation with my ex, and that I had a 5-month-old daughter. This would be the test of whether he wanted to really be in contact with me! He did. Pictures were soon to follow, and he hadn’t changed much over the years (a good thing!). After a month or so, he finally summoned up the courage to call me. Hearing his voice on the phone was even more of a blast from the past. The conversation flowed easily, and while I could tell he was still a quiet reserved guy, I felt comfortable talking to him. Our friendship was renewed. We knew we’d like to see each other again.

A month later, the plans were made. My mom was down for the weekend to watch Averey while I worked, and Jake was on his way to Harrisburg. I was a nervous wreck at work all day, and as I changed in the bathroom from my scrubs to a new outfit I had just bought (like he would’ve known any different), I swore the butterflies in my stomach were going to fly out of my mouth! We decided to meet in the parking lot of the Bass Pro Shop (how romantic) since I didn’t really want to have a reunion in front of my mother, and it was an easy landmark close to my apartment. I pulled in the parking lot and walked up to the front of the store with no Jake in sight. As I turned around to face the parking lot, there was no mistaking that it was him walking towards me. I wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, but when he opened his arms, I guessed a hug was appropriate! After a small exchange of hellos and good to see yous, I got in my car and had him follow me back to my place. He’d met my mom years ago, but the real test was meeting Averey. When he sat down on the couch, she just stared at him. He talked to her and took her little hand with his finger. No screaming—that was a good sign to me!

Our first date was mini-golfing at City Island (he still claims a hole-in-one) and dinner at Duke’s. We had no trouble making conversation, and it certainly didn’t feel like 8 years had passed at all. We went back to my place and talked until 11 when he decided to leave. One of my friends asked if I was going to kiss him. Um, no… but I wouldn’t pull away if he did. As we stood by his truck saying good-bye, he leaned in to kiss me, much to my surprise. I think I giggled like a teenage girl as I went back into my apartment. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

And thus begins part 3…

Our Love Story: The Early Years

Averey, at age 6, seems slightly curious about who she is going to marry. In her little world, there aren’t very many boys, and at this point she’s convinced it will probably be someone she already knows. I told her that she’s got a long time before she’ll meet her future husband. Jake and I have a little laugh at this, and then we remember that we first met the summer after our freshman year in high school. I was 15, and Jake was 14. Averey could potentially meet her future husband in less than 10 years. Yikes!

When people ask how we met, we usually respond the same way. We look at each other and laugh, and say, “4-H Camp.” It’s not supposed to be funny, but it’s just the beginning of our long love story. We’ve now reached the point where we can say we met over half a lifetime ago. It still makes my head spin sometimes.

I don’t exactly recall our very first meeting in June of 1994, but I do remember that Jake was hanging out with one of my BFFs, who was a big flirt. I thought Jake was cute in his Miami Dolphins hat, and so I took pictures of the two of them together. He seemed like the guys I was friends with back home, but it wasn’t until the following June that we got to know each other better.

4-H Camp started on a Saturday and we’d leave the following Wednesday, so in that short time period, friendships blossomed quickly. Jake and I were both counselors that year, it didn’t take us long to realize that there was some chemistry between us. Sunday night at our vesper service by the lake, we were sitting on his blanket, both in blah moods. My flirty BFF was mad at me because the guy she liked apparently liked me. Jake seemed to like my BFF, but she wasn’t paying him much attention. After we talked for a little bit, I realized that I liked Jake. I thought he was cute, he was nice, he was shy, and there was just something about him.

On the last night of camp, there was a closing ceremony with songs and a 4-H lit up in flames. For those of us that loved going to camp and meeting new friends, this would bring us silly teenagers to tears. Jake had asked me if I would stand by him during the ceremony, and he said he wanted to talk to me about something. I tried not to get my hopes up that it had anything to do with me. But after he talked in circles, he basically said that he liked me as more than a friend. This was music to my ears, but torture to my 16-year-old mind that it was on the last night of camp. I’d be heading back to Montoursville the next day, and him to State College. Without 4-H Camp, we might as well have been living on different planets. He said we could write letters. Before the age of instant messaging, cell phones and Skype, and neither of us having driver’s licenses (he was still 15), writing letters was the only form of communication we had that bridged that distance between us.

After camp, I looked forward to his letters, and while he wasn’t professing his undying love for me, we were developing a friendship. I did get to see him again at the end of July as I participated in 4-H State Days here at Penn State. I drove my friends crazy talking about him, not being able to wait to get to our dorm room so I could call him from the landline phone (which didn’t work, so I was in pursuit of a pay phone). He wasn’t a participant, but since he was from Centre County, he and other 4-Hers we knew from camp helped set up the evening dances. The first night at the dance, we sat and talked. I so wanted him to hold my hand, but the conversation flowed easily, which was of greater importance than I realized back then. When we drive by the parking lot where that dance occurred, to this day, I just have to smile in memory of that night.

The second night there was a different story. Jake knew that I liked him, and it was pretty obvious he liked me too since we were acting like a couple. But to my dismay, he wouldn’t ask me out. He told one of my friends that he really liked me, but we lived too far apart. WHO CARES??? I thought. I wouldn’t mind having a long-distance boyfriend! Inside, I was dying (in a dramatic-teenager sort of way), but looking back, he was really smart.

The last day of 4-H Camp 1995, my favorite pic of us from that year.

We got to see each other one more time that summer, as me and my family drove to the Grange Fair. I still didn’t have my license, and apparently I must have pleaded enough with my parents that they thought they might like to go to the Grange Fair too. I was slightly mortified that I would have to introduce Jake to my parents, but I was grateful to be able to go and see him. This time, he wasn’t quite so affectionate with me, and he did not introduce me to his parents. Alas, the shyness of his personality took over, and he just said that things were “different” being at Grange Fair, but he swore his feelings hadn’t changed. We still had a good time even though I was dramatically frustrated.

The summer came to a close and we began our junior year of high school. While we still wrote letters, I soon found that there were still other guys for me to be interested in and therefore, I still had some boy drama in my life. Jake was always in the back of my mind though.

When we saw each other again in the spring of 1996 at our camp staff weekend, he was constantly picking on me, making it oh-so-obvious he still liked me. I realized that I still liked him. But when I mentioned writing letters, he said, “Why? Camp is just a couple of months away!” Okay, thanks for the mixed messages. Too bad for him when I went to camp that I had a new boyfriend back home! Yet we were still able to be friends without any awkwardness, and the same went for State Days a month later. Our letter writing had ceased, but I was at least glad we were actually still friends.

We graduated high school in June of 1997. I was not returning to camp that year, but a friend and I went up to visit. Jake and I chatted and enjoyed each other’s company, and I soon found out that he was quite glad that I would be breaking up with my long-term boyfriend when I left for school in July (a fact I had no trouble mentioning during that visit). A couple weeks later, he wrote to me and told me that he was bummed when I didn’t go to staff weekend that year, and he was really glad to see me at camp. He confessed that he still liked me after two years and thought about me daily. Say WHAAAT??? I was thrilled to be reading those words of his, but flabbergasted nonetheless.

We saw each other a couple weeks later when he came to visit at my county fair. I was reeling from the planned break-up with my boyfriend, but the feelings for Jake were still there. We continued writing letters, but I wasn’t quite ready for another relationship. He came to visit me at school anyway, and there wasn’t any awkwardness in spending time together just as friends.

Even though I was convinced his feelings weren’t that strong, there was a time when it should have been more than obvious. I had to spend a weekend at school, and spending a weekend at my college wasn’t very exciting since most people went home. (So lame!) I wanted visitors, and Jake would have come down had his car been in commission. It ended up that one of my BFFs, my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend (not awkward—seriously) were headed to visit the Shippensburg campus and were going to stop at my school on the way back. That morning, Jake called and asked if I still wanted a visitor. I told him I was already having company (having him and the ex there would certainly be a little awkward), and he seemed fine with my answer. In his next letter, he confessed that when he called me, he was already in Harrisburg, just down the road from my school. SERIOUSLY!?!?! I was almost mad at him for doing that—had he told me his location, he could’ve come over for sure! He didn't seem to think it was a big deal, but for this girl, it was huge.

Stay tuned for part 2…