The TinMan

Ya'll have seen The Wizard of Oz right?

(if you haven't, ummm, well, I'm going to say for the sake of living in America, you probably should, because hello, it's a classic. if you really don't want to watch the movie, then read the book! or the book series! both are fun)

I was talking with Luke today (and to be honest, crying a little, because, hello, hormonal woman!) and trying to explain to him how I felt about being in social interactions lately (spoiler alert: not very good). As I was talking about how I felt as if someone physically takes my mouth and keeps it shut, no matter how much I want it to open and words to come out, the idea of the TinMan came to me.

When Dorothy sets out on her adventure to the Emerald City, she encounters her 3 traveling companions along the way. First is the scarecrow, then is the TinMan. The TinMan has been stuck in the forest for years because he was out working when it started to rain and all of his joints rusted shut.

Including his mouth.

And that's where I come in.

I spend a lot of time alone. Mostly by choice, partly by circumstance. We have 2 homes, and have very sporadic schedules as to when we are going to be in each place, so it's hard to develop any kind of social schedule. Especially when you're an extreme introvert like me.

Plus, both places are new to me and so I am starting from scratch to develop relationships. And developing relationships takes time. And effort. And I have a baby who needs a somewhat consistent schedule and I am tired (cue: excuse symphony).

But as a result of all my aloneness (with the exception of the babe and husband of course), my words have dried up. According to a book called The Female Brain, women supposedly say 20,000 words a day (and men only 7000).

Ha. Ha, ha and ha!

20,000??? Sometimes I'm not even sure I say 1000.

Once again, mostly by choice. There are times where I construct flimsy excuses as to why I can't go to this or that or get together with this or that person. Or I just plain old chicken out of texting someone to go to the park, when I know that the worst they can do is say no.

And I am not a mother who spends a lot of time talking to Drew (don't get me wrong. I talk to my child. I just don't explain everything I am doing all day, every day, like some parenting sites tell you to do).

And with Luke's job, it's easier to talk to him via text rather than calling just because I never know if he is loading, unloading, or driving. We do try to talk at least once while he's on shift, but we mostly text.

Add in one short call to my mom on a typical day, and you get my lack of words.

And my rusted together mouth.

Because, as with all muscles, lack of use causes atrophy. And my mouth has atrophied. Not only is it physically tiring for me to talk a lot (seriously. sit me down with one of my besties, and I will talk. and walk away with a very, very tired and sore mouth/jaw), but it's emotionally exhausting to even think about talking. I see a nice looking mom at the park with a kid who's close to Drew's age and I do almost everything I can to avoid her. Oh, I try not to be a total snot. I do say hi, smile, etc, but I don't walk right up to her and strike up a conversation.

So the moral of the story?

I need to oil my mouth.

Except not literally. Because that's gross.

But in a figurative way.

I need to do something, because I am the dreaded 'l' word (lonely, for those of you wondering). But it's hard. And not as easy as just keeping my comfy pants on and staying home. But if I don't do it, who will?

Failure To Thrive

Drew has always been a wee little guy. When he was born he was a mere 6 lb 5 oz. Sure, that's not exactly the smallest baby that has been born, but considering I was over 9 lbs when I was born, I was a bit surprised. In fact, I had to go buy smaller sleepers for him because the ones I had were way too big. He sure was cute in his little preemie pajamas though!

(our little grumpus on his birth day. ooo so tiny!)

As he continued to grow he never shot up. He always hovered at the 25th or less percentile for height/weight (40th for head ... but what can I say? he's a smart kid!). And then his percentiles started to drop. He went from the 25th to the 10th. And then from the 10th he disappeared right off the charts. 

(still just a wee little thing. drowning in his 0-3 month shorts)

As any good doctor would, our doctor started to get nervous. After all, they have these Bell Curves for a reason. And when someone isn't on a Bell Curve, they don't really know how to react to that. So we started to look more into what was going on. 

He considered the possibility that perhaps Drew's heart murmur was connected. However, after monitoring it pretty closely for a month, it became clear that it was fading, and that possibility was taken off the table. 

We were stumped. But, we just kept soldiering on. After all, our baby was happy and healthy (with the exception of weight). He was meeting all his developmental milestones. His little legs were quite chunky and he still hasn't grown wrists. Plus, he constantly moves, so we kinda figured he was just burning it all off. So, we were okay with his size. After all, his daddy was never huge, nor were his aunt and uncles on that side.

But, our doctor continued to be worried. I had to call in or stop in every month to get him weighed. And that number wasn't going up. Maybe an ounce or two a month, but that was it. So, we were given an order for a blood panel. We didn't rush right out to do it, but we knew our doctor would insist at his 12 month check-up if we hadn't done it, so we went ahead and did it ahead of time so he would have the results.

And? Nothing. There might have been a number or two that was a little higher or lower than it should have been, but nothing unreasonable or even noteworthy. 

All this leads up to last week. Our wee little guy went from being a tiny little wee to a bit bigger of a wee. 

(celebrating being one with Minnesota family and friends!)

And it was time for his 12 month well child check. We trotted in to get his weight, and I was feeling good. He felt heavier, he really had taken off on the whole eating real food thing, and he was obviously doing ok. So I stripped him down and plunked him on the scale with a bit of mommy pride. After all, I had done it. I had kept my little boy on the right track. I was certain he was up at least a pound from the last time.

Sadly my optimism was a bit too optimistic. 

He wasn't up a pound. In fact, he was down from the last time he had been weighed. However, in all fairness that was on a different scale and involved him wearing a onesie and a diaper. But, after I told our nurse that, she had me put him in a onesie and a diaper just for comparison sake. He was still down. The only argument I had on my side was that he was on a different scale. And since I was quibbling over mere ounces, somehow I don't think I really had a leg to stand on.

So, here we are with a little guy who is quite insistent on staying little. Not only did he stop gaining weight, but he stopped growing length wise. He dropped from 10th percentile to 5th percentile in height. And he still isn't touching the chart with his weight. 

All of that leads to a diagnosis: failure to thrive.

Well, ouch. That just shot mommy right through the heart. After all, I am the one feeding him and caring for him. He gets a majority of his sustenance from my very own body. And I didn't get the job done. 

Our doctor is worried, but supportive. Right now we are tracking everything he eats, including breastmilk, which means we may be working our way to weaning since I have to pump and my supply is way down, which makes pumping hardly worth it.

Since he is now one, his food possibilities are practically endless. And we are taking advantage of that! So far he is a fan of peanut butter. We are a fan of all its calories! 

We go back in on the 18th for a weight check and will assess then, but our doctor is currently working with a pediatric endocrinologist in the big city so most likely we will end up in that doctor's office within the next month or two. They are currently reviewing his files and will be getting in touch with us soon.

And if he doesn't have the answers? Then I really have no clue. We'll just keep trucking on. And enjoying our little boy, who may be little but sure has a BIG personality!

What's In a Blog?

Or a blog title as it were.

Those who pay attention may have noticed that I have changed the name of my blog, yet again. And to be honest, I am not sure that I am totally stuck on this one either. That's the freedom that comes from having an eponymous URL. Or the downside perhaps, as it lets the indecisive in me rule a bit too much.

Also, those of you who pay attention may have noticed that I have been in a bit of a writing pause for quite awhile. Is it weird to blame this space? I write stellar blog posts in my mind, but when it comes to actually writing them down, I have no motivation. No desire. I hate to blame it on a lame excuse, because if I were a true writer it wouldn't matter where I wrote it, but I don't like the look of my blog right now and so I don't want to share my words in such a space.

Lame? Yes, perhaps. Shallow? Yes, perhaps. The way my mind works? Yes, definitely.

Not only do I bemoan the lack of pretties on the page, I also really struggle with being yet another one of the multitude. Everywhere I turn there is yet another blog, doing it awesomely. These people are writing stories that are mildly interesting and are getting hundreds of hits and comments. I don't.

My fault? Yes, perhaps.

Not that I necessarily want the responsibility that comes along with having hundreds of hits and comments. People can be mean, especially if they know they are protected by a computer screen.

However, I want to be heard. I have a voice and I want to keep it from getting too rusty. So I shall press on to write just to write. Enjoying the tapping of the keyboard, the pouring of the words and the emptying of the brain. After all, I am somebody am I not? I read my own writing, and that, for now, shall be good enough.

Life :: An Update

I feel like all my posts lately have had a theme to them. And that theme would be the story of how our little peanut came into this world. Which is all good and all if you’re into reading birth stories, but if you come to blogs and want to know more about the person than just the fact that she birthed a baby, then hey, maybe you would like an update on life.

(Drew’s 1st deer hunt – Thanksgiving Day)

So here goes.

I’m currently sitting in my SD kitchen, which is probably 10 times bigger than my ND kitchen, which really, doesn’t take much. Baby is napping, and I’m listening to the radio while reading blogs.

And that’s a pretty typical day.

(Thanksgiving Day Deer Hunt)

The dishes are piled up in the sink and on the counter.

Also a pretty typical day.

(bonfire by the Missouri River – 11/25)

Anyways, for those of you whose heads are spinning, trying to figure out if we live in SD or ND or WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON WITH OUR LIVES, let me help you figure it out:

We live in both states. One state permanently (as in, that’s where our stuff is, where our driver’s license and bank thinks we live, etc) and the other one we live in because that’s where the work is.

(Drew showing us his mad Big Buck Hunter skills)

However, when it got to be getting on to winter and all we had for a place to live was a camper with a garden hose running over a driveway for water and nowhere to dump the grey water, we figured it probably wouldn’t be the best situation for winter. Especially with a baby.

So, we headed back south and let my brother use our camper for the winter. Of course, less than a week after we left, a full hook up spot opened up. So goes life. But my brother was able to put the camper in the spot and he’s spent the winter making it all cozy.

(Christmas Eve)

We have really enjoyed being back in SD for awhile. It’s been nice to be in a place that not only has its own bathroom/shower, but SEPARATE ROOMS! Oh the beauty. It’s also been really nice to be back by family, especially around the holidays.

(Drew and Mommy playing with his Christmas present from Mommy and Daddy. Forgive the creepy red eyes. It’s a curse.)

Luke has been staying busy helping his parents out on the farm and with some remodeling projects (we live about 5 mins from their dairy farm). Drew and I have been staying busy playing with toys, snuggling and staying warm.

(Drew taking his afternoon nap by the River on Christmas Day)

Soon enough we will go back up North and Luke will start driving truck again (for those of you who wonder what he does … he drives a semi truck that carries a trailer full of dirty water that is pulled up from oil wells that needs to be dumped down another old well. as my brother expands, he will probably start driving an oil trailer, which mean he will be carrying a trailer loaded with the actual oil from the wells). And Drew and I will play, snuggle and stay warm. It’s what we do.

(celebrating our 2nd anniversary – 1/2)

And in a nutshell, that’s what new with us!

Drew Solon :: What’s In A Name

You know what’s hard? Choosing a name for a person. One that is theirs for the REST OF THEIR LIFE!

Luke and I spent the whole pregnancy trying to come up with a name for our baby. We discussed it a little bit in the beginning, and then amped up the talks once we knew we were having a boy. And could not find a name we agreed on.

I would say one, he would say no. He would say one, I would say no. We read a whole book full of thousands and thousands of names. We noticed them in movies, in books, in talking with people. We would find one that we were interested in and then remember that our friends had a baby named that (our rule was that if we were related, or they were in our wedding, the name was out). We went into the hospital and still had no name.

The one thing we agreed on was that we wanted his name to have meaning. While driving one day we talked about what traits we hoped and prayed for in our first-born and came up with some ideas. So, we started looking at names with those meanings, but struck out again as none of those struck us.

So, after he was born, Luke went to the computer and started looking up names again. We had come across the name Solon on a list, and loved the meaning: wisdom or wise one. For a while we debated having Solon as his first name, but both of us felt like it just fit better as a middle name.

That just left the most important name then, his first name. We had talked about Andrew before, but I wasn’t crazy about it. But then we started talking about shortening it to Drew. And it started to grow on me. We also loved it’s meaning: bold and courageous (at least on the site we used. it can also mean man or warrior or trusty. also great meanings!).

By this point, it was Sunday afternoon (and Drew was born Saturday at noon). In other words, people were chomping at the bit to get us to name this child. It was the number one question of the nurses and the doctors, plus family and friends. But, we wanted to make sure Drew Solon was the right choice, so we tried it out for a day, without telling anyone what it was.

And it fit him perfectly. So, finally, on Monday morning, shortly before 9:00, we signed the papers. It was official. No going back!

And as the lady walked them out of the room, we could hear all the nurses gathering around her, excitedly asking what we had finally decided on as a name.

Drew Solon :: A Birth Story {Part 3}

So the last time I left you, I was 24 hours into the induction/labor process. And my body was basically saying ‘na na na, can’t make me!’.

And she was right. We couldn’t make her.

My doctor decided to try one more round of Cervadil and see what happened. But because we were going into the 2nd night of ‘fun’, they wanted me to get some sleep so they gave me an Ambien. Which meant I spent that night in a cycle of dozing off, waking up with a contraction and squeezing Luke’s hand, and then dozing off again.

Poor Luke. He didn’t have the benefit of an Ambien so he had to deal with his wife squeezing his hand REALLY hard every 2 minutes, so he didn’t get very much sleep that night.

We also had nurses coming in and out of our room all night checking on the babe. I didn’t mind that they were concerned and monitoring us, but it bothered me that no one introduced themselves, except my 2 main nurses. So here I am, having some unknown person looking up a place where no unknown person should ever look.

They finally called my doctor in at around 5:00 because they were concerned about Drew’s heart rate. He felt I was far enough along in the process to break my water, so he took his little crochet hook and did so. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, but it was still a weird feeling.

It didn’t do anything magical, but there was definitely no turning back after that!

They did decide that I should get up and walk to see if that would help, so they sent Luke and I on a round through the hallways. It was so (NOT) fun.



Luckily there was the rails for me to lean on when I hit a contraction. But it was really annoying because when my nurse put TED compression hose on me the night before she didn’t pull them all the way up, so as you can tell from the picture I had a bunch of hose hanging off the end of my feet and it felt funny when I walked.

I did not make it very long with this whole walking thing. All I wanted to do was get back in bed. So I did.



After a couple hours of letting my body try, they hooked me up to Pitocin. That sent me into terrible back labor. It was awful. I was exhausted because I hadn’t slept in 2 days (well, really 6 months because of being preggo, but officially 2 nights), I was still a little out of it because of the Ambien and IT HURT! We had decided not to go for an epidural if at all possible, but I needed something so I asked my nurse for some pain medicine. Not sure if she just put saline in my IV or what but WHAT A JOKE. It did absolutely nothing.

So we tried the Pitocin for a couple of hours. At least I think it was a couple of hours. I really don’t know. I just remember laying there thinking this was the most horrible thing I’ve ever experienced and I just wanted to get out of there. I was about to walk out of that room and never come back. Ever. I didn’t care if I never had the baby. He could just stay in there. I was really hazy, so I would basically just deal with the contraction and then lay there in a stupor.

Finally my doctor came in and checked me one last time. After 40 hours, and 4 rounds of medicine my doctor basically said he would be generous and call me a 5. Wow. Basically my body was having none of it this whole labor thing, but I wasn’t in a good place health wise and my baby was in distress.

My doctor tries to do everything he can to avoid c-sections, but he felt it was necessary in my case. Since I had just spent the last 3 hours laying there knowing that my body just wasn’t going to be able to do it and begging them (in my mind) to just cut the kid out, I agreed without hesitation. Poor Luke. I didn’t consult him or even talk to him about it.

Once the decision was made, things moved along. I was taken to the OR and the nurse anesthetist put my block in. That was fun because I was still having contractions and had to sit very still. But he did it and I started to go numb.

Soon we were ready to start. Luke was in there, so they asked him if he wanted to watch. He took one glance behind the sheet, and that was enough for him. We still weren’t so sure about the c-section process, and part of us wondered if trying an epidural wouldn’t have helped enough to have the baby born naturally.
However, the doctors quickly dispelled that question when they came to the baby and found that his cord was wrapped around his neck 3 times. 

With that news, I just felt the protection of God wash over us. If we had pushed through and tried to go for a natural birth, it could have ended with catastrophic results.

As soon as we heard the baby cry, we knew that it was ok. Everything was ok. It was ok that I went through a failed induction. It was ok that I had a c-section. Because our baby was here. And he was perfect.

Let Me Tell You a Story

On a cold, frosty morning in October, a mom and her baby, plus a pregnant lady, bundled up and headed to the nearest bus stop.

The beast of a machine took us up and down this street and that before crossing a bridge and taking us into a new city. We disembarked and became 3 among hundreds who were converging on one building. It took some walking up and walking down sidewalks but we found our entrance, commandeered our tickets, made a stop by the el banos and then found our seats.

And I think that is the last time we sat in our actual seats all day.

See, here's the tricky truth of the day: a 5 month old baby boy is not too keen on the conference scene.

As a result, we spent time walking up and down hallways, we spent time (lots of time!) in the nursing mothers' room, and we spent time sitting/standing in the back of the auditorium.

And you know what? It was still great. So much fun. I think if you were to ask any of the Women of Faith team members about why they put these events on year after year, they would say one of their main reasons is because of the relationships between the women that come.

This lady who so patiently walked alongside me that day is one of my dearest friends, who was 'randomly' assigned to the same room I was at NWC those many years ago. We don't get to see each other as often as we like, but we are kindred spirits.

And spending a day with her was priceless.

My Women of Faith experience didn't look like what I thought it would. I didn't get to take copious notes of  great speakers (because, guys? there were some GREAT speakers there!). I didn't get to worship alongside the thousands of other women there (it was a bit too loud for the babe). I didn't even get to go back for the second day (a situation came up which necessitated me leaving for home right away).

But I don't for one second regret going. Because it gave me a beautiful day of living life alongside one of my favorite women of faith. And it doesn't get much better than that.