A Year to Remember

A year ago today, I met my son.  And my life changed forever.

The night before Hudson was born, I wrote this in my prayer journal:

'Thank you for this little boy inside of me.  For all the ways he will change me.  For all the ways he will challenge me.  For all the ways he will permeate my heart and this family.'

I read that now and laugh because I truly had no idea how much truth would ring through these words.

For all the ways you have changed me Hudson:
1. I used to be someone that was in control of things.  In control of my schedule, plans, desires, work, etc.  But because of you, I now know that this life is not mine to control.  It is mine to relinquish.  To give up and trust that the true blessings in life are seen in the moments you surrender.
2.  I used to be someone that did things only for myself.  But because of you, I have learned how to sacrifice my desires for the sake of others.  You've taught me how to serve and love with all of my being.
3.  I used to be someone who didn't get very emotional about things.  I was level-headed.  Logical.  But because of you, I feel more deeply than I ever have.  My heart breaks.  My heart rejoices.  It is full.
4.  I used to be someone who cared what other people thought of me and how they viewed my life.  But because of you, I have experienced the simplicity of being completely satisfied with caring only of how this family of mine will grow together, love together, and serve together...and nothing more.

For all the ways you have challenged me Hudson:
1.  It's difficult to have patience through sleepless nights, whiny days, and stubborn fits.
2.  It's difficult to give up my long leisurely showers in the morning
3.  It's difficult to wake up early.
4.  It's difficult to feel scatter-brained 24 hours a day.
5.  It's difficult to worry about you constantly.
6.  It's difficult to feel the weight of responsibility of another person's life being in your hands.
7.  It's difficult when I don't know what to do to help you.
8.  It's difficult when I watch you go through things a baby should never have to endure.
9.  It's difficult to watch you go into surgeries.
10. It's difficult helping you recover after surgeries.
11. It's difficult being strong for you when what I want to do is crumble.
12.  It's difficult being a mom.  At times, it is more challenging than I could have ever imagined.

But for all the ways your have permeated my heart and this family, Hudson.  Those ways are endless:
1.  I'll never forget the moment you captured my heart.  It was day 5 of your time on earth.  I sat by your bedside and held your little head up to burp you.  You opened your big blue eyes and stared straight into mine.  And that was it.  You had me.  It was something about the way you looked at me.  It was different than you ever had before.  We shared a moment.  Just you and I, and it was magical.  I dreamed of your face that night as I lied miles away from you at home.  And I wasn't sad to be separated from you.  Just joyful that you were a part of my life.  You consumed my thoughts and my dreams.  And I will never forget that.
2.  Your smile melts me.  The way you wrinkle your nose and open your toothy mouth so wide.
3.  Your laugh brings your dad and I so much joy.
4.  There is nothing sweeter than listening to the sound of you and DaDa talking and giggling together.  You bring out a side in him I always knew was there, but have been blessed to now see.  He is the world's best father, and he loves you with all of his heart.
5.  You fill our home with shouts of utter joy.  Literally.  You shout and scream and shake your entire body in excitement.  Not because there is anything exciting happening, but because that is who you are.  You are joyful.
6.  You are strong.  And tough.  You have handled more in your first year of life than most people do in a lifetime.
7.  You have made me so very proud.  I am proud of the boy you are, and of the amazing man I know you will become.  I could not be more lucky than to have you as my son.  You truly have permeated my heart and this family over the past year.
8.  And your snuggles, oh those snuggles.  Who can resist them?

I am trying to find the words to express the journey this family of mine has been on over the last year that Hudson has been with us.  It's been the most challenging year of my life, but also the absolute most rewarding.  It's been full of devastation, of pain, of heartbreak, and of utter dependence; both as we left our newborn baby day after day in the hospital for 2 months, as well as struggled financially with yet another year of unemployment.  Sometimes I can't believe we made it out on the other side.  The side where you not only are surviving, but can actually be thriving.  The 'crazy' side where you look back at the darkness and although you would never choose to venture back into the thick walls, you actually find yourself being thankful for the time you spent there.

That is where I find myself on this December 9th.  On my baby boy's 1st birthday, I find myself joyful; grateful for the experiences that we have been through, and looking forward to the new adventures that are to come.  Because for better or worse, in sickness and in health; this family has stuck together.  And we are who we are today because of this precious year with our sweet baby boy.

Hudson Wayne, God has something up his sleeve for you and your life.  And I am blessed to walk beside you as you discover the numerous ways you will continue to permeate the hearts of others.  You are special, and are a treasure to us all.  I love you, so very very much.

Happy 1st Birthday!

To My Baby Boy

Sweet boy...

Today, you are 9 months old.

And I just can't believe it.

I can't believe how quickly you are growing up.  I know everyone says that, but really Hudson, I can see you changing before my very eyes.  And although it pains me that with every second you are slipping further away from being my baby boy, I am so excited about the little man you are becoming.

You love to laugh.  I mean REALLY laugh.  The kind of belly jiggling, can't catch your breath, give yourself the hiccups kind of laughter.  And it is the sweetest sound.  Sometimes I just sit in the opposite room when you are with dad and I listen to you play, babble, and laugh together.  And I can think of no greater joy than that wonderful melody of love and happiness.  It is precious. 

You are quite the entertainer.  You love to show off your new repertoire of tricks.  You'll clap and play peek-a-boo, give hugs and kisses, say mama and dada; and so much more.  Your personality is bursting out of that tiny little body and with each little morsel you shell out, your dad and I are on the edge of our seats thirsty for more.

You are not only fun and energetic, but you have this sweet spirit that is inexplicable.  It is at the core of who you are.  The foundation of how God wired you.  And every time your head snuggles up on my shoulder and your arms wrap tight around my neck, I melt.  Because I feel that spirit shining through.  It is so innocent.  And precious.  And if I could freeze-frame any moment in my life, these ones with you would be at the top of my list. 

Hudson, from the moment you locked eyes on me 9 months ago, you had my heart.  You have not only captivated me, but so many others you've crossed paths with.  And if you can change and inspire as many people as you have in your short time on this earth so far, I can't wait to watch how you will continue to do so in the years to come.  

You are a blessing, sweet boy.  You are dearly loved.  Please never ever forget that.  

And please, oh please, just stay my baby boy a little while longer.

Love, Mama

Goodbye

Today I say goodbye.  I say goodbye to something that has shaped and molded me more than most stages in my life.  To something that I have been a part of for the past 5 years.  Something that has stretched and challenged me and pulled and tugged at every ounce of energy and emotion I feel I have.  Today, I say goodbye to Bellybou'. 

Although I will still return to the store tomorrow to celebrate with my two partners and all our husbands, today feels like the real end of this journey for me.  Because this is the last day I will be working in here alone.  Something I have done every single time I've been in here since we opened 3 years ago.  And because of that, unlike many stages of my life, this one has been less about the people I have embarked on this with and more about the personal struggles, accomplishments, and everything in between I have experienced through it.  Because day in and day out I would come into this store for 10 hour days by.my.self.  And although this used to be something I resented and actually disliked about this experience, it's amazing how hard it is for me to let go of it.

I signed the lease to begin Bellybou' when I was 20 years old.  I was still in college.  Still yet to graduate.  Still yet to ever really live life on my own apart from the intoxicating and somewhat unrealistic perspective of college life.  I was just a baby.  And now I leave this experience a 25 year old wife and mom.  I have lived a lot of life since I began this journey.  And a good majority of that time was spent behind these walls.  With this view.

 
And this is the hardest thing to let go of.  This place.  This place of solitude.  The place where I have experienced probably every range of emotion on this planet.  This is the spot I would rest day after day.  The place where time would slow down and I would be left alone with my thoughts.  This became the place I would connect with God.  Where I would cry out to him when I was scared and alone and feeling more anxious than I could ever imagine.  It's the place I would rejoice with him when I was excited. 

This has been my sanctuary.  So much more so than I could ever explain in words.  This is where I sat and dreamed of becoming a mom.  It's where I prayed for a little life to grow inside of me.  It's where I cried in the moments I realized yet another month would pass without that dream coming true.  This is the place I sat the day after I finally found out I was pregnant.  And the same place I sat the day I found out my son would be born with Spina Bifida.  I have mourned in this place.  I have rejoiced.  And I have done everything in between.  There have been no sick days, no days off.  No holiday breaks.  I have spent Halloween, Labor Day, Memorial Day, Black Friday, New Years Eve, and New Years Day behind these walls.  I sat in here 2 days before I was going to have Hudson and wondered how different my life would be.  I came in while he was still in the NICU and spent the entire time on the phone to the nurses worried sick about him. 

I learned how to be a mom in here.

 I will never forget bringing Hudson home from the hospital and for the first week of his life 'at home' with us, I was in Bellybou'.  Feeding him, bathing him (yes in the sink), napping him and coming up with a routine.  While every once in awhile glancing up to say a quick 'hi' to customers and ring them up for their purchases.


This has become an extension of home.  So much so that at times when people come in and are rude, or make a mess, or even walk in while I am in the middle of something else... I feel a little violated.  Like they are invading my sanctuary.  Getting a peek into my life and my home when they are not welcome.  It's silly, but so true.

And so, as I sit in my sanctuary one last time all alone...I feel sad.  Sad that this space that has become so much of who I am will in 2 days be destroyed.  It will be torn down and my sanctuary will be gone.  It will be as though it never existed.  And while we've at times joked that that is a good thing...right now it doesn't feel that way.  Today, I am sad to say goodbye to this extension of me.  And it will be hard to lock the door one last time and walk away.

But tomorrow...tomorrow I will celebrate.  Tomorrow I will be grateful.  Both for what Bellybou' has meant to me, and for what I will be able to give now that it is done.  Time.  Time with my family.  Undivided attention to my husband, his ministry, and our son.  Something I have not been able to give the past 3 years.  And I am so unbelievably excited that God blessed me with this gift of time that gets to go right back to them.  My heart will be full tomorrow.  And I will be grateful.

But don't be surprised if you often times find me in the next store that will occupy our space, dragging a chair over to the spot I spent many years of my life, staring out the window, and enjoying my sanctuary once again.  They won't mind, right??  :)

Mommy, WOW

I'm a big kid now. 

I can't believe how fast this boy is growing up.  We've reached quite the milestone...solid food.

And let me tell you, Hudson L.O.V.E.'s it.   

He got tired of being 'spoon-fed' like such a baby and by the end decided to take matters into his own hands.  Literally.

 See, Mom.  I can do this.  It's easy.  Hmm, where's my mouth again?

There it is.

Not sure quite what to think.  But I know I can do this on my own.  

Oh sweet boy.  I know this may be the first, but not the last time you fight me on something you'd rather do by yourself.  You have such a sweet disposition, but also a strong will.  And even at this age, sometimes I feel like you think you are a lot older than you really are :)

I love this about you.  It's who you are.  Through and through.  And it's what keeps you fighting and refusing to fall behind.  Cuz if you were to talk to any of your doctors, they'd say you wouldn't be able to digest solid food well on your own.  That you'd be a slow eater.  Would have trouble sucking, chewing, and swallowing.  Would even have to fight a little harder to sit up unsupported since some of the muscles in your back were "compromised" from your surgery.

But here you are.  Eating well, digesting well, and yes...even sitting well.

 

At 5 and a half months you sit straight up with no support from your hands.  You make it look so easy, Hudson.  But I know how hard you are fighting.  You always have and I know you always will.  Because God knew exactly who you needed to be.  And at times when it gets tough, I know he will sustain you.  

I am so very, very WOW'ed by the big kid you are becoming, Huddy.

Warp Speed

Is it just me or does motherhood make every single second fly by at WARP SPEED?

Even right now, as I sit down to write this post (which I thought was a quick decision I made only a few minutes after I put Hudson down for a nap), but suddenly I looked up at the clock to find it is 1:00. Only about 30 minutes left till he wakes up again. What? How did that happen? 

Oh I know. Cuz the second I put him down I walk downstairs and between me and the computer are all of his dirty bottles that need to be washed, and the piles of laundry that need to put into the dryer, and then I finally have the computer in my hands and suddenly I trip over one of Hudson's toys and realize the last diaper I changed of his is still sitting on the changing pad. Well, now that I've touched the dirty diaper I have to put down the computer and wash my hands. But wait, there is his pacifier that I have been looking for all morning. I have to put it in his car seat before I forget to later. Ok, now I can finally sit on my computer and begin typing. Hmm, never did get to washing those hands did I? Oops. Too late now I guess. 

Warp Speed, people. Warp Speed. 

This has been our lives the past month or so and I'm sure will continue to be day after day and year after year. So I've decided to embrace it. And for those of you who know me well, you know this is actually very difficult for me to do. I am a slight control freak. I like to be on top of things. I like to have all my brain cells working. I like to have a plan and stick to it. I like to walk carefully through life. Taking slow and steady steps. Thinking about all my options before I make a move. Slow and steady wins the race, right? 

Not anymore! Cuz now... 

Monday turns into Tuesday 

And somehow one weekend jumps to the next 

And Easter comes and goes 

Followed by Mother’s Day 

And then before I know it, my son is 5 months old. He is 5 months old! 

That is almost half of a year. 

And the last time I posted he was still afraid of being on his back. But time races on…and here we are. Happy as a clam. Laughing and giggling away 

And in moments like these. I am grateful for warp speed. Grateful that nothing is permanent with babies. They are constantly changing. Constantly growing and evolving into little human beings. And there is nothing more exciting than getting a front row seat to my child’s story. 

Cuz, come on. How proud are we the second our children reach any sort of milestone? Our hearts leap with joy when they smile for the first time. Or laugh. Or sit up on their own. And how stinkin’ cute and heart melting is it the first time you actually hear little noises and sounds coming from your babies lips. 

Of course his first word is Dada. Why couldn’t Mama be easier to say?? 

And at warp speed it seems like each day we are discovering something new about our little ones. I know I am. Con.stant.ly. Hudson is by no means stuck in his ways. He always keeps me guessing. And always keeps me on my toes. And for this cautious mama, that’s been quite a stretch. 

But I gotta say, there is freedom in warp speed. There is joy in letting go of perfection. And there really is a sense of peace among the chaos that has become our lifestyle. 

Oh, sweet boy. I thought I was supposed to be the one teaching you. 

What else is there to do?

What else is there to do...

When you've spent the past 4 days straight together in Bellybou.
When you just wanna cry from exhaustion and customer over-dose.
When all you've had to play with for the past 4 days is a ratty old book, a tiny playmat with exactly 2 toys, and a bouncy seat.
When you haven't been able to go outside and enjoy the beautiful sunny days.
And when you are on hour 30 of your very long work weekend looking for anything that will get us through the home stretch until we FINALLY get to go home and NOT come back the next day.

What else is there to do in this moment, but entertain ourselves anyway we know how...

"Come on Hudson.  Let's take some pictures.  I promise it will be fun!"

"No?  Feeling a little unsure are we?"

"Hmm.  You'd rather chew on your hands?"

"Good idea.  I'll try that too."

"Okay, Hudson.  I played your game, now you play mine.  Let's give the camera a BIG smile!"

"Oh no, you are starting to get fussy.  Come on dude, we can make it.  Only 5 more minutes and we are out of here.  Don't do it.  Don't go over to the dark side........Oh forget it.  If you're going there, I'm going with you.  Get us out of here!"

Cuz at the end of a long weekend stuck doing work, what else is there to do but breakdown and cry?? 

At least we are in it together :)

Inspired by my Husband...

On Sunday morning my husband got the opportunity to preach at the church we've been attending this past year.  Unfortunately, Hudson and I couldn't be there so I had to listen to a podcast of his sermon this morning.  And as I have gone throughout my day I can't stop thinking about some of the things he said.  And so, inspired by my husband, I can't help but share my thoughts about it with all of you...

I've believed in God for my entire life, well as long as I can remember.  And to be honest, I don't even really remember the exact moment I became a follower of Christ.  I would define my walk with God more as a constant journey with some seasons of growth, passion, and an eagerness to learn; and some of rebellion, complacency, and boredom.  But through it all, I would say that I've always had faith in God.  Faith that He existed.  Faith that He cared about me.  Faith that good would prevail in the end.  And faith that He heard and answered the prayers of His people.

I must admit, however, that in my 25 years of life things have gone pretty well for me.  And to be honest, it's pretty easy to have faith in God when you feel like everything is going your way.  But what happens when it doesn't?  What happens when life crumbles in around you? Will your faith shatter along with everything else?

 It is with these questions that I find myself extremely convicted.  Because this past year, my faith has been rocked.  I can't even begin to describe the disappointments and heart aches this year has brought.  My poor husband has lost his job twice due to budget cuts, leaving us not only financially vulnerable...but emotionally vulnerable as well.  It has been one of the hardest things to watch him slowly lose his passion, vision, and confidence in his calling towards ministry as time goes on.  It's where he belongs.  It's where his gifts lie.  And it has been difficult on us all for him not to be in that place.  In this season where my husband has tried to find work, we have also dealt with the news and repercussions of our son being born with Spina Bifida.  And that, has truly been a test of faith for me.

I must be honest; as I sat by my little boy's bedside day after day, week after week, and month after month in the NICU...I got to some pretty dark places.  I would sit there helplessly as my son endured multiple surgeries and a huge e-coli infection.  I watched him lay flat on his stomach for two months.  I sat with him as he had breathing tubes and anesthesia racing through his veins.  I watched my poor boy being poked and prodded, being stitched up and cut open again.  I sat and wondered if he would ever make it out of the NICU walls.  I would have given anything to help him.  Anything to get him out of there.  I felt powerless.  And so I would pray to God that He would help my son.  Because it was beyond my control, but I knew it wasn't beyond His.  And as each day passed and things seemed to get worse and worse, I became angry.  Because I wasn't seeing any results.  Nothing was changing.  My son was still hurting.  He was still in pain.  He was not healed. 

I began to wonder.  How could God have the power to help my son and choose not to?  It could all be over in a blink of an eye.  My son could be completely healed.  How could Hudson's Father stand by and let this happen?  Let his precious son hurt and not do everything in his power to stop it.  He supposedly loves him more than I ever could.  I was powerless.  But He wasn't.  And still he did nothing.

This kind of faith, the kind that only believes God is in control and that he loves us when everything is going well...this is no faith at all.  The true test comes when things don't go our way.  Will we still believe God loves us more than we could possibly imagine when we don't see the results we desire?

Being a mom has truly opened my eyes to this question and has helped me connect to God in a way I didn't understand before I brought my son home.  Because there have been times when I sit in my room listening to Hudson cry and I don't go in to get him.  I know that if I were to go into his room and pick him up, he would stop crying.  But I also know that if I picked him up, he wouldn't sleep.  I know he is tired, and so what's best for him is to fall asleep.  I see a bigger picture than he can see in that moment.  I see my boy learning to fall asleep on his own when he is tired.  I see his smiling face in the morning when he has gotten a full night's rest.  And so I sit, outside of his door, with tears in my eyes as he cries himself to sleep.  Do I want to go in and 'save' him?  You bet.  My heart aches as I sit and sob along with him.  Because I know I could temporarily fix his problem.  But I also know that in the long run, it's not what is best.  And so I sit, and do nothing but cry alongside my baby boy.

This is how I see God now.  I see him sobbing uncontrollably along with me when my son goes into surgery.  I see him fight the urge to jump in and fix everything.  I see him struggle to watch his precious children go through such turmoil on earth.  I see his heart ache when we feel pain.  But I see his love shine through when he chooses to do what's best in the long run.  When he refuses to be a genie that grants us every wish we bring to him, and waits patiently for us to see him as our loving Father.  A Father who mourns when we mourn, who jumps for joy when we rejoice, and who loves us so much that we can never fully comprehend it.  A Father that always has our best interest in mind, and sees so much clearer and further than we do.  Now that's a God worth following.

And so, whether good times or bad, whether I see results or I don't...I will bow my knee to my Father and never cease sharing the truth of his love and sacrifice.  Because every good and perfect gift comes from Him.

And none of the hard stuff changes any of that.  God is still God, and He is always worth praising.

I am thankful for my husband, who reminded me of this truth.  You are an inspiration.    

3 Months Old!

I can't believe how quickly it seems my little guy is already changing.  I mean 3 months old.  That's crazy.  It seems like at this age Hudson is changing everyday.  Just when you think you know a guy...he decides to surprise you. 

I decided that I would update you all on the happenings of this little guy at 3 months.  The daily life of Hudson Shamblin and some major bench marks we have reached.  Now, just as a prelude...some of these things aren't really going to seem like great achievements in your eyes.  However, something you should know is that while Hudson's body has done a great job healing from the 2 months he had in the NICU, his emotions have been a little fragile to say the least.  Our little boy still carries the effects of NICU life with him and we have had to break through some tough obstacles to calm his nerves about seemingly meaningless things.

For example, he has what the physical therapist calls 'fear of movement.'  This basically means that from the minute we got him home, every time he changed positions in our arms or was passed from one person to the next he would scream, LOUDLY (he's got quite the high-pitched, ear piercing, only dogs can hear kind of scream).  Now while this 'fear of movement' has been somewhat frustrating and annoying to us...I completely understand and feel sorry for the poor guy.  I mean what do you expect?  When you stick a newborn in a bed and have them do nothing but lie on their stomach for 2 months, and then expect them to go home and be passed from person to person and place to place...I'm thinking that's a little unfair.

But luckily, we have introduced Hudson to the giant yellow exercise ball.  And life will never be the same.

This has been our saving grace.  We plop this tiny munchkin on the ball and bounce and move in every which way possible.  And while he was a little apprehensive at first...

He actually really enjoys it.

It is such a fun way for him to get used to moving and playing outside of a bed.  And it's pretty fun for dad and I too!  Between this and 'flying', we've got the perfect antidote for this boy's fear of movement.

Which leads me to another fear of my son's; being on his back.  Now this one really puts a spin on life at home (not to mention Bellybou').  What are you supposed to do with a baby who cannot sit up on their own, and cannot lift their head for long enough to be entertained on their stomach when you can't place them on their back?  Answer...either carry them everywhere, or hear them scream bloody murder.  But with a lot of silly faces and slow transitions from his side to his back, we have had several successes!

Yes, it has been an interesting and challenging month for us.  We have had to dig deep and find more patience and understanding for our son's situation than I ever anticipated.  But the coolest thing has been to watch my little boy adjust and learn and actually begin to enjoy the things he once feared.  So here he is; my little fighter, my little champ, living life in a big big world and soaking up and enjoying every second of it without fear.

Gotta love those hands!

Favorite pastime...laughing at himself in the mirror.

Second favorite pastime...reading.  He actually looks at the pages, smiles, coos, and laughs.  So fun.

I love this boy with all of my being.  I am so very, very proud of you Hudson.  Here's to many more months of growth and change.  Bring it on...

Joy

So here I am...back in the blogging world.  And this time I have my own blog that I can access wherever I am, which means you can expect a lot more posts from me :).  I have been wanting for so long to start my own blog separate from the website that Clint keeps up.  Not just for my own sake, but mostly because I feel like I owe it to all of you out there who have invested so much into my little boy.  I guess I never realized truly how many people have prayed, have checked our website and facebook posts, and who have poured their hearts into our family.  So the least I can do is continue to keep you all up to date on the happenings of Hudson and our little family of 3.  Because I know your hearts are still invested.  I know that just because the initial crisis of the NICU has come to a close that doesn't mean I can drop off the face of the earth and stop updating you all.  I know that the battle is not over with my son.  That he will continue to fight his whole life.  I know I will struggle to find strength as his mom.  I know some days I will rejoice.  I know some days I will mourn.  I know that I will fall on my knees and pray God uses my son in mighty ways because of all he has dealt with.  And I know that I will need the strength, support, and encouragement from you all just the same in this everyday life as I did when Hudson was in the hospital.

So here begins my blogging journey, and I must warn you that this post will be a LARGE one.  Because I have been meaning to reflect on my first couple months as a mom for soooo long, and between the feedings, diaper changes, and doctors appointments I fear if I don't get my thoughts down now it will be months before I get a chance to.

So now onto the real topic of this post.  JOY.  I must admit that this word is something I have struggled with during my time as a mom.  If I am going to be honest, it's mostly because I have felt for sometime that I missed out on many of the joys of being a new mom.  I have always wanted children.  Always dreamed of the day that I would give birth to my first baby.  I pictured what that moment would be like.  The absolute and utter joy I would feel when that miracle came into this world.  When I started dating Clint in high school, we would talk about that day.  Some far away day that seemed so unrealistic but was so fun to fantasize about.  As time went on I wanted that day to come more and more.  When Clint and I finally got married that's when it got real.  And the entire year and a half we were trying to get pregnant I focused on that picture.  I meditated on the image of my newborn baby being put into my arms and squeezing them so tight I would never them go.  I imagined the tears that would fill both Clint and my eyes as we stared at this perfect gift in my arms.  I could feel the relief and joy that would rush over me as our dream FINALLY came true.

December 9, 2010 was the day my son came into this world.  The day I had waited for.

 The thing is, though, it happened nothing like this 'dream' I had conjured up in my mind.  Because of Hudson's condition I had to have a c-section.  And due to some unfortunate circumstances with the anesthesia (that I will spare you the details of...but lets just say I was in a bit of pain), I had to be put out the second Hudson was born.  So I remember very little of that day.  I remember lying on the table to begin the c-section.  I remember feeling pain.  I remember hearing the doctor say that the baby was going to be out in 30 seconds, and being so glad because that meant the pain was going to be over soon.  I remember hearing the tiniest bit of crying.  I remember hearing the doctor say it was 7:49.  And then I remember hearing Clint ask if the doctor was going to put me out of my misery and knock me out.  And then the world went black.  That was it.  I didn't see my son's face.  I didn't see my husband's face.  I didn't hold my baby boy close to me.  I didn't experience an ounce of joy.  Just pain.

The first time I saw my son was on Clint's iphone.  I remember staring at these images and feeling so disconnected to the baby that I saw.  I remember wanting to break out into tears because I had missed out on everything.  I missed out on my moment.  I missed out on getting to introduce my son to my family and friends.  I sat up in the recovery room while Clint ushered people into the NICU to meet Hudson.  I remember feeling like it was so unfair that I carried him with me for 9 months and was the last one to meet him.  It felt so unnatural.  I felt empty.  Like my baby had just been taken from me, along with my dream of what this day would look like.   I don't even remember naming Hudson.  I was so groggy that the memory of that conversation with Clint is completely gone.  Every single idea I had of what having my first baby would be like was lost.  And to be honest, I was bitter about it.  I was devastated.  Because it was so hard to let all of that go and know that I would never get it back.

But here's the crazy thing about joy.  Joy floods over us when we least expect it and in the most unusual ways.  Joy is experienced when we let go of our own desires and our ideal pictures.  When we accept what this life has handed us and embrace the amazing blessings that come despite tough circumstances.

I will never forget the joy I felt the first day Hudson was put in my lap.  I grabbed his hand and sobbed uncontrollably.

 I will never forget the joy I felt every time I would see Hudson in the NICU.  I know that is a very general statement, but it is so true.  I had a hard time recovering from my c-section.  I could barely walk, I could barely move.  It was rough.  But when I would get wheeled up to my son's bedside...for those 20 minutes...nothing else would matter.  He poured life and energy into my weak body.  

I will never forget the first time I knew I loved this boy with my entire being.  When I knew he had captured my heart.  As hard as it is to admit...it wasn't the first day he was born.  And hopefully I am not the only mom out there that would confess to that.  But it was on day 5.  I remember it vividly.  It was the night I fell asleep dreaming of his face.  The night that my heart ached for him.  The night I missed my son more than I could bear.  I felt such sorrow that night, but at the same time such joy as I meditated on the overwhelming emotion of truly being captivated by this tiny being that had just come into the world.  Without being separated from him, I'm not sure I would have experienced this truly joyful and precious moment in the quiet of my room.

I will never ever forget the joy I felt on February 11, 2011.  The day my son came home!!!  I am so lucky.  I am so blessed to have this day.  Words cannot describe the relief and the comfort that this day brought.  Our family was whole.  All was right in the world on this day even though Hudson didn't nap well, didn't eat well, and was having a hard time adjusting.  It didn't matter.  He was home.  And my heart was filled with joy.

I wish I could describe the emotions I have had throughout this entire experience.  I wish I could describe the joy I feel every time I pass Kaiser hospital.  Doesn't that sound crazy?  I feel insurmountable joy when I drive by there.  Like something is pulling me towards the front doors.  Beckoning me to come in.  I would have thought I would never want to go there ever again.  That after being there 3 times a day for 65 days and experiencing some of the most traumatizing news I ever have in the darkness of the NICU walls...it seems I would want to run away.  To never return again.  But it is quite the opposite.  Because as terrible as it sometimes was, it was Hudson's home.  For 2 months it is where my baby boy lived.  It was my only connection to him.  It was the place I got to see his smiling face.  It was place I got to hold his hand.  It was the place I got to meet and get to know my son.  It was a huge part of Hudson's story and our story as a family.  It is a part of us all.  And it always will be.  And for that reason, I can feel nothing but joy at the thought of it.  

And that, my friends, is the crazy thing about joy.  Happiness comes and go.  It fades when life gets tough.  But joy.  True joy that God bestows upon us can only be experienced when we dive head first into each of our unique stories.  When we stop comparing.  When we stop wishing.  When we stop dreaming, and we just live.  We live this life alongside those that we love and we soak up every ounce of joy there is.  Because no matter how dark life gets...there is always light.  

This little boy is one huge light in my life.  He reminds me that life is so precious.  And every night when I put him to sleep I squeeze him a little tighter and pray a little more fervently than I probably would have without this experience.  Thank you to you all for bringing our family, and our son more love and support than most 2 months old will ever receive.  We are blessed.  We are overflowing with JOY!