Before I begin, I would like to dedicate this post to Aunt Jeannie. I have been taking a long break from blogging, but she requested that I begin writing again. So, Aunt Jeannie, this is for you. I pray that you will continue to feel hope and positivity during this hard time. I love you.

Well, we couldn’t help it. A few months after writing my last post (about moving on) we decided to try again for a baby. After three miscarriages in a row, I was so afraid of losing the baby, I kept it a secret for months. When I got tired of looking fat without a good excuse, I announced it to the world (AKA Facebook), and held my breath. PLEASE let this pregnancy last! Please, please, God, let me keep this baby.

Doctors visit, after doctors visit, I grimaced and prepared myself for the worst. Each time we saw a heart beat, I would breathe a sigh of relief, and wonder if we would see it again. At one point, my doctor chastised me because I kept talking about “when we lose this pregnancy.”

Towards the end of the pregnancy, I started believing that we would actually get to bring home a cute little tot. The pregnancy continued to progress- past alarming quad screen results, great amniocentesis results, sleepless nights, swollen feet, a placenta previa diagnosis, and hormonal craziness.

When I was just over 35-weeks pregnant, the doctor decided the pregnancy had gone long enough, and it was time to schedule a c-section. Due to the placenta previa, we were going to have the baby in a week! Tim tried to negotiate the early delivery, but the doctor was adamant. The baby needed to come now. I, on the other hand, was tired of feeling and looking like this, so I was excited about it. My only request: wait until after July 4. My family goes nuts over Independence Day, and I didn’t want to miss anything.

We did the 6:00 AM pancake breakfast, the parade, a bbq, the fireworks, and then around midnight, I tried to sleep.

I couldn’t. No matter how many bottles of beer were on the wall, my body wouldn’t submit. I would not be sleeping this night.

I kept wondering about my baby, my body, the placenta previa, and the cesarean section. I was excited, nervous, terrified, and ecstatic. I  had heard horror stories about placenta previa deliveries, and I had a bad feeling. I knew mine was going to be tough. My thoughts about that? BRING IT! I am going to have a BABY! Finally! After years of trying,

My c-section was scheduled for 4:00 PM. What am I going to do all day? 4:00 PM is FOREVER away. Hmmm, what shall we do? I know! Let’s go to Seven Peaks! After all, a water-slide park the morning of a delivery makes perfect sense. We loaded up the troops and headed to Seven Peaks. After a cold summer rain, we decided to call it a day and head home. We dropped the kids off at my parents, and checked into the hospital.

My apprehension the night before was spot on. The delivery was a nightmare. The placenta was blocking the way to the baby, and the doctors sliced into the placenta when trying to deliver him. Joshua was trapped and bleeding out. So was I. The surgeons were inspired and worked quickly, and were able to save him, and me. They delivered him through the placenta, and rushed him to the NICU. In between periods of passing out, I was assured both of us would be OK, but it would be a rough recovery. No problem. My baby is here.

Joshua had to spend some time in the NICU. (Which was seriously not a big deal after living at Primary Children’s Hospital for three months with Jonny.) I shared a number of hospital meals with my Dad (who LOVES hospital food- crazy guy!) And before long we were home.

(I do have to add that while we were waiting for Joshua to get better, Tim parked our Jayco Travel Trailer in the parking lot, so I could be close to Joshua, yet have a place to sleep. Thanks, Tim. You rock.)

Thank you, God. Thank you, doctors. Thank you, Tim, and thank you friends and family. We are so grateful to be a family of six. Now we are dealing with 3:00 AM feedings, little hands and toes, poopie diapers, adorable smiles, and blood-curdling-purple-screaming, and we couldn’t be happier.

I have not posted a blog since October. Shortly after my last blog post, I miscarried the baby that I had announced quite publicly, here, a month before. As this was the outlet for my exciting news, I couldn’t make myself open my laptop and get back to blogging. It had a painful connection for me, and it was easier for me to avoid blogging than write, or not write, about it.

As many of you know, we went through hell and back shortly after our son was born. When he was 8 weeks old, he became blind, paralyzed and went into respiratory arrest with infant botulism. This was a very difficult time for us, and at times I never thought we would make it through it.

After our son recovered, my husband and I decided we wanted another baby. I quickly became pregnant, and just as quickly miscarried. But because the pregnancy was so short, I figured it wasn’t meant to be, and we could try again later. I cried for a day or so, and then got over it.

A few months later, we tried again, and voilà! Success! I was so excited about having our last baby. I couldn’t wait to share the news and start shopping for baby clothes and pick out names. I felt on a spiritual level, that we were supposed to add one more addition to our family, and knew everything would be OK.

When I miscarried the second time, I was more than heart broken. I was devastated. To add insult to injury, the D&C didn’t go well, and I had complications from the surgery. I seriously felt like I just couldn’t win. I found myself asking a lot of “why” questions.

Why did Jonny have to spend 3 months fighting for his life in a hospital?
Why did I miscarry the first time?
And for Heaven Sake, why again, especially this far along?

I felt hopeless, and was sure that my prayers made it no further than my bedroom ceiling.

Since then, I have realized the following:

Contrary to the belief that life is supposed to be a field of daisies, sometimes bad things happen. In fact, maybe they happen a lot more than sometimes. Life can be difficult, so difficult it feels like complete and total torture.

So, how do you move on when your life feels shattered?

For me, I had to start concentrating on what I used to like about my life (because at that time, I really didn’t like anything). I started looking for things to be thankful for. (My husband helped me a lot with this.) I continued to pray, even when I felt like my words evaporated before they reached Heaven. It took a lot of effort.

Another thing that helped- I really, really tried to act happy. Sometimes I was so good at pretending I was happy, that I actually fooled myself.

Biggest impact- I started looking for ways to help and serve others. I realized that other people had problems harder than mine, and I looked for ways to support and encourage them. I made more dinners for neighbors, expressed my love and appreciation for my family and friends, and donated to worthy causes. The busier I was, the less I missed our baby and thought about what might have been.

Finally, I started doing things for me. I took time to relax, read, and even splurge on pedicures and spa treatments.

End result: I am happier, more energetic and optimistic. I am giving my children, husband, SELF (this is super-important), and career 100%. It has taken a few months to get there, but I can honestly say I feel happy again. I figure if I keep this up, I can either become a motivational speaker, or write an amazing, life-changing, can’t-put-it-down-more-popular-than-twilight-book (which will make me millions of dollars, of course.)

I like dogs. I really do. I grew up with them and find them cute, sweet, and generally lovable.

What I don’t like? Dog owners. I believe there are two types of dog owners. The responsible type and the (insert curse word of your choice) type.

One of my favorite coworkers, Dan Bischoff, came to work on Friday with a crumpled-up piece of paper. The night before, he had left this note for his neighbor:

“It is 12:33 a.m. as I write this. Your dogs have been barking for 5 hours straight. And it has gotten progressively worse…”

He politely asked the owner to do something about the situation and reminded the owner that incessant barking is in violation of the HOA rules. What did the dog owner do? She crumpled up the note, threw it into the bushes and wrote back. On her note, she let him know that he was not Christ-like because he left the note. Hmmm, I guess letting your dogs bark all night is?

This is especially interesting to me, because Dan is also a dog owner. He takes his dog fishing, hiking, and makes sure the dog is happy and exercised. I have found that most dog owners are pretty patient with other dog owners. However, I am guessing last Thursday was not the only night the Bischoff family lost sleep due to dog barking. So, for Dan to finally give up and write the note, and receive the response he did (instead of an apology), made me realize: There aren’t bad dogs- just bad dog owners.

Which kind of dog owner are you? Here is a quick test to determine if you the perfect parent for your pooch.

What Kind of Dog Owner Are You?

1. Do you roll over, and put your head under your pillow while your dog barks all night? No? Good for you! Give yourself 3 points.

2. Do you pick up your doggie’s doodoo, or better yet, not let him relieve himself in your neighbor’s yard? Awesome. This one is worth 2 points.

3. Is your dog so bored during the day, that he barks through the fence at everything that moves? No, then you are stellar- 5 points for you!

4. Do you leave your doggie’s doodoo on your front lawn, creating such a stink the neighbors can smell it? No? Yay! I love you! 5 points.

5. Do you get crazy-offended when someone asks you to remove poop, or stop your dog from barking? No? Well, that means you are a grown up! Congratulations for being emotionally mature, give yourself 10 points.

How did you score?

0-10 Points:  You are about as as worthless as the smelly poopie on my front lawn. Don’t be surprised if you are rewarded by a flaming paper-bag full of poop on your front porch.

10-15 Points: Not a horrible doggie owner, but you have some serious work to do. Print out this blog and read it daily while looking in the mirror and doing affirmations. “I am a good doggie parent. I will be responsible for my pooch.”

15-19 Points: You are a good doggie parent. Give yourself and your puppy a treat.

20+ Points: I love you. You should start your own blog, titled, “My dog is good and your dog takes after you.” It will get readers, I promise.

What do you think? What are your thoughts on dogs and their owners?

I can’t help it. I am addicted. I was glued to Sister Wives (a polygamous reality show) last Sunday, and I can hardly wait for the next episode.

The show fascinates me. You know the people that slow down and rubber-neck when they see a car wreck? Well, that is me with Sister Wives.

My interest in polygamy isn’t new. When Tim and I were dating, I begged him to drive me to Colorado City, so we could sneak into their church services. We got so far as the parking lot, where we were politely asked to leave. Darn it! Didn’t they want a new recruit? I was offended. I guess I should have braided my hair that day. Or perhaps my make-up turned them off. Frick!

Later, I talked Tim into taking me to another fundamentalist church service. This time, we got in! Wahoo! I could hardly wait to people watch. I was sorely disappointed to find that these men and women looked and acted just like us. Other than a poor sound system and a different way of passing the Sacrament, the meeting was a lot like the LDS services I attend.

Why am I so interested in polygamy?

Perhaps, because I grew up with stories of the Mormon Polygamy Colonies in Mexico. Although the Church stopped actively promoting Polygamy in the United States in 1890, many Mormon Polygamists were instructed by LDS Church leaders to take their families and continue plurality in Mexico through the early 1900s.

My adopted Grandma, Rinda, grew up in the Colonies and was full of really amazing tales. I heard about her mother, a fiery red-head, that took in boarders to support the family. Later, I thought about these stories more. Who WERE these women? How did they live that way? Weren’t there jealousies, frustrations, feelings of abandonment, nights filled with tears? Who were these men? How can they divide their love between multiple women?

I don’t understand it. Last Sunday on Sister Wives, a wife shared her feelings about knowing her husband is participating in certain indoor activities with the other wives. Her response:  “Well gosh darn it, they better!”

Really? Really?! They BETTER?!

I love my husband. Do these women love their husband the same way? The idea of sharing Tim is unthinkable. How do they get past their jealousy? Why would they purposely choose a lifestyle that is certain to bring them pain? Do they really think they won’t be exalted without a sister wife, or is it just a preferred lifestyle? It just doesn’t make sense. I can’t believe that God would favor men and curse women this way.

Also- the LDS Church stopped practicing polygamy because they were worried about Governmental consequences. What happens when polygamy becomes legal? With all of the Governmental and Liberal support of Gay Marriage, how can polygamists continue to be ostracized? If gay marriage is legal, why not plural marriage? At some point, will I be part of a Church that embraces and promotes polygamy, again?

What do you think? Could you be a sister wife? I’ll admit, having a free live-in nanny would have its benefits. But seriously, could you do it?

I suspected I was pregnant about a week ago, but really knew on Saturday. How did I know? I was weepy, emotional, and almost went postal over my toddler’s missing shoes.

I was in Jonathan’s room, looking for his shoes, when I felt so frustrated that I almost lost it. In the middle of my hormone-induced craziness, I thought, “Do I really get this upset over missing shoes?” The answer. Yes. Absolutely- when I am pregnant.

Later that day, I was watching Tim take our girls on the Ferris Wheel at the Utah State Fair, when I started crying. I felt a surge of love for my family and wanted to hug and kiss them all at the same time. I would like to claim to be this grateful and sweet 24/7, but this powerful surge of love, rainbows, and unicorns is also a little abnormal for me. Well, unless I am pregnant.

So, I told Tim, who reassured me that I was not pregnant, and I believed him- sort of.

Until early Sunday morning, when I just KNEW. I grabbed my four year-old and headed to Smiths Market, where I reached through the Pharmacy’s metal security gate in an effort to score a pregnancy test and some peace of mind.

There is nothing like finding out “the news” in a grocery store bathroom stall with your four year-old. But hey, can you blame me? It is hard to wait for news like this. The result: positive.

Are we thrilled? Abso-frickin-lutely!