Pregnancy

 37 weeks and 4 days pregnant. This is how far along I am today with my current pregnancy. It also was how far along I was when I went to the hospital to be induced to have Lincoln. I never wrote anything down about being pregnant with Lincoln.

Pregnancy is a privilege that not all women get. I have already forgotten many things about being pregnant with Lincoln and so many things feel blurred with my pregnancy with this baby.

While there are similarities my two experiences feel very different. All I did my first pregnancy was think about being pregnant.

I spent so much time with free time. It was the middle of a pandemic. The world stopped in many ways and I researched baby items and read about what was happening to my body and my baby.

With my current pregnancy anytime anyone asked how many weeks I was I would have to pull out my phone and open an app because I never knew.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care I just had so many other things to worry about as well. I worked until 36 weeks and mothered a toddler everyday.

I didn’t realize then what a luxury I had being able to focus so much on what was happening to Lincoln and to me. It’s something I have mourned little bit this time. I just didn’t feel like I had the energy I wanted to give or the brain space.

Lincoln‘s pregnancy was not without its challenges. I got the flu during my first trimester and I have never been so sick in my life. It was a very scary experience and has made me a team flu shot person for the rest of forever.

Many appointments and decisions were made on my own due to the fact that covid 19 was so rampant and unknown. I had no idea what it would mean for my baby because no one knew that much about it. I lived in a state of anxiety.

Thomas was not able to attend the full anatomy ultrasound and I was not able to have my mom with me for my delivery. Two things I think I will always feel sad about.

It is now comical to think about the fact that I broke my leg and was on crutches during my second and third trimester. The only time I’ve ever broken a bone and it had to be pregnant. My body did not feel well because all I ever did was sit on the couch or hobble around on crutches.

The biggest challenge with Lincoln’s pregnancy was my experience with hypertension and preeclampsia. I was so swollen. I loved my doctor and her office. They did so good at monitoring me closely without causing me to feel like things were bad. I did have to collect urine in a bucket for 24 hours and carry it into the doctors office. We had to keep it in our fridge and Thomas’ study group did find it which was one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. It is something I laugh at now but I sure hated that then.

I will never forget this day being pregnant with Lincoln. Going my weekly appointment and having my blood pressure yet again be high, doing a non-stress test and them very calmly saying well it looks like it’s time to go have this baby.

With baby brother I prioritized movement so much this pregnancy. I think a big part of it has to do with the fact I couldn’t with Lincoln. I wanted to give my body its best shot at feeling good and recovering well. I needed to be stronger. I needed to be stronger both for having a baby and for being a mother. I want to be able to run, jump, crawl, dance and play with my toddler and his brother.

I’m not sure if I would have expected my gym journey to take off while pregnant but it has been an absolute game changer for me. I could so obviously tell a difference on how I felt the days I skipped my work out.

I was sicker this time and thought I was having a girl because I felt so different in the beginning than I did pregnant with Lincoln. Maybe it just had to do with the fact that I was so much busier. Movement save me.

Some symptoms were similar like heartburn and fatigue. While other things are so different. My anxiety is so much better this time. This baby is much more active gives me less room to worry.

My Varicose veins round two came back with such a vengeance. I feel like I have a sprained ankle. My legs are sore and achy. My compression socks ruined all of my outfits and take a hit at my self-confidence but not wearing them is so much worse.

I feel like I am a generally positive pregnant person. Until about two or three weeks ago and now I’m a little grumpy and just want to be done.

I am so grateful for the chance I’ve had to grow this baby but little guy you can come out now.

Feeding Lincoln

One of the things that surprised me the most about having a baby was how much I hated breastfeeding. I wasn’t expecting it to be easy but I would be lying if I didn’t say I thought it would be easier. I dreaded it. Shuddered it hurt so bad. I wanted to cry when someone would hand him to me to feed him. I HATED feeling like that. I couldn’t figure out how to hold him no matter how many positions I looked at on Pinterest. My wrists ached from holding his head. There was no way he was eating under a cover and so I often felt isolated locked back in my room for hours a day feeding the baby.

I set myself a goal after talking to a friend about how long it took to stop hating it. 6 weeks. I would try for 6 weeks and if I still felt anxious every time he needed to eat then I would be done. Let me tell you- this boy eats A LOT!

Everything I was reading said offer a feeding every 2.5 to 3 hours. Ha. I was struggling to make it an hour and a half. It seemed to me that he was always hungry. At first I wondered if we were stuck in a snacking cycle. So I pushed him to wait just a little longer. Tried to get a “full feeding”. He would scream and scream. The most infuriating part was he threw up almost everything he ate. I was exhausted. He was exhausted. It had been a month. My scabs had healed and it was starting to hurt less but I still didn’t know if I could do this long term.

I called the doctor about his spit up. Normal baby stuff from what they could tell. We would evaluate at my next visit. We kept going. I was able to push him to almost 2 hours most feedings now. Progress? I hoped so.

I still had a REALLY sad baby. Decided it was colic. Bought gas drops. Totally thought they worked the first few times. And maybe they helped but he was still so unhappy. He slept so bad. I was doing everything I had learned in my takingcarababies class. His spitting up started to alarm me. 3 or 4 times he would spit up after eating. I would hold him upright for 20 minutes, 30 minutes and finally 45 minutes in the middle of the night and he still spit up the minute I laid him down.

Never have I been so grateful we had a washing machine. One day in tears I told Thomas “I thought I would be better at this. I’ve been around babies. I thought I would be able to recognize his needs.”

I called the doctor again. I was feeling foolish because I had already called and thought maybe I just have a baby that spits up. Maybe I just have a gassy baby. My baby is just hard to nurse. Babies cry.

They scheduled me an appointment for that afternoon. Relieved to be getting even just some piece of mind we headed in. Just Lincoln and I- Only one parent (stupid Covid).

The nurse checked his length and weight and asked me if I had tried eliminating things from my diet. I told her I had tried dairy and caffeine. She asked how long. I said 5 days but I didn’t really notice a difference. She then laughed at me and replied “well that’s not long enough”. Maybe she saw the hurt in my eyes when I responded- “well how long am I supposed to test that? I’m literally just googling things”.

“Oh well the doctor will go over that with you”

“Well that would be helpful, thanks” I replied with a little more spunk in my voice.

She was totally right. Now that I have done the research I’m kicking myself for not trying longer but it’s all overwhelming. It just stung the way she said it when I already felt like I was failing my child. Plus my not eating cheese wouldn’t have solved our problem anyway.

Lincoln has a milk allergy not just a dairy intolerance. We read lots of food labels now- Bread made with milk had gotta go, items that “may contain milk” are not worth the risk. I mean I bought vegan butter. I’m gonna be a regular at Trader Joe’s now I guess.

The doctor was much better with my feelings than the nurse that proceeded her. She told me it can take weeks or months to know. The easiest way was to test a diaper and sure enough they found blood in his stool.

The days that followed have been long. I’ve struggled with so much guilt as I’ve watched my baby arch his back and cry- so uncomfortable and so sad.

Why didn’t I call sooner? Why didn’t a research more? I should have known it was more than gas. I’ve made him so sick. I should have stopped dairy sooner, for longer.

I’ve cried as he has cried knowing that we really just have to wait it out. We have walked around in the still triple digit heat, gone on many drives to sonic and taken lots of tubs trying to keep both of us calm. It’s been 10 days. The magic happens anywhere between 10 days and 3 weeks from what I understand but again- I’m just googling things. We see the doctor again in a week.

I feel like I get small moments of who my little baby really is. I know there is a happy soul inside that uncomfortable body. I can’t wait for it to shine. The last couple days I feel like I have gotten a few more smiles. The mornings are his favorite- which is funny because that is when I struggle most but maybe that is a tender mercy.

Thomas has been such a rockstar. He is busy with school but tries to give me a break as often as he can. Mom bought me a dairy-free cook book. I have lots of people cheering me on and checking in. Kira sent me a new hippo friend in the mail. We are gonna be okay. I keep telling myself he won’t remember this time.

But back to the breastfeeding thing- the whole reason I started this middle of the night rant. If he doesn’t improve than his milk allergy may actually be a soy allergy. If that is the case our best chance is probably fancy formula. If I thought milk was in everything- soy makes dairy-free look easy.

I’ve been extremely surprised by how sad I feel at the thought of not nursing him anymore. He is 8 weeks old today. My goal of 6 weeks slipped past without me thinking about it much. I’m not sure when I stopped dreading it. I’m not sure I would say I just love nursing and I’m not the person to bash on bottles- that’s for sure not what I am saying. And that’s not why I don’t want to stop nursing.

I think it is just the fact that I worked so hard at it. It was so hard for me but it was something I wanted so I gritted my teeth (literally) and kept trying. We figured it out. Me and him together.

So now the thought of being done makes me feel really sad.

I’m already mourning the fact I have a freezer stash of milk from the last couple months of pumping that I’ll never get to use. Pumping makes me feel so inhuman. I feel like an animal but again- I wanted it and so I did it. And now I don’t get to have it.

Maybe this whole experience will turn me into one of those people that just loved breastfeeding their babies. I kinda doubt it but it did add a level of gratification. I’m grateful for the chance and really pretty proud of myself. Thomas asked me if I wanted to be done when we got word about the milk allergy. If it would have been during those first 6 weeks I would have been done without blinking. But somehow now it feels like it took too much work to get here to not give it a little longer.

He is still spitting up with every feeding. The whole reason this is even got written is because he spit up in his bassinet waking himself up. I have a hard time putting him back to bed after he does that. He makes these weird choking/gasping sounds and so I just hold him because there is no way I can sleep after that and his Dad has a big test tomorrow so it’s just you and me tonight little dude. I’ll take a nap when Dad gets home tomorrow. And hey it’ll be day 11 dairy-free maybe you’ll be happy as can be! I really hope so.

My Covid Baby

It’s late.
Thomas is asleep and I should be too but someone else is awake.
I feel him moving the most late at night. Sometimes I just like to lay here and feel him wiggle. It brings peace to my heart in a way nothing else can.
It’s in these moments that he feels real. Not just an idea we talk about or a new need I create a registry for. It’s these late nights we share, just him and I, where he feels like my son.

Someone I am responsible for protecting.

My Covid baby.

I’ve been fortunate during this pandemic.
Yes, I am out of work. However, our student loan has been able to cover our rent. We wont have the savings we were planning for when the baby comes but we should still be alright.
Yes, everything in our life seemed to have changed over night.
We are fortunate. We have gracious parents who have allowed us to live in their homes and eat their food. I've been able to see a few loved ones I wasn't planning on seeing for a while.
Yes, I’ve felt frustrated and worried about the virus but none of my family members have been infected.
I know I am much better off than many.

Yet I’m still sad.
This pregnancy feels controlled by the pandemic. I feel cheated out of seamingly small things: No traditional baby shower, no one to comment on my growing bump, no increased tips at work (my bank account was looking forward to that), no in store shopping for clothes or supplies.
These are all trivial things but they felt important to me. Then there is the worry that the virus will spike again as some have predicted. These worries are less trival, rather big deal things.
Will this mean I’ll be alone in the delivery room? Will my mom be able to come stay with us when we bring the baby home? Will I get to introduce him to anyone in person? While I’m grateful for technology we all know that FaceTime just isn’t the same.
My covid baby.

How will his life be different because of this? Will I feel comfortable letting people hold him? If flu season wasn’t enough how will my new mother nerves handle corona? Will we get to have a baby blessing with a group larger than 10? Will I feel safe leaving my home for a walk in the park? When will I be able to take him to church or play group? Will my grandparents get to meet him?

Utah has been lucky as far as numbers go and that has allowed people to live more normally. While that isn’t necessarily bad, I feel a sense of panic watching St. George fill up like spring break every weekend. I know I can’t say much because I came here but I selfishly want everyone else to STAY AWAY! Stay home, stay safe. Yes, to flatten the curve. Yes, to protect those at risk. But also selfishly I want this to end so my last few months of pregnancy can be somewhat normal. And mostly so my baby won’t be a
Covid baby.

I have 114 days until my due date and I don’t feel like we are in the clear. I don’t think that we are going to get any closer to normal life by deciding that a few weeks of quarantine was enough. Now maybe I’m wrong. I hope I am. I hope we did enough to make the last month or so worth it. I guess I’m just not willing to take that risk. I guess I just think what was the point of it all if we don't see it through? It seems like a double standard to fast and pray, to not gather together, to sew masks and make thank you signs for front line workers... and then what... get tired of it and push for everything to go on as normal. I just don't know how to feel anymore.
I’ve seen all the posts “be kind”, “everyone is doing the best they know how”, “we aren’t all in the same boat” but during these late nights I feel selfish. I want what’s best for this baby.
My Covid baby.

No wonder he flips around so much late at night. His mom is a basket case.
I’m no doctor and I’m not a politician.
I don’t claim to know what is best for the health of the nation physically or finically. I try and stay away from news articles because neither argument makes me feel better.
All I know is- I have done all I can to do my part. I haven’t seen any of my friends in St. George. I haven’t accepted any clients. I wore a mask to the grocery store and felt like a weirdo. But those are the only things I can control. I'm realistically a pretty insignificant part of the pandemic at large. We all are. That's why is doesn't work if we aren't pulling the same direction.


I wish these nights feeling him move allowed me to imagine what he will look like or grow up to be. It feels like I can’t picture those things until I know how I’m gonna get him here.
So tonight I write down my thoughts hoping to clear some space for thoughts of a healthy, happy, visited, admired and safe
Covid baby.

remembering them

Thomas has been out of town for a couple of days. I'm not sure why being home alone has driven me to write but it is about time I revisited this blog.

Over the summer I traveled to Salt Lake for a good friend's wedding. While I was there I was able to see my grandparents. Last year I lost a grandpa and a grandma. It sometimes doesn't feel real. Other times it feels far too real.
I'm sad for my remaining grandparents who lost more than I can comprehend. My Grandpa told me how strange it has been to change his mentality from always being "we" to now always being "I". Thomas and I have only been married 2.5 years and he has only been gone 4 days. My routine has been thrown way off. I can't imagine how life would be after 60ish years with someone.
I'm sad for my parents. Mom lost her mom and Dad lost his dad. I'm terrified for that day. There never really is a point when you don't need your parents.
I'm sad my children wont get to know them in this life. I'm determined to tell them stories about the people they are probably hanging out with in Heaven right now.

I don't want to dwell on being sad their gone. I know I am blessed to have had them. I had all 4 grandparents at my wedding. Not very many people are that lucky.

Grandpa Frodsham
His presence was so calming. As he got older I knew exactly where to find him- in a rocking chair by the fire. It is the first place his grandchild would go when they arrived at their house. I loved sitting there with him looking out the big window. He listened. He always listened. He wanted to know everything. He was so kind and loving. He made you feel like his favorite person. I never felt better about myself growing up than when I told grandpa about something I was proud of. He was always genuinely excited for you.
Grandpa was a perfect patriarch. He taught us how important it was to be a Frodsham. He was proud of who he was and what he believed. Grandpa was a family man, a cowboy, an inventor, and a people watcher. I think maybe I got my love of people watching from him. He noticed things about people because he paid attention.

Grandma Marchant
My Grandma taught me how to read a hymn book. One of my earliest memories of her was sitting in sacrament meeting while she held my hand to move my fingers down the row, one line at a time. Grandma loved hymns. Certain songs remind me of her. I loved the big piano in their front room. Grandma had dementia. While she forgot so many things she remembered music. She also taught me to tie my shoes with a little story of a bunny running around a tree. Grandma wasn't afraid to tell you how it was. She was honest and I loved her for it. She made me laugh. I've been told sass is a trait of Marchant women. It is one I'm pretty proud to have. Grandma was a world class worrier. She worried about everyone she loved. It is the trait I probably heard about most around the time of her funeral. To me it speaks to the ability she had to fiercely love her family. Your problems were her problems.

I see so much of them in my parents. My Dad listens like Grandpa did. He inherited his ability to make people feel important. Mom got Grandma's ability to teach me in clear and meaningful ways, and she most surely got her sass. ;)

As the holidays approach I miss them both a little extra. I don't think family gatherings will ever feel just right again.

Families are forever.

Good Enough

I am a big believer in taking fun classes while in college. Classes that have nothing to do with your major or minor. Just a couple credits that make you feel happy to be in class. I have taken a class like this every semester from rock climbing to creative writing they have been some of my best college moments.
This semester my fun class was an individual development course on positive living. It has turned out to feel a lot like therapy but more fun and less uncomfortable. I have loved it! Our units have included: gratitude, personal strengths and our top values. Currently we are studying mindfulness which is challenging but it has the potential to be so worth it.
A few weeks ago we covered decision making. It was a really eye opening experience.

I'm not the most decisive person. I don't like to be the one to pick the restaurant or the movie. I spend too much time worrying about regretting my choices. Turns out that isn't all that uncommon. 90% of my classmates including myself admitted to being maximizers. A maximizer is someone who over thinks/analyzes/calcualates both before and after making a decision. Maximizers search for what they believe is the perfect decision.Then after they finally make a choice they wonder "what if".
For example let's say we wanted to go get tacos. Maximizers look up the best places to get tacos on multiple websites. They may also text a few people for their opinion. Once they have found what they think is the very best option they head out for tacos. We will skip over the ordering part because that is a whole process on its own. After the taco place had been chosen and we were enjoying some delicious carne asada, maximers wonder if we picked the very best place or if maybe the other place would have been better.
Doing this not only takes away from the experience they could be having with their taco but maximizing can lead to a whole list of things- higher chance for depression, lower levels of satisfaction, etc. Tacos seem like a simple decision but to some degree the majority of people maximize.

Satisfiers are the few people who just go with the flow and can feel happy with chicken, steak or pork without wondering if the other is better. Research finds that satisfiers have the ability to experience higher levels of satisfaction and report being happier overall.
Moral of the story. I'm trying to make a positive effort to live life in the satisfiers lane. Instead of searching and agonizing over what the perfect decision is, I am making choices that are 'good enough'. What it has taught me is that there might not even be a perfect decision. I think Heavenly Father would push me a little harder if there was. Maybe He trusts us to make good enough decisions. I don't want to ruin my good enough decisions by worrying so much about it that I'm unhappy either way. I think good enough has a negative vibe to it but that isn't what I'm trying to illustrate. If we end up living in Provo for the rest of our life that can be good enough. We can be happy, healthy and in love where ever we end up. It will be good enough to keep our covenants, work hard and laugh a lot as life gets even crazier. It is good enough the plan we have come up with (which actually does not include Provo at all). Our life is GREAT and our decisions to make it great are good enough.
I'm not very good at being a satisfier yet but I'm trying. I'm trying to enjoy my pork tacos in life without thinking about what would have happened if I had picked the chicken. Because pork is good enough and chicken is good enough and so on and so forth.

I have a wonderful, patient, loving husband who has been nothing but supportive over the last few months. I have struggled and agonized over the decisions we were making. I was making myself feel absolutely miserable no matter what we decided. I was grateful for this class I took because it help me just make a good enough decision and know that we were going to be more than okay.

2017 Highlights

I lost all of my photos at the end of last year. I am continually sad about it. A lot of friends I follow on Instagram reviewed their years on New Years. I stole some photos from Thomas and Facebook. I'm a little late in the game but here is my photo review of 2017...

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

 December