Friday, February 14, 2014

A Lilly Story





It’s been three weeks since our precious daughter came into this world.  Time to share how that happened!

January 23rd 2014
7:30 p.m.
I started having pretty frequent Braxton Hicks (you know, those fake contractions).  I didn’t want to get my hopes up though.  I had had a couple days when I’d have Braxton Hicks for an hour, and then they’d go away.   I was pretty uncomfortable (due date was only three days away) and I just wanted my baby out.  I wanted to feel normal again, and most of all I wanted to meet our little son or daughter. 

January 24th 2014
2:30 a.m.
I woke up to a contraction hurting.  It wasn’t too bad and I fell back to sleep. 
7:30 a.m.
Every contraction hurt.  Though I could still get up and do things like normal.  Did I though?  No.  I sat in bed and worked on a blog post for my book blog and ate a cinnamon roll my husband brought me. 
10ish a.m.
I started keeping track of how frequent the contractions were.  They were consistently 5-8 minutes apart.  At this point I was thinking and hoping our baby was coming sometime that weekend.
4:00 p.m.
I had a doctor appointment at 4.  I told them I was having frequent contractions but they weren’t hurting really bad.  The doctor checked my dilation and said I was at a 2.4.  Don’t ask about the .4.  Chris and I thought that was weird and so did the nurses at the hospital later that night.
The doctor said I would probably have our baby that weekend.  The lady at the front desk said we should go home, get some pizza and watch a movie.  Pizza sounded yuk, but a movie didn’t sound too bad. 
By the time Chris and I arrived back at our apartment my contractions had gotten a little worse, but nothing I couldn’t handle. 
Chris had a chemistry test to take by Saturday (the next day).  I told him to go take it.  I was only at a 2, my contractions weren’t bad, and this was my first baby, which meant a long labor.  “Plus,” I said jokingly, “If anything does happen in the two hours you’re gone I’ll just get someone to go into the testing center to get you.”  We both knew once he was in the testing center he would be unreachable.  We weren’t worried.
He turned on Madagascar 2 for me and left.  
5:00 p.m.
My contractions started getting worse.  Where was Chris?  “It’s okay,” I told myself, “Just concentrate on the movie.”  My contractions were about 4-6 minutes apart at this point and lasted for 20 seconds.  I could no longer concentrate on the movie and was really tired of being alone for this whole labor experience.  Chris had been gone all day, first to school then work.  Before, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, but at this point I would have really liked some support, even if it was just a silent hand to squeeze.
A little after 5:30 p.m. 
I stood up during a contraction to relieve some of the pain and it felt like I had peed my pants a little (you know when you laugh so hard a little urine comes out?  I know at least some of you have had that happen to them).  Hmmm…had my water just broken?  If it had I didn’t want to be standing over the living room carpet.  Into the bathroom I ran. 
Oh yeah, that contraction hurt really bad and the pain wasn’t going completely away, and I was missing my favorite part of the movie! (“If I only had a day to live I would invade a neighboring country and impose my own ideologies on them.”  “Well that’s easy for you to do, you’re a king”). 
By this time I was crying.  I was in a ton of pain, and I had no one—I was all alone. Chris was unreachable.  We had a plan of how I would get a hold of him in case I went into labor while he was in class or at work, but we didn’t have a plan if he happened to be in the testing center. 
I texted my mom to tell her that I thought my water had broken.  She called me immediately and asked me some questions.  By this time it was hard for me to talk during contractions.  She told me to call my midwife, which is what I was about to do before she called me. 
Because I had tested positive for Strep B Group, Rachel, my midwife, told me to come to the hospital ASAP so I could get on the antibiotic right away if my water had really broken. 
What to do now?  I didn’t have a car or a husband. 
5:50 p.m.
I called our neighbors/home teachers and asked if they could take me to the hospital.  They went out and warmed up the car right away.  I grabbed the hospital bag and went out the door; thankful it wasn’t too cold that night, and especially grateful for wonderful friends.  On the way to the hospital I texted Chris and called my mom to let her know what was going on (she jumped in her car and headed to Rexburg). 
Chris called while we still on our way to the hospital.  The conversation went something like this:
Chris: “Hey, so what’s going on?”
Me: “I think my water broke, and Rachel told me to come in so they could check for sure.  Meet me up at the hospital ASAP.”
Chris: “Okay.  So I got an 90 on my Chem test.”
Me: “That’s great.  Are you on your way to the hospital?”  Like really that’s great, but honestly that’s the last thing on my mind right now.
Chris: “Uh yeah.  Did you want me to bring you anything from home?”
Me: “You’re not home are you?”
Chris: “No, but I could run home if you forgot anything.”  Really kid?  Really?  I’m most likely IN LABOR!  I understand you want to make sure I have everything, but PLEASE come to the hospital right now. 
Me: “No I have everything.  I want you to come to the hospital right now.”
Chris: “Oh yeah, okay.  I’m on my way.”  I could tell a light bulb had clicked in his head at that moment and was thankful he wasn’t going to be one of those husbands who thought of the sandwich he really wanted to be eating or the basketball game he was missing while his wife was pushing out their kid.
5:55 p.m.
I arrived at the hospital. 
They took forever checking me in.  Hello, I’m in labor.  I’m in pain.  Let me go into the hospital so they can check me out here!  I don’t care about any forms I have to sign!  (This is why the husband should always be there). 
They finally put me in an examination room and told me to change into a hospital “gown.”  More like a sheet with a hole in it for your arms and head.  Did I mention it has no back? 
6:00 p.m.
Chris walked into the room.  I’ve never been so thankful to see him! 
6:05 p.m.
Okay, the pain is only getting worse.  Where is that doctor who’s supposed to check to see if my water broke?!   “They don’t have to come in and check,” I told Chris.  “I’m sitting in a puddle of water and I know I just didn’t pee my pants.”
A nurse finally came in.  She didn’t even test the puddle I was sitting in to see if it was amniotic fluid.  She just helped me up and took me to a delivery room. 
This was it!  We were going to meet our baby soon.  Little did we know how soon.
6:10 p.m.
The nurse sat me on a bed, and another nurse came in and started to ask me a whole bunch of questions I can’t even remember.  I’m grateful Chris was there to answer most of them.  They put monitors on my belly to monitor baby’s heartbeat. 
Rachel came in to check my dilation.  I was at a 3.
7:00 p.m.
The nurse tried getting an IV in me, but my veins weren’t showing.  It took about 15 minutes for her to put the IV in.  Thankfully she only had to poke me once.  I was hooked up to my antibiotics.  I needed them in my system four hours prior to delivery.  The nurse and Rachel weren’t concerned that I would have the baby before four hours. 
Contractions were starting to get worse.  I keep telling myself I can handle it because it was only going to get worse.  At one point though I told Chris I couldn’t do it anymore.  He was such a good cheerleader, telling me I could.
8:00 p.m.
I’m surprised I didn’t rip Chris’s clothes off.  My contractions were getting steadily worse.  The only relief (if you want to call it relief) was standing up.  I couldn’t stand up on my own so hung onto Chris’s neck with my right arm while pulling at his shirt with my left.  He later told me I was putting him in a chokehold.  Sorry Honey! 
Since I was giving birth naturally Rachel was supposed to be with me the whole time.  Well there was another lady in labor at the same time I was.  This was her fourth pregnancy and she was dilated to a 6, so naturally Rachel would be with her. 
8:45ish p.m. (ask Chris for sure.  My sense of time was pain).
I had noticed that my contractions were getting steadily worse every half hour or so.  I thought that it had to be over soon.  The nurse didn’t think so.  She was honest and said she’d give me another dose of antibiotics at 11 p.m.  “This will take that long?” I nearly cried. 
“I don’t want to sugar coat it,” she said, “But this is your first baby, and so I won’t be surprised if it does take that long.” 
At that point I honestly didn’t know if I could survive that long.  If my contractions were getting steadily worse with each half hour, I didn’t even want to think about how they would feel at 11 p.m. 
Epidural passed through my mind briefly.   I couldn’t get past the image of a huge needle being stuck in my back, and not being able to move, and getting hooked up to oxygen though. I would cross that bridge if my pain got worse. 
The nurse checked my dilation since my pain level had increased significantly. 
“You’re probably going to be at a 4,” she said.  I was at a 6 or 7!  Wow!  Okay, I could do this.  Just 3-4 more centimeters to go. 
“I can’t do this.” I told Chris as my pain increased again. 
“Yes you can, you’re doing awesome.”
9:00 p.m.
“You’re going to start feeling like you’re going to have a bowel movement,” the nurse said, “and you’ll want to bear down.” 
“Um…I’ve been feeling that for a little bit now.” 
“Let’s lay you down then.”
“No!”  The last time I tried to lay down = pain beyond pain.
The nurse assured me that I had lain down during a contraction, which had caused the pain.  So I stood by the bed waiting for the contraction to pass.  It didn’t.  It lessened, but never passed. 
“At this point,” the nurse said, “the contractions probably won’t permanently go away.” 
Awesome!  Chris and the nurse gently laid me down on my side.  I think I almost broke the rail to the bed. 
The nurse checked me again.  “You’re at a 9 ½.”
That must mean I’m getting close. 
Oh goodness, did I really just push?
The nurse told me to push the next time I had the urge.  So I did.  It scared me to death, but it did lessen the pain of the contraction and gave me something to do. 
Rachel came in to check me.  I was at a 10!!! 
I was a horrible pusher. 
They had to teach me how to push while I was pushing.  It’s not exactly something they can teach you at a birthing class. 
I’m grateful I didn’t have the epidural (not that I had time to get one).  If I had gotten one I would have no idea when to push and labor would have been longer. 
My mom told me when she gave birth to me she screamed.  I really didn’t want to scream, nor did I think I would.  I had no choice.  After each push I screamed.  I had no control over it.
Rachel stayed in the room and scrubbed up once I was at a 10.  Chris encouraged me throughout the 20 or so minutes of pushing. 
I couldn’t believe I was actually giving birth.  It’s something I always knew I would do someday.  It was amazing to think I was actually doing it.  There was no turning back at this point. 
9:29 p.m.
I saw the baby’s head for the first time.  The first thought that ran through my head was, “It’s out!” 
Chris placed the baby on my chest.
“Well, what is it?” I think I said (Chris was supposed to tell me the gender).
Turns out Chris was balling like our little baby.
“It’s a girl,” he finally said.
“A girl?  Really?” I said in disbelief. 
It was true.  The little baby on my chest was our sweet little girl.  Perhaps because Chris had three brothers and I had five, and we (well Chris mostly) had been calling our baby “Little guy” for the past 9 months, it was hard to believe I had given birth to a girl.  They are so rare in our families. 
So many emotions were going through my mind at this point.  The two main ones were relief and disbelief.  I was holding my daughter in my arms.  I was a mom.  I had just given birth! 
We named her Lilly.
Lilly stayed on my chest for about 30 minutes while after-birth stuff happened.  I remember Chris looking at my stomach and saying something like, “Whoa!  It’s flat again!” 
When they took Lilly off me she had pooped all over my stomach.  Seriously?  You were supposed to save that first squirt of meconium for Dad! 
She weighed in at 7lb 9 oz and was 20 ½ inches long.
Mom got a nice warm shower (thankful it was a fast labor).
Dad got a big sandwich (he hadn’t eaten since breakfast).
Lilly got some loves from Mom and Dad.


Because I didn’t get the antibiotic four hours prior to giving birth, Lilly and I had to stay in the hospital for 48 hours to make sure she didn’t have the virus.  She didn’t.  She never even got a hint of jaundice!  I’m so grateful she is a healthy baby. 

These past three weeks. 
How do I describe it?  I never thought I could love someone so much.  I would do anything for her.  And I pretty much do, including fighting my pain pill drowsiness so I can stay up with her at night.  She is so worth it.  I can look at Lilly for hours and not get bored.  I love laying next to her and smelling her sweet breath and skin. Cuddling with her is my favorite thing to do. 
It’s a wonder to look into her eyes and think she just came from our Heavenly Father.  She is so perfect and pure (even if she poops all over the bed sheets).  Chris and I love our sweet little girl.
Parenthood is the best lemonade you could ask for in life. 
Cuddle time with Mom
Daddy's girl.  He picked out her outfit
The little angel God blessed us with





Sunday, January 19, 2014

Why I did What I Did: My Pregnancy Story


“Judge not, that ye be not judged.” Matt 7:1

Perhaps I’m over-reacting, but I’ve seen some eyebrows go up, and felt people thinking, “Well aren’t you a weird one,” when I’ve told them about things I’ve planned for my pregnancy, and labor and delivery.  I know I don’t need to explain anything to anyone, but you know what? I feel like doing just that.  Hopefully next time someone tells you something they are doing during pregnancy and/or labor, you aren’t the ones with risen eyebrows wondering where this freak came from. 

“I don’t know how you do it!” and “You are so brave!” are two responses I frequently get when I tell people we didn’t find out what we are having.
Why didn’t I find out?  That’s simple.  I LOVE surprises. 
I will admit the week leading up to our 20 week ultra-sound I teetered on finding out if we were going to have a son or daughter.  However, in the end I knew I wanted to be surprised. 
Some people, though they didn’t say it out right and I don’t remember who they were, weren’t happy with me when I told them we weren’t finding out.  “We don’t know what to buy you then!” was one of their complaints.  The answer I was thinking but did not voice was, “Well it’s my pregnancy and my baby, not yours.”  I know I can be a little mean.  However, I’ve always wanted the gender of my baby to be a surprise.  I don’t want to let someone else’s complaints get in the way of one of the few things I can control during pregnancy.
The one comment that got me the most was when people would tell me I was so brave for not finding out.  (It’s not like I tight roped across the Grand Canyon.  I’m just being surprised).  “I would have to know,” they say, “So I can prepare.”  Honestly I don’t think I’m brave.  I think of the millions of women who had babies before ultra-sound was invented.  They had no way of knowing what they were having, therefore, having no way of “preparing” for a little boy or little girl.  Honestly I think you take care of a baby girl the same way you take care of a baby boy.  You feed them, you change them, you bathe them, you get up and hold them for hours on end in the middle of the night when they cry, and you love them.  Do you need to know the gender to prepare for that?  Personally, I don’t. 
As for finding them gender appropriate clothes?  Wal-Mart has none.  We’ve already looked.  Admittedly, we don’t have many clothes for the baby, and only have one blanket as of now.  Good thing this is the first grandchild on both sides, and first great grandchild on three sides, so I’m sure this baby will get spoiled.  Plus I think Chris will have fun shopping for his new kid.  I’ll be excited to see what he brings home.  (Life with Chris is always an adventure!)
One of my favorite questions I get asked is, “Well what do you think it is?”  What I’ve wanted to say so bad for about a month is, “I know it’s not a kitten, but I hope it’s a puppy.”   I honestly have no idea what I’m having. 

The thing that gets me is when people get a fleeting offended look on their face when I tell them we aren’t telling anyone the names we have picked out for our baby.  There is no need to be offended.  Our own parents don’t even know what their grandchild’s name is going to be. 
I have a friend who, a year ago, had a baby boy.  When I asked what they were going to name him she told me they weren’t telling anyone until after he was born.  At first I was kind of weired out.  I was the one with raised eyebrows.  She then told me most people have an opinion on the name before the baby is born.  But after the baby is born, it’s named and the birth certificate signed, no one can have an opinion at that point.  The more I thought about this, the more it made sense.   When we first found out we were expecting I ran this idea by my husband.  He agreed.
I have liked not telling people what we are going to name our child, purely because it’s one less opinion I have to hear about.

Of all the friends I’ve talked to since getting pregnant only one of them is, or has done, a natural birth.  When I tell people I want to give birth with no medication some of them will honestly look at me as if I told them I wanted to give birth in a desert with no medical help.  When this look passes over their faces I think, “Well it’s no different than when our grandparents, and even some of our parents gave birth.  If they could do it, why can’t I?”  According to my recent research, epidurals didn’t become available until the 1960s and 1970s.  And it wasn’t until the 1990s that anesthetic care became the common practice in developed countries. 
So since epidurals are a common practice in the 21st century, why am I preparing for a natural birth? 
I grew up with a mom who gave birth naturally to five of her seven children.  She always talked about how painful it was, but how much better she felt after giving birth.  She told me her natural endorphins kicked in right away, she forgot about the pain, and all she wanted to do was nurture her baby.  “And I could get up and walk around almost immediately afterward,” she said.  “When I had the epidurals I couldn’t get up for several hours after I gave birth, and I felt drugged up.” 
I’m not basing my decision purely off my mom.  I’ve read many accounts of women who have given birth both naturally and with an epidural.  Nearly every single one of them said they preferred the natural birth.  They could feel the baby moving inside of them.  Instead of a doctor telling them when the baby was ready to come out, or when to push, their own body was telling them when it was time.  Personally, I’d rather listen to my own body than a doctor who is only looking at monitors and is going from experience (everyone’s birthing experience is different after all).
If you had an epidural, or are planning on getting one, I don’t judge you.  It’s how you’ve pictured your labor and delivery to go and that’s great.  So please don’t judge me when I tell you I want to give birth naturally.  It’s my personal decision.  And if I do happen to get an epidural, well I don’t know how many times I’ve been told no labor and delivery goes exactly as planned, so again don’t judge me. 

We all have decisions we must make in life.  The key thing to remember about decisions that others make, is as long as their decision is not seriously hurting them or anyone else let them make it.  We learn from the decisions we make.  Each of us has a vision of how we want our life to turn out.  It’s those decisions that will allow our life to turn out the way we have envisioned it.  From being pregnant and doing many things out of the norm, I have learned not to judge others for decisions they have made or are making in their lives.  I admit I’m a different kind of pregnant woman, but my decisions make me happy.  They aren’t hurting anyone.  Most importantly they don’t go against God’s plan for His children.  As Christ said, “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” 

Saturday, December 28, 2013

With Hope, The Odds Don't Matter


This is the theme of Heather Von St. James’s story.  Three months after giving birth to her first child, Lily, Heather was given 15 months to live.  
Heather was diagnosed with Pleural Mesothelioma, a rare type of cancer that appears in the layer of cells lining the lungs.  Imagine the fear that must have engulfed her when the doctor told her and her husband that the chances of her surviving were rare.  Usually people diagnosed with Mesothelioma only live 15 more months.  
The Lord did not forget her.  He led her to a renowned Mesothelioma surgeon, Dr. David Sugarbaker.  With encouragement from her husband and hope in her heart, Heather survived cancer.  Seven years later she has made it her mission to help others find hope and beat the odds just as she did. 

I love what Ether, a Book of Mormon prophet, teaches about hope, “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world . . . which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men, which would make them sure and steadfast . . .” (Ether 12:4).

After seeing, hearing and pondering unimaginable situations people go through, I believe it is hope that gets them through it.  Heathers husband said the way he kept her hope up during sugary and treatment was by continually telling her that Lily needed her mother.  Heather hung on.  Today Lily has her mother. (You can find Heather's full story at mesothelioma.com/heather). 
Some people give up when told they don’t have long to live.  Sometimes when rough times hit, whatever it may be we have to have that strand of hope that everything will be okay.  We have to hang on to that strand with both hands. 

When I think of beating the odds I think of Harrison, my little brother.  When he was thirteen years old he was diagnosed with Osteochondritis dissecans.   Blood ceased to flow to the bottom of his femur bone, which essentially caused it die.  There was a risk that the dead part of bone could break off.  Dr. Higgs explained to Harrison if this happened he would need to have surgery.  In order to prevent sugary and allow the bone to heal on its own, Harrison would need to stay off it for two years.  The only exercise he could do was walking, swimming and riding a bike.  At the time he was diagnosed his tap class was two weeks away from going to competition, and he had just started track for middle school.  He had to withdraw from both of these activities. 
I can imagine most thirteen year old boys after being told they can’t play basketball, they can’t go skiing, they can’t play football, and they can’t even run would be devastated and feel sorry for themselves.  Harrison beat the odds. 
In the two years he couldn’t do any activity he only cried two times.  Once when he saw his friends playing basketball, sad that he wasn’t invited.  They thought since he couldn’t play he wouldn’t want to be there.  They didn’t realize he would have been happy to sit and watch.  (That was all cleared up though).  The second time he cried was at his year appointment when Dr. Higgs told him and my mom that the disease was still there and he would have to continue to refrain from physical activity.  He only cried because my mom started crying.
In the two years he couldn’t run, jump, play basketball, or dance, Harrison became an excellent speed walker, he learned to jump on the trampoline with one leg, and even learned how to run/hop so he could play soccer with his little brothers.  He had hope if he followed Dr. Higgs’s instructions he would be healed, and he was.  I came home from college one summer, and with glee in his voice Harrison said, “Watch this Amanda!” he then proceeded to run across the yard with both legs. 
New prospects were opened up to him because of his experience with Osteochondritis dissecans. As of now he wants to become an orthopedic doctor (bone doctor).
Several years after finding out he had Osteochondritis dissecans, Harrison is back on the field, this time playing Lacrosse


Nobody plans out trials in their life.  Hope must therefore be ever present in our souls.  Some have hope they will make it through a trial, and everything will turn out the way they wanted it to.  When it doesn’t turn out as planned this doesn’t mean they never had hope, or they didn’t have enough faith.  God had different plans.  In cases like these our hope must change.  It must be centered on what the Lord wants.  If we let our trials shape us, we can become stronger, and we can beat the odds. 

A dear friend of mine, and former roommate, was diagnosed with type one diabetes when she was about fourteen years old.  She told me one evening of her experience (and forgive me if I get some of the facts wrong).
She was initially shocked, scared, and sad when she found out she had diabetes.  Imagine being fourteen years old and finding out you had a disease that was incurable and that may eventually kill you.  My friend recalled that as she was laying in the hospital bed the first night after she was diagnosed she thought to herself that she could either have a negative outlook on her situation or a positive one.  She knew she would never be cured.  Having children in the future may be difficult, and she may die from diabetes one day.  She had a knowledge of God, and He had given her this challenge for a reason.  She decided to face her situation with a positive outlook. 
I never once saw her complain about being diabetic.  In fact if she hadn’t told me she was diabetic I would never have guessed.  I witnessed her stay close to the Lord, take care of her body (she finished a ½ marathon one summer, something I don’t think I could ever accomplish), and always strive to help others even when things in her life weren’t perfect.  She has the hope and knowledge that God loves her and knows her.  He wouldn’t put her through any challenge that she couldn’t handle without His help.  Today she is married and the mother of a healthy baby girl. 

Hope is a very powerful thing.  Hope is what got Heather through her cancer treatment and surgery.  All the odds were against her, yet she hung on.  She was a mother and her little girl needed her.  Among other things she hung onto that truth, which enabled her to fight and win her battle against Mesothelioma.  My friend and my brother hung onto the hope of optimism to get them through their trials.  Each day my friend must continue to hang onto that hope, continue to push forward and to never give up. 
Ultimately hope in Christ gives us a “sure foundation" and that is what I am so thankful for in my life. 

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Afraid of Failing


A few projects I’ve wanted to start recently
1.  A homemade calendar
2. A quilt for my baby
3. A pillowcase
4. A family scrapbook
5. A blog about books


I’ve hesitated in starting most of these projects because I’m afraid of failure.  I haven’t sewn something together since I was about fourteen years old.  A pillowcase can’t be that hard, right?  I’m sure in my hands I’ll probably end up ripping out the seams at least twice before it even resembles a pillowcase.  I’m afraid my calendar is going to turn out looking like a mess.  My children and grandchildren are going to be looking through the family scrapbook.  What will they think of my first attempts at scrapbooking since I was fifteen?  I’ve been Googling examples of scrapbooking and calendar making, hoping to get some ideas.  And my book blog?  Well I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best writer.  What if no one reads my blog, and further what if I have as many typos in that blog as I do in this blog?  That’s embarrassing. 
Several weeks ago I started to realize I couldn’t be afraid of failure.  I am going to fail at some things in life.  Some projects will turn out better than others.  I recently heard this example of failure on Music and the Spoken Word.  A professor at a very famous university known for it’s medical research (I can’t remember the name of it) explained to his students, when doctors first started to perform kidney transplants many people died because of complications.  But it was because of those early mistakes doctors were able to learn from and eventually improve the procedure so that today there are hundreds of successful kidney transplants.
A great modern example of failure after failure is Lindsey Sterling.  She was on America’s Got Talent when the judges told her that there was no audience for what she did (dance and play the violin at the same time).  Again and again she met failure.   Everyone said she wasn’t going to succeed.  Over 3 million subscribers on her YouTube channel later . . . not to mention touring Europe, performing with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and releasing an album.  I wouldn’t call that failure.  But, she had to fail first before she could succeed.
Thomas Edison, inventor of the light bulb, said,
“Our greatest weakness lies in giving up.  The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.”
Even with the fear of failure looming in front of me what do I do?  I start on one of these projects!  I realize that these projects aren’t going to affect my social status, how much my family loves me, or my divine worth.  Failure is just scary.
My husband accompanied me to the craft store (what I good husband!) where I bought some fabric for my pillowcase, and some crafty scrapbooking things for my calendar.  (I figured if I messed up on the calendar it wouldn’t be as bad as messing up on the scrapbook.  I can throw the calendar away in 12 months).  
As for the book blog I’ve already started it!  The first and second posts are up!  I figured if it fails then it fails.  At least I tried.  And in a year or two I can look back and laugh at my failures, realizing they have made me into a better person.

Information about my book blog.

I have wanted to start this blog for a long time, but never really knew how, and of course afraid that I would mess something up.  So one day I just decided to start it.  “Off the Shelves” is all about books (and some movies).  I’m not exactly sure what all I’m going to include in it, but I know there will be reviews on books and movies (the second post us about Disney’s Frozen). I’m also planning on blogging about the different elements in a good story, and anything to do with books; what we can learn from them, what makes a good book, and what doesn’t.  Pretty much whatever I feel like. 
To view my first post on “Off the Shelves” click here