The Quilt

After we brought Danica home from the hospital in July 2008, she quickly began outgrowing her clothes. Every time she outgrew an outfit, I would tuck it away in a bin in my closet. We had no solid plans for another child, but I was too emotionally tied to part with them. Danica has always done everything with gusto, including growth spurts, so one bin quickly became four. My hoarding saving worked in our favor, because we eventually had a second daughter that was born in May 2012.  Yet still, as Addy outgrew each outfit, I returned them to the bins instead of donating them. There were not underlying plans for another child, but I was still unable to part with them. As time stretched on, I donated some items and passed some along to friends and family, but the bulk of my daughters' clothes sat in bins in my over-crowded closet.

Over time, I started to realize that those clothes symbolized my what-if's. What if I'm not done having babies? What if we decide that three is our number? Or maybe four? What if we have a surprise pregnancy? I certainly wouldn't want to have parted with all of these clothes! My mind was littered with justifications. Eventually, my logic set in and I realized that those clothes were not my attempts at frugality "just in case", but me holding onto the possibility of another baby. Another pregnancy. Another Akers child. Another chance to see the wondrous ways Mike's DNA mingles with mine.

For many reasons, two is definitely our number. But, I still have a hard time accepting what that truly means. I will never again feel the tiny flutters of a baby in my womb. I will never again rest a hand on my swollen belly and whisper promises to my unborn child. I will never again notice waves of contractions and wonder if "this is it". I will never again experience the exhilarating surrealism of labor. I will never again sing Happy Birthday to my brand new baby as she lies on my chest and takes her first breaths. I will never again feel the pride and awe of my daughter latching to nurse for the first time. I am beyond toothless grins and first words. There will be no more three a.m. breastfeedings and strange popcorn smelling diaper blow-outs. No more chubby legs crawling towards an unsuspecting doggy. No more cautious first steps and sing-song babblings. I love babies. I most especially love my babies. I thought, or maybe hoped, that I would feel an overwhelming sense of being done having children. But that's not the case, and I have finally realized it may never be. I may never be without that ache of longing. Having our babies was the first time my heart felt it's fullest. It is when my love for each of them, my husband, and myself grew to capacities I never knew existed. Why wouldn't I want to experience that over and over?

To help me commemorate those indescribable months of growing and meeting my children, I decided to keep each of the outfits that hold my most cherished memories and pass along the rest. Instead of keeping them in a bin for decades, though, I decided to piece them into a quilt. A quilt just the right size for snuggling with my once upon a babies. I know many people far more experienced than me that could have completed it more quickly and beautifully than I did. But this project was therapeutic for me and I alone needed to complete it. I shed many tears and a few too many expletives. I mastered my seam ripper and spent many hours with my once-feared sewing machine. But, I did it. I finished the quilt and I look forward to our years to come with a fresh perspective. I don't want to spend all my energy pondering the what-if's. Instead, I want to spend my time enjoying the children I have and seeing the amazing people they are growing into. They still have a lot of life and love to teach me about.

When Threesomes Work

My marriage is a threesome and I wouldn't have it any other way. Our elusive third wheel is not some seductive temptress or charming, studly man. Instead, our third wheel is bipolar disorder. My husband was diagnosed almost two years ago, but the impact of bipolar has been with us since the start of our relationship. 

Those with bipolar have an emotional brilliance unlike anyone else. The emotionality that most of us require years to experience, can be lived and learned from in the course of a month during a rapid cycle. It is like learning a life changing lesson on 16x fast forward in the midst of a misunderstanding world. Because it is a different path, it sometimes feels wrong and oftentimes feels lonely.

If you Google "bipolar marriage statistics" you will be slapped in the face with gloom. It is estimated that 90% of bipolar marriages end in divorce. It is thought to be one of the most difficult challenges in a relationship. Books, articles, websites, and mental health experts all spout the immense hardships of remaining with a bipolar spouse. Unfortunately, it is nearly impossible to find a positive outlook on the topic. Welcome to a fresh perspective:

Loving a bipolar spouse is like an elevator ride in a high rise, blindfolded. No matter where you start from, the ground feels stable. You know your surroundings and you feel safe. When you hear the doors close, you know you are going for a ride. Many times, that ride becomes a plummet. Your stomach drops and you know you are heading downward. You have no idea how far down or how long the ride will take. You might reach for the emergency stop, but it's not in the same location for every ride. You both keep reaching, and one of you will find it eventually. When you do find it, your ride may idle for a bit. Take this as a chance to catch your breath. You are still safe. 

Each time you go for this ride, you will acquire new tools to help you navigate. When you use your tools to return to your stable place, revel in it. This is the plateau. Take this time to thoroughly communicate with your spouse. Use this opportunity to build up your arsenal of mutual love, compassion, and understanding. Make this your home base and agree to always return here. 

Sometimes, when you hop back on that elevator, your ride soars high. It is usually a take-your-breath-away kind of ride. You are still blindfolded, but the building anticipation is infectious. When you reach the top and the doors open, peel off your blindfold and enjoy the view together. This isn't a solo ride. Look around, hand in hand, and soak in the experience. Just remember to return back to your home base together. 

You know that new love giddiness and playfulness that happens at the start of a relationship, when the level of attraction and connectedness is so intense? We experience that again every time we return to a plateau. Every time. It is pure bliss to experience that with the love of your life repeatedly. The peaks, the valleys, and the beautiful plateaus make us who we are. We don't get stuck in the mundane, because life carries us elsewhere before we have a chance to get bored. Bipolar will never define our marriage, but it will always be the third wheel reminding us that some statistics can fuck off.

Mackie Augustus Akers exited his life as unexpectedly as he entered ours. My heart is forever touched by his existence and forever shattered by his death.  In April 2005, when Mike and I both lived at home with our parents, I made the best impulse "purchase" possible.  While I do truly believe that pet shop puppies only reinforce irresponsible breeding practices, I will never regret our Mackie.  I went to the pet store to get crickets for Mike's leopard gecko and ended up locking eyes with a sweet, lanky boxer puppy.  Mike and I had long talked about getting a fawn male boxer with a black muzzle as soon as we had a place of our own.  Well, puppy love at first sight clouded my judgement and I rationalized that since our closing date was in rapidly-approaching July, our independence was close enough to bring home this puppy.

 After ignoring Mike's "where are you" calls for two hours, I piled myself, this new puppy, and a bag of crickets into the front seat of my little Honda and we headed straight for Mike's parents house. Mike was knowingly pissed that my cricket-run took an hour and fifty minutes longer than it needed to, and started to make his way outside as soon as he saw me turn the corner.  In that moment, his new puppy popped his head high enough that Mike could see him.  Now, I am not an impulsive person by nature.  I am neurotic, analytical, and make contingency plans for my contingencies.  But, the expression in Mike's eyes as he met his puppy assured me that sometimes impulsivity is sublime.  Mike and I were both head over heels for our puppy, and named him Mackie Augustus.  

With Mackie, came many adventures. Our first emergency vet trip was the result of him eating an ENTIRE box of cat litter.  We then had several emergency visits for various skin irritations and uncontrolled bleeding from his ear flaps.  He was also not gaining weight as expected.  While very compassionate, the vet we were using just wasn't qualified to help our Mackie.  We tried another nearby vet, but effectively spent thousands more dollars on more inconclusive tests and treatments.  By chance, when Mackie was 2, a neighbor with a female fawn boxer suggested we try a vet in Third Lake.  After one visit, Mackie was diagnosed with severe food allergies and a white blood cell count of 11.  A normal WBC count for dogs is roughly between 6000 and 18,000.  Mackie had so few, that the lab technician had to manually count them. This started us on a path of testing various foods and medications.  We also went for bi-weekly WBC re-tests and he consistently had frighteningly low counts.  Our vet eventually suggested we stop testing his WBC's, because he was actually improving despite the test results remaining abnormal. So, we lived our lives with Mackie and fed him the few foods he could tolerate. 

He was an amazing puppy that turned into an even more amazing dog. He had an obsession with licking that continued until the day he died.  He loved to give hugs, too. He was a tall boy and would put his front legs on your shoulders and nuzzle his head into yours. Mackie was hesitant to welcome our second boxer into his life, but they eventually became best buds.  He was the greatest protector, but at the same time the gentlest consoler.  He had a noble pose that he would show us if he was in trouble and it would always diffuse any of our frustration.  I cannot call him a fur baby because his existence was grander than that. As long as I kept a hand on him, he would look into my eyes and listen to all of my whisperings and lick away any of my tears. Mackie accepted our babies into our home. He didn't necessarily like sharing the bed or the couch, but was always cautious to not hurt our girls.  

Because of his health issues, there were many occasions over his nearly nine years where I had prepared myself for his death.  Somehow, though, on this day last year, I was blindsided.  My mom had been over with the girls and me.  During that time Mackie was snoozing the morning away on the couch, which was nothing unusual.  Before my mom left to let me put Addy down for a nap, the girls wanted to show my mom our Christmas tree. I prompted Mackie to get up to go outside, but he just ignored me.  I shrugged it off and said goodbye to my mom. I went back to Mackie again and tried once more to wake him up.  He staggered off the couch and just stood staring at me, swaying a bit like he was dizzy.  I noticed that he had soiled himself and so I carried him into the bath tub.  Mackie hated baths so he typically stood rigidly during them.  As soon as he was in the tub, he laid down and stared at the wall.  I knew then that this was more than just a groggy old dog being stubborn.  I called Mike and told him he needed to come home and then called my mom and asked her to come pick up the girls.  By this time, I had pulled Mackie out of the tub and wrapped him in our coziest blanket. I called our vet's office, but unfortunately the vet was out of the office for a few hours, and I knew we didn't have a few hours to wait.  Mackie's body temperature was dropping and his breathing and heart rate changed noticeably.  I called the vet Mackie had seen when he was a puppy and they told us to bring him in immediately.  I nestled my face close to his, told him I loved him and thanked him for so many wonderful years.  He licked me once and then collapsed into the bed of towels I had made for him.

My mom picked up the girls and took them to her house so Mike and I could be together with Mackie.  Mike held Mackie in the back seat, as I drove us to the vet.  They took us right into a room and the vet was with us in minutes. Apparently, Mackie's spleen had ruptured and he was actively dying. In an effort to prevent his suffering, the vet suggested we help make the dying process easier for him. We chose to do so and Mike and I held him as he released his final breath.  

I have lost many pets, but Mackie's death has been the hardest for me.  It is now a year later, and I am still brought to sobs if I see his picture and I am still breathless when enveloped in a memory of him. He was a guardian, a companion, a playmate, but most of all, a best friend.  

Dear Danica,

I have had this compelling urge to write the future you a letter. There are things I want to say to you, but don't want to muddle your brain with my emotional excessivity quite yet. In all honesty, my dear, you already harness plenty of that for yourself. The depths of your emotions do not make you weak. Instead, they make the future you capable of a love and creativity different than most others. I know that emotional intensity feels tough as a young girl, but as you grow and mature, it will manifest you into an unforgettable, one-of-a-kind woman. I am trying my damnedest as a woman, and most importantly as your mother, to ensure I don't extinguish that for you. I think we are both stubborn enough to not let that happen. 

Speaking of stubbornness determination, your tenacity is admirable. Yes, I actually said that. As unnerving as your persistence can be here in 2014, I am confident it will serve the future you well. I know that you will not settle for anything less than your ideal. I am also certain that you will not accept a no, without an adequate why. I see you living a "been there, tried that, now what's next" kind of life. Please just remember that not everyone can keep up that same pace. 

In addition to your strong tenacity, I also see many of your reservations and hesitations. Part of me wants to inspire you to forage right through them, but I try to bite my tongue. I am learning that you have an intuition much maturer than your chronological age. Waiting for the two to catch-up is going to continue to feel frustrating for both of us. But in the meantime, trust that beautiful conscience of yours. Listen to your inner voice and pay attention to that sour feeling in your belly.  Doing so does not make you a coward. It makes you wise and powerful. 

Through meltdowns and tears, I am grateful for everyday with you. I have learned more about myself and life in the past six years, than all the years preceding you. While some days definitely feel immeasurably difficult, please know that I would not change a thing. Each of those difficult days has an underlying beauty. Don't change yourself for me or anyone else. You will move mountains, just the way you are. 

Love you always,

Mom xoxo

Marital Ponderings

Roughly 50% of all marriages end in divorce.  I'm sure we have all heard that statistic at least half a dozen times.  I know I've heard it often enough that I'm typically unphased by the reality of it.  It is a truly startling implication, though.  Through the course of 14 years together, Mike and I have attended numerous weddings.  I did some recollecting, and realized that 46% of the nuptials that we have attended together, have since ended in divorce.  Let me pause there.  That is nearly half of the weddings we have been to.  The commonly spewed stat is frighteningly accurate.  Now, I am not opposed to divorce.  Nearly each of these fallen marriages have definitely warranted their end.  My ponderings are focused more on how our marriage remains intact, as Mike and I are not very different than many of these former relationships.  

How are we surviving thriving?  

We were relatively young when Mike proposed and when we married.  There was no pregnancy that prompted our choice.  There was no impending deadline or deployment looming over our heads.  We weren't pressured by time or expectations.  We were in love and we knew we would be forever.  We have learned and loved together.  And continue to do so every day.  

How is this working for us? 

We have always remained committed to one another and our relationship.  When one us wavers the other is the rock to support us.  We don't let secrets, resentment or anger stay with us.  We are both human and make mistakes, but know how disastrous harnessing those ugly things can be.  We put our efforts into impressing one another, instead of those around us.  At the same time, we know each other's weaknesses and imperfections and love those, too.  It is not effortless, but it is always easy to love one another.  I adore him and he adores me.  There are ebbs and flows, and we ride them together.  

Is forever love truly possible?

Much earlier in our relationship, we tried to be apart.  We tried to live different lives that didn't include one another.  That time only ended up serving as affirmation that our love was genuine and timeless.  Since then, we have continued to grow as individuals and as a couple.  We have learned countless life lessons, made many mistakes, and have had more arguments than I care to remember.  Still, we are together.  And not just together by law.  But truly together in life and love.

How? How How?

I have finally realized that the answer I've been searching for isn't anywhere to be found.  It is being lived everyday.  Everyday that we choose forgiveness instead of bitterness.  Everyday that I choose to flirt with my husband instead of a stranger.  Everyday that we decide laughing together is much more fun than nitpicking one another.  Everyday that we choose emotional honesty instead of locking up our feelings.  Everyday that we both choose to grow together rather than grow apart.  For us, the how is adaptive and it is unending.  For us, the how is our forever.  

The Resonating "S"

I am a dog-lover through and through.  I love all animals, but dogs have always held an extra-special place in my heart.  I have actually never been without a dog.  When I was very young, we had large family dogs that stayed mostly outside.  When I was eleven, my parents took me to the IKC Dog Show at McCormick Place on Easter Sunday.  We saw hundreds of breeds and I left the show determined to have a small lap dog to call my own.  My parents told me that before even considering it, I must research dog breeds and find one suitable for our family.  They also wouldn't spend more than $200 on a dog.  

So, the following weekend, I headed to the library and checked out several books on dog breeds.  I spent hours researching breed characteristics, grooming needs, training tips, and compatibility.  I finally decided that I wanted either a shih tzu, pekingese, or a pomeranian.  The following Thursday, when the Advertiser was delivered, I scoured it for available dogs.  Much to my excitement, I found a male pekingese pup, immediately available for $200.  True to their word, my parents let me call and arrange to meet him.  As soon as I met the sweet boy, we all knew he would be coming home with us.  We named him Casey, and he was the adorable lap dog I had wished for.  He was a good boy and tolerated me constantly doting over him.  I was absolutely in love with him.  

Tragically, he died just a few months later and my heart was shattered.  Seeing how distraught I was, my mom found a cute little shih tzu puppy.  He was another adorable bundle of energy, obsessed with any kind of shining light and empty plastic bottles.  We named him Zigiferd Marley Oreo Benz , but just called him Ziggy.  He let me dress him in doll clothes, put bows in his hair, and any other ridiculousness I subjected him to.  When he was just over two, I found a beagle pup and begged asked my parents if I could have him.  I used my personal savings to pay for him.  On July 5, 1997, we brought him home.  Since then, I have always had more than one dog.  Until now.  

For 17 years and 1 day, I have had the pleasure of referring to my dogS.  On July 6th, we said goodbye to our boxer, Slevin.  He was a dog bounding with a frenetic disposition from the very beginning.  In all honesty, he was an awkward addition to our family.  When we brought him home, our first boxer, Mackie, wouldn't go near him.  It took a month before they would sleep within five feet of one another.  When he got excited, Slevin could easily jump with all four paws six feet off the ground.  He had an affinity for pooping unlike anyone I've ever met.  We repeatedly joked that he had an iron stomach, as he ate the strangest objects.  The week before Danica's first birthday, he ate 40 uninflated green balloons.  It took a week, but he managed to gleefully expel all of them.  Over the course of his life, Slevin continued to eat diapers, crayons, paper products, entire loaves of bread, whole bananas, a one pound bag of Hershey's Kisses (giving a whole new meaning to Hershey squirts), and several random toys.  Amazingly, though, he never destroyed a single shoe.  

In a way, I think I had expected that Slevin's unique interest in eating non-food items would be the cause of his eventual death.  Instead, it was progressing Cushing's Syndrome, and likely metastatic cancer, that had me grasping for straws in an attempt to prolong his life.  Unfortunately, these two big C's are forces greater than my stubbornness.  Prolonging his life only meant prolonging his misery.  I am grateful that Mike helped me see the foolishness of my attempts.  Together, in a hectic animal emergency room, Mike and I held our Puddy as his body was released of pain.  And now, we have only one dog in our home.  Our sweetheart, Dominoe, is relishing in being our only, but I wince every time that missing "S" resonates.  

The Moment He Became "Daddy"

Growing up in the 90's, my summer breaks always included indulging myself in fine programming such as Jenny Jones and Maury. Both shows often spewed some variation of the idiom, "Any man can be a father, but it takes a real man to be a daddy." It was always used in some mildly entertaining, and largely disturbing, situation. It wasn't until I saw my husband transform into "Daddy" right before my eyes, that I truly understood the depth of this overused statement.  Amazingly, I have that very moment captured forever.  

After I delivered Danica, I needed a little extra tending to and could not hold my newborn baby girl right away.  She was swept off to the other side of the delivery room to be weighed, measured, and evaluated.  My already-spirited little lady screamed through the entire process. Loudly. The pain of the doctor mending me did not compare to the agony of hearing my brand new baby cry inconsolably. 

Mike has always had a difficult time seeing me in distress.  He would move a mountain, or at least pry open the door of a car engulfed in flames, just to ensure I am safe. But, in the moments that we listened to our firstborn child wail, he decided to leave my side to meet our sweetheart. He reached out his finger, and her tiny hand grasped on. A calm settled over her as he spoke to her, with the same soothing voice he had used to calm me just minutes before. He was no longer only my husband, my friend, my partner, or even just the father of my child...he was Danica's Daddy.  

Happy Father's Day, Michael Bruce. I am humbled by your love for me and forever grateful for your adoration of our girls. I love you. xoxo