the Hippo Brigade

What I Wore Wednesday

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February 13, 2013

It’s fun to get dressed in the morning.

Okay, fine, it’s fun to stay in your yoga pants all day because they are the only things that fit right now, and  your hips are still as wide as an elephant’s collar bone, and you swear you’ll do yoga in your pants… later, but really, who has the time??

But in an effort to get dressed each morning, I thought I’d participate in “what I wore wednesday.”

So here’s what I’m wearing today:

Blousy blue shirt: Ever

Cropped sweater: Tracy Reese

Leggings: Nordstrom

Boots: Kohl’s

Okay, yes, I said Kohl’s. It’s a crazy store where I get hot and panicky every time I’m there, but a friend of mine told me about these fringed boots they have there, and they were only 20 bucks! So I put on my brave face, and bought them. I also brought my mom, who is like a Kohl’s ninja, and has one million Kohl’s coupons in her purse.

Aside: Right after I left the house wearing my cute necklace, I broke it. Proving further that I’m not cut out for jewelry.

Another aside: leggings are just like yoga pants, only more cute.

Fragments

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February 12, 2013

There isn’t this stillness in my day anymore where I can sit uninterrupted at the dining room table with a cup of warm coffee and write on my blog. Instead I sit for 10 minutes, and come up with a few disconnected sentences, thoughts about this or that.

Instead I have fragments.

And that’s fine, I don’t always have to post things to my blog, I’m allowed to have a break every once in a while, except I don’t want to have a break. I want to share, I want to do it. I want to have a moment to myself, with just my thoughts, and the clacking of my fingernails on my keyboard. My fingernails that have be long ignored and are all growing at different lengths. The reality is I don’t get time to myself. I get 6 minutes here and 17 minutes there and that’s it. Because that’s what I get when I signed up for being a mom. My days are hurried and chaotic, my body is tight and twisted, my leg hairs rival my husband’s, and my face tells the story of tiredness. It feels like I’m being pulled and stretched. I’m growing. The level of what I’m able to do is increasing.

But honestly,

I crave being without distraction.

I long to have a feeling of freedom.

Just for a little bit.

But for now I am tethered to my children. I am held captive to their needs. Their needs are strong and they pull me from the warmth of my bed. They pull me from a quiet moment of relaxation. They pull me from my own needs.

I know one day my children will grow up and leave our house and all these sharp poignant moments that destroy my energy and test my patience will be replaced with smooth moments and I will miss being constantly needed.

But I’ll be in Fiji so I don’t really think I’ll notice.

Berlyn is SIX

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February 1, 2013

It happened.

I blinked my eyes and it happened.

You grew up.

You are growing tall, and sure. Your teeth are wiggly, and your pencil makes bold lines on the paper. Lines that draw spaceships, and train tracks, and princess dresses, and eyeballs. You love to draw eyeballs. Because eyes are our windows, and somehow you understand that. Without ever talking about it, you get that. The eyes you draw are big, and open, and wide. Just like you.

Your legs are long and you walk without complaint. Everyday I pick you up from school and you effortlessly walk home with me, talking about boys and girls, art projects, and numbers.

You recently told me you like a boy in your class, immediately my heart said not cool.

But my mouth casually said, “oh, really…?” As I tried to seem unaffected by this news.

“Yes, I chase him. He’s silly.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Because it’s important to be with someone that makes you laugh.”

But I’m not ready for this business of crushes and love. I need time to figure out what I’m supposed to say, read a book and ask friends what they did. Because I don’t trust my instinct.

“I want to marry him.” You told me.

“Well, you better make sure he has a steady job and doesn’t still live with his parents. What does he do? Is he in finance? Construction? Computer programming?”

“I don’t know what you just said, mommy. He’s in kindergarden.”

“Well, you’d better wait to get married then.”

“Okay, I will.”

You’re so smart. I know I say this all the time, but I want you to know it. I want you to own and trust your intelligence. You’re smart, not because you do so well in school, although that’s a by-product, but it’s because you want to know more, you crave knowledge, you ask questions and you are unsatisfied with mediocre. Stay this way.

I hold you to a high standard, not because I want to make things hard on you, but because I want you to never settle.

I want you to be bold and mighty.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength

of His might. Ephesians 6:10

I want you to find joy in all things. Yes, all things can be joyful. If you can find the joy in life, then your life will be meaningful and outstanding.

They will find gladness and joy,
And sorrow and sighing will flee away. Isaiah 35:10

Things might happen to your fragile soul as you tread deeper into your years, but remember to always keep your joy, your innocence, and be courageous.

I want you to be confident. Because that is where true beauty is.

Your adornment must not be merely external-braiding the hair,

and wearing gold jewelry, or putting on dresses;

but let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the imperishable quality

of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God. 1 Peter 3:3-4

I want you to make mistakes.

And then learn from them.

I want you to always seek truth and listen to that voice in your head. That voice in your head is my voice, and as you grow it will become your own. Listen to it. Especially when you become a teenager and it’s past midnight. And let me be the first to tell you Missy, nothing good happens after midnight. I remember when I was in high school and out past midnight, I would end up crying, kissing a boy, or binge eating burritos from Del Taco, and most times it was a combination of all three.

I want you to shake things up.

I want you to be passionate.

And make a mark; on people’s hearts, on the world.

I want those around you to adore you and cherish you as I do, because you are irresistible.

I want you to be you, and to be the best possible you.

I want all these things for you because you are my beloved, my reward.

Behold, children are a gift of the Lord, The fruit of the womb is a reward. Psalm 127:3

Happy sixth birthday Berlyn.

I love you.

-Mommy

6 Tips for getting your baby to stay up all night

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January 14, 2013

So you want to party all night with your baby, huh?

Ever wondered with 3 A.M. looks like? Ever wonder what type of weird things your spouse does in his sleep? Ever wonder how much rest you really need? Well, never fear. I have some fail-safe recommendations for you to stay up all night with your baby!

• Step 1) First order of business is get a baby. I have a two month old, but any ol’ baby will do. Just make sure yours doesn’t do silly things like sleep 8 hour stretches at night yet. Sleeping long stretches at night is for the birds.

• Step 2) Keep your baby over stimulated and over tired in the early evening. This will ensure a fussy baby at bedtime. This is best done by having an older sibling sing to your baby, or show your baby every single toy they own, despite your baby’s best efforts to turn his head away and fuss. Your older sibling has no idea that that means “no more thank you.” And your older sibling also has no idea that this simple act is getting your baby primed and ready for a 2 hour scream session.

• Step 3) At bed time make sure things are loud and chaotic. Again, your older siblings can help out with this step. Make sure they yell and run up and down the hallway with all the vim and vigor as a couple of overactive Pomeranians. Slamming into walls and doors while you’re trying to nurse your baby down to sleep is also helpful.

• Step 4) Finally, you got your baby to enter a slightly restful state. It took you approximately three and a half hours of nursing, rocking, singing, and dancing in the dark. Just add a mirrored ball and a bubbly drink, and you’ve got yourself a disco-teque! But now that your baby’s asleep you are bored out of your mind and you’ve found yourself just waiting around for him to wake up. It’s probably around 11:00 P.M. and your spouse has just settled in for the night. He just doesn’t value staying up all night like you and your baby do.

• Step 5) It’s 1:19 A.M. and your baby finally woke up! Oh goodie. Nurse and don’t bother burping your baby, this is an imperative step in ensuring that he will wake up with gas in about one hour’s time.

• Step 6) 2:34 A.M. Your baby woke up screaming! Now listen carefully because this part is very important in keeping your baby awake and  being able to party all night with him: continue to feed your baby no matter what he really wants. Just keep offering him a boob. He’s gassy? Feed him. He’s too hot? Feed him. He has spit up on his neck fat and all down his onesie? Feed him. Is his swaddle is too tight? Feed him. You get the idea…

• 4:47 A.M. Congratulations, you’re almost there. Just keep repeating Step 6 until it’s time for normal people to wake up.

7:22 A.M. You made it! It’s morning. And you’ve both managed to stay up all night. Bravo! Now you have some bragging rights, a few extra lines on your face, and the mental capacity of a underfed squirrel. Enjoy your day, and remember if you and your baby fall asleep and stay asleep at night, you’re just not trying hard enough.

More

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January 11, 2013

We’ve stumbled through these past two months. Slowly we’ve  plodded along.

Surviving.

Just a mere two months ago you appeared into this world with a BANG. I remember visiting you each day in the NICU, you looked so ridiculous in that isolette. You looked too big for it. Too healthy, too good. I remember it infuriated and mocked me. A plastic box kept you apart from me.

It kept you warm, not me.

It held you, not me.

Tubes fed you, not me.

Your beginning was rough, mainly for me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop talking about your birth because it shook me. It picked me up and vigorously shook me around, and dropped me back on the ground, and we both tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

You were content. You thrived, and your movements were strong and your cry was loud. It was me who was the mess, I was sad, and weepy, and hated that we weren’t together. Then finally you were able to come home with me. And I haven’t let you go since then.

You are so content in my arms. I wear you in a sling most of the time so that you are always near me. We float throughout our day together, in harmony. Because I have to make up for lost time.

Lately I’ve had this fear that you might have something wrong with you, because of how you were born. Maybe neurologically something is not connecting, I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. Not because of anything I see, but because as a mom, I’m always afraid of something. I just want you to be normal, and have a normal life.

I’d settle for normal, but you’re so much more than that, you are perfect. To me it doesn’t make sense. How can I be this blessed? How can God be this good to me? A catastrophic birth that you narrowly survived, and now you are here in my arms, and you are perfect? But it’s true. You smile, and talk to me all day long and you are fascinated by your sister and brother, but who can blame you, I’m fascinated by them too. Your tiny personality is gently emerging, and it’s already outstanding.

You keep gaining weight like a boss.  You’re a cannonball. And it feels good to know that even thought we had a rough start, I did that. At first they wouldn’t let me breastfeed you until you were 3 days old, which seemed like an eternity at the time, but now, two months later we’re at a professional level, and we got this…even in the middle of Christmas shopping at Target, we got this.

Everyone asks me, how’s three?

“Three is more,” I respond.

It’s more work, more poop, it takes more time to get places, it requires me to bring more stuff when I leave the house, it costs more money, there are more conversations about discipline, and sharing, it requires me to ask for more help, there’s more laundry, more arguments, and more waking up in the middle of the night.

But it’s also more love.

And that is enough to cover up all that other stuff.

So happy two months Silas, you have blessed our life with more.

A New Playroom for 2013

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January 3, 2013

Hello new year.

2013.

I don’t have any resolutions to commit to you.

Sorry.

Not because I don’t think I can benefit from some new habits, but because I’m in a holding pattern at the moment.

It’s called survival. And it goes a little something like this: keep baby alive. Keep other children alive. Keep myself from drinking all the beer in the house and passing out on the couch with See’s Candies wrappers littered all over my chest.

As long as I can check those three things off my list, I’ve considered the day a raging success.

Life for me is still a little hard. It’s getting a tiny bit easier. But my 5-year-old still has another week off from school. As much as I like that I don’t have to be anywhere on time, I’m kind of out of activities she can do while the other two sleep. There’s only so much entertainment a pack of chewing gum and a roll of tape can provide a kindergartner.

Plus life with a newborn means I’m home more than usual, and being home all the time makes me all antsy and projecty, which manifests itself in the form of, all I want to do is redecorate our house!

Christmas was a scary time for me.

Christ was born, and that’s always super exciting, and not scary at all. The scary part came in the form of all the stuff that my children were gifted. And those presents are making me question everything about life.

Really, the gifts are causing me to ask existential questions.

Because they are taking over my house. They are trickling out of rooms, and falling off shelves and they don’t have any consideration for my mental health.

I wonder why we need presents at all. Are toys even necessary in growing up children? When I was little my brother and I played in the planter on the porch that was filled with dead boxwood and cat feces.

Look how good I turned out.

The toys have become a point of tension for me, because I’m always one truant Candyland piece away from erupting like Mount Vesuvius.

And I’ve finally decided that something must be done.

Because this is the current state of our playroom:

I think it was originally intended to be a formal living room. But because my dog fart stains all of our pillows, and I don’t own anything “formal,” it has been the room that all the toys end up in. Except it’s annoying because it’s the first room you see when you enter into our home. It’s like, welcome to my home, never mind that colossal dump of a room to your left, and please avert your eyes to the sweaty children underneath the fort they manufactured out of couch cushions, 6 build-a-bear boxes, 2 trash cans, and one extra-large exercise ball. 

The playroom is actually kind of clean in that photo, and the state of disillusion that I live in where I believe that that room is some what clean, makes me sad.

So now I’m disillusioned, sad, and mentally unstable, all due to one small room in our house.

My husband thinks it’s fine, which is code for, “I don’t want to spend money on it.”

But money is a small price to pay in exchange for my healthy state of mind.

And thanks to Pinterest and Houzz, and 3 am feedings, I’ve come up with my solution.

Here’s my vision:

1. Jonathan Adler Couch This one rocks my socks off. It’s a bit spendy and since it would belong in a room primarily governed by children with no propensity towards cleanliness, it will probably never see the inside of my house. But a girl can still dream, right? Plus I really don’t think I have any space for it.

2. Tectonic rug. I love color, and the current rug in our playroom resembles Grandma’s pea soup. And speaking of pee, there is a considerable amount of it embedded into the rug. Vomit too. Time for something new.

3. Retro ceiling light. I’m obsessed with ceiling lights, and how they can dramatically change the look of a room. This one is pretty amazing, plus it’s a reasonable price.

4. A place to color, or as the kids get older, do homework. When I was growing up I never had a designated place to do homework. I just ended up doing it on my bed, and after 15 minutes of that I’d usually fall asleep. I might not have finished my book report, but gee whiz, I was well rested.

5. And finally, the most important element of the playroom….Storage! Storage that hides things behind closed doors. So I don’t have to look at Legos and undressed Barbie dolls all day.

Here’s hoping that 2013 brings a new playroom, and my sanity back!

(Guest Post) Much Ado About You on Infertility and Adoption

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January 2, 2013

I’m Emmy, I’m 35, and I’m infertile.

Wait, let me back up.  I’m Emmy.  Beckey has been so sweet to allow me to invade her space for the day.  Sorry, I’m not nearly as funny as she is. I warned you.

I own Much Ado About You where I sell printables. I occasionally blog {Confesstions of a Paper Freak}, and I incessantly Instagram {@itsjustemmy}.  I am married to my high school sweetheart and as of this year we have been together for more than half our lives.

Almost 11 years ago I got pregnant for the first time.  Nathan and I were so excited, and immediately started planning that child’s future.  We were thinking of names… wondering if it would be a boy or a girl… hoping its due date of December 26th would not mean we were going to have a Christmas baby.

But just a few days later I started bleeding heavily, and knew in an instant that that baby was gone.

We had only just begun trying to get pregnant, but I had so many friends experiencing infertility and I begged God to spare us from that roller coaster.

Our doctor told us that since we were so early in the pregnancy I would not need a D & C, and that technically I could get pregnant as soon as my next cycle.

Which I did.

That pregnancy was such a relief, and I vividly remember thanking God that I was never going to have to walk that long and painful road of infertility.

A year after Beau was born we decided to start trying for a second baby.  We wanted four, so we thought we’d better get going!

God had different plans for our family.

The next six years were spent going from one doctor’s appointment to the next and from one surgery to the next, all in an effort to figure out why my young and seemingly healthy body was not working.

I have Endometriosis, a condition that basically destroys your body from the inside out.  During my final surgery my doctor made the painful decision to remove both of my non-functioning fallopian tubes, hoping it would increase the chance of my third and final IVF {invitro-fertilization} treatment being successful.

The next month we had our final IVF procedure.  It failed.  We were done.

We were physically {well mostly me on that one}, emotionally, and financially spent.  The chance of a natural pregnancy was eliminated with the removal of my tubes.  I was officially STERILE.  It is still strange to say those words.  I am a woman that cannot do what I was created to do… bear children.  That is a very strange reality to be faced with.

I spent seven dark years in the thick of my infertility {I say “my” infertility because the issues were mine… with another woman my husband could have had more children… more salt in the wounds}.  For some of those years Nathan and I were not on the same page.  He didn’t understand my desperation for a child when I already was a mom.  Those years I struggled with a deep loneliness that I had never known.  It is so hard to explain what infertility feels like to someone that has never experienced it, but the bottom line is… IT SUCKS.

However, God also used those seven years to challenge my character and bring me to a place of total trust and reliance on His plan for my life.  I came to a point where I had to say, “God, I love you and I trust you, and I know that {while very different from mine} Your plan is the best plan for my life.  So even if I never have another baby I will praise you and be thankful for whatever it is that you call me to do.”

And I really was at peace.  Without tubes I no longer had to live in two week cycles, wondering if each late period was the one.  I had an incredible eight year old that was the joy of my life, a loving, supportive husband, a thriving business… life was good.

I will leave this next part of the story short and sweet {if you would like to read the whole story, you can find it here}.  Through miraculous circumstances, in March of 2011 we brought home the most beautiful baby girl that looks nothing like us.

And in the instant that I met her I understood every no that God had placed in my path.

If you are in a season of not understanding the circumstances of your life, please be encouraged that someday you may understand and even appreciate the painful path that you are walking.

Since experiencing infertility and adoption I have a heart for encouraging hurting women.  Several months ago I felt a calling on my life to do something to help other women that are experiencing similar trials, and the Choose Joy event was born.

Choose Joy is a one-day conference in Southern California for women and couples that are experiencing infertility and/or desire to grow their families through adoption.  I have somehow convinced several other women from all over the country to come and be a part of this event.  We have speakers on topics such as “God’s Heart for the Hurting; Waiting Hurts, Waiting Perfects,” “Having a Heart of Hope: Overcoming the Hurt of Infertility,” “The Good, the Bad, and The Ugly of International Adoption” and much, much more.  My desire is for this to be a day of connection and community, and for women to open their minds to the plan that God has for their family.

The event will include a luncheon and a dessert, and at the end we will be raffling off a cash prize to help someone grow their family.

Tickets are on sale for $30 through the 25th of January.  {After that the price goes up to $40, so don’t delay!}  Please visit the website for all the details on the location and schedule, bios on each speaker, and to register for the event.

If you aren’t experiencing infertility, statistics say that someone you know is.  Please pass this website on to your friends or family that could use some support.

Thanks for reading my story.

XOXO,

Emmy

Christmas Card Archive

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December 31, 2012

Instead of writing a long drawn out post about our year in review. I think I’ll just post the last six Christmas cards we’ve sent out. Because I’m tired and forming sentences is a lot of work. I actually need to nap after I wrote those last three sentences.

((yawn.))

My husband took the photos and designed each and every card, because he’s awesome. Except this year we got to retire the camera/tripod/remote control combo, because we finally got fancy and hired a real photographer.

First Christmas with Berlyn. She's about 9 months old.

This was our second year with Berlyn, and Zoey managed to include her anus in the shot, so we were super thrilled with that.

I was a few weeks away from delivering Hudson, and I think I let Berlyn dress herself for this photo.

Our first year with Hudson, well technically second, because he was born 4 days before Christmas.

Then there was our Royal Tenenbaums Christmas card, I think we were both drunk when we conceived this idea.

2012 Christmas card. And now our family is complete.

I hope you had an amazing Christmas and I wish you all a happy New Year!

Hudson: 3

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December 18, 2012

 Happy birthday Hudson, now you are 3.

I find myself writing down little things that my children say. The sentences that fall in between conversations about trains, and sandwiches and markers. The words that I find prolific or funny. I write them down because I need a reminder of what it’s like to think like a child; to be untethered from logic and to be completely free to say whatever your mouth feels like.

Hudson is creative.

The thing about creativity is we are all born with it, a huge mound of it, it pours out of us like light beams, we dance in it, and we build it up with towers of blocks. But then we start to grow taller and our eyes become more aware of the world around us, and then slowly our tower of creativity becomes smaller and our light beams darken.

For my children I want to celebrate the creative, to let them bathe in it, to always tell them that they are something unique. Because the unique is the fascinating.

And so Hudson, when you put stickers on your eyebrows I will applaud you, when you make an tractor out of dried up bugs and rocks we will dance, when you ask “why” an unending amount of times, I will answer each of them. Because it’s important for you to grow up knowing that you are unique and special and creative.

***

Here are some of my favorite things Hudson has said that I have found unique, special and creative:

I have a lot of spider webs in my cough.

I had to close my ears because that show was too lumpy.

I’m all covered with the feel of baby hands.

Ice cubes— they burn me with cold.

Me: Do you remember when you were a baby?

Hudson: Ya.

Me: Do you remember what it felt like to be so tiny?

Hudson: It felt like strawberries.

Happy birthday Hudson. You have filled me with an immeasurable amount of joy. Your sweet disposition has captivated me. You have taught me what it means to really slow down because you are mild and never in a rush. The person that you are becoming is bright, imaginative, and caring. You draw me in with your eyes. And when you tuck your hand into mine, and lay your head on my chest I melt.

You hold my heart, Hudson Jack. Having you as my son for the past three years feels like strawberries.

Diagnosis: Hypercondriac.

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December 16, 2012

It’s been a slow journey back to our new normal over here. Some days are amazing and I’m all, look at me, I am on fire! I feel like I can conquer mount Kilimanjaro, or Trader Joe’s…same dif. But other days, I fail to take off my sloppy sweats and I make toast for dinner. Bon appetit family! And you guys are all, we get it, you just had a baby, can we pull-eeze talk about something else? But, NO! We can’t because it’s all my brain is dialed to. You can be talking with me, and somehow the conversation will always come back to my baby. I have baby brains. I can’t help it.

Oh and here’s a silly thing I find myself doing: I’ll tell complete strangers my birth story. What? Crazy, right? In the parking lot of Bed Bath and Beyond I’m suddenly divulging all the intricacies of Silas’ birth. Complete with hand gestures of gushing vaginal blood. And mid-way through my one-woman, one-act play, I hear myself and I think, Seriously? Please shut up Beckey. But I can’t. The lady I’m talking to is invested, she wants details! Meanwhile I want to quickly run to my car and drive far away.

Then there’s my little trip to the E.R. the other night. I woke up at 3:00 in the morning, well, actually I was already up, because, hello, is this thing on? I don’t really sleep anymore. And I had the most severe leg cramp of my entire existence. It was like the equivalent of a sucker punch and a fiery burn all at the same time. I’ve had leg cramps off and on all during my pregnancy, but this one was different. And way more intense. Ordinarily I would have just gone back to bed, but something told me to call the doctor (and that something was called Google. I made the mistake of looking up “leg cramp after c-section”), so I called the doctor, and she told me to come into the E.R. ::Gulp:: I finished nursing my baby, and left. While driving alone down the freeway at sleepy-time o’clock, I kept imagining all the horrid things that could possibly happen to me. A blood clot is surely traveling around in my veins at this very moment, and it’s hi-tailing it to my heart, or my brain, and then I’m going to die…in this dirty car, wearing unflattering underwear and a scrunchy in my hair.

At the hospital I waited in a curtained room all alone. Just me and my hosiptal gown. And my phone that wouldn’t connect to the internet. So there was really nothing else to do other than take photos of my feet, and listen to the sounds of the hospital at night.

Then they gave me a blanket and a flashlight band-aid:

They told me to sleep; made some half-assed joke about this being my “me-time.” But how could I sleep? There was a guy who I think had overdosed on drugs in the curtained room next to mine. I heard him as he had a cathiter placed. I heard him as he vomited. And I heard him when he voilently snored, even as the nurses clapped in his face and yelled at him to wake up.

This is where I found myself, instead of in my warm bed sandwiched in between my husband and my sleeping baby.

I was in a beeping hospital, waiting for staff to take me to radiology, questioning whether or not I should really be there. I grew more and more anxious as the minutes ticked past. My heart started beating faster when I thought of my baby waking up while I was away. I didn’t have any stored milk, and he didn’t sleep longer than about 2 hours at night. My eyes kept filling with tears when I thought of the sacrifice I was making. And the longer I laid in that hospital bed the more ridiculous I felt. I shouldn’t be here.

Finally my leg was ultra-sounded.

There weren’t any clots.

And I was free to go.

I ran to my car. I sped like a crazy-person, and flew through the front door. I ran upstairs expecting to hear a screaming baby and a frustrated daddy, but instead Silas was dreaming peacefully. He was completely unaware that I had spent the last 3 hours in a hospital, with tears and milk leaking out of my body. The same hospital that saved both of our lives just 4 weeks before. And maybe that’s what drove me to the E.R. that night — the memory of near death, the complications, the anxiety of not being in control, the irrationality of fear. Things don’t make sense when you’re scared.

I used to think I was invincible, but now my body scares me. To me it’s incompetent, and capable of breaking down.

So, sometimes that means that I run to the hospital in the middle of the night because of a leg cramp. Ya, I might be a little crazy, but I’m playing it safe. I’m sure I’ll get better with time, but for now, I think I’ll invest in an ultrasound machine.