Body Image

This has been something I have been struggling with and dealing with for years and years. I have always felt pretty insecure about my image. I have periods of time where I do better, but for the most part this insecurity has always played a role in my life in some way. Its been better lately, and I want to tell you why. But, first a brief flashback: 

I remember hating my freckles for a long time. I got teased about them sometimes in elementary school, and even had a teacher threaten to play "connect the dots" on my face if I didn't stop talking in class. Rude. 

I have always been pretty self conscious about how fair I am. I remember going to swim parties and getting nervous about exposing a lot of skin--I was embarrassed that I couldn't get tan. 

This list went on, and on. I placed way too much value on my looks, or in my mind, the lack thereof. I was always worried about this, or that. It is better, but I still find myself falling into this trap often. 

I think my sisters, and my husband, were surprised when I have said that I struggle with body image. 

I am a confident person in general, and so it seems like I should be confident about the way I look too. 

Clint has been really helpful with this. He LOVES my fair skin, and freckles. He tells me how beautiful I am each and every day--always has. Sometimes I felt guilty that even after Clint complimented me I didn't feel better--or even believe him. 

Over time, and with a lot of help and love from Clinton, I have started to make more positive changes. I have realized that I am not going to get a tan--no matter what I do, so I better just start loving my skin. My freckles aren't going anywhere, and so I better embrace them. I think these features make me unique, and are also really intertwined with my personality. They are me. I think that is the biggest lesson Clint has taught me. I should be happy with who I am. I don't need to try to be or look like someone else. God made me, me. (Does that make sense ha ha?)

The greatest lesson that I have been able to learn is that beauty is not about "looks." I learned this while I was pregnant with Elsie, and especially after I had Elsie. My body changed. It knew what to do. It stretched, and grew. Throughout the whole experience, I was amazed at how much my body could actually do. It was holding, providing for and protecting my daughter. When it came time for her to come, I was amazed at the strength, and power that my body was capable of. My body did something that was extremely hard. My body is strong. My body is capable. My body is beautiful.

I have begun to realize that beauty really is not about looks, and that looks don't matter. I know we have all heard the phrase a million times, but I wish we would all just believe it more. It is about loving and respecting our bodies. I am not perfect with this still, and still worry about my looks, but I am trying to just love and respect my body and its amazing-ness. My body allows me to run, to talk, to think, to love, to have children etc. My body is powerful, and can do hard things. 

Lately, I have also been thinking about times when I have felt the most beautiful, and why that was. Obviously, a nice haircut, or new clothes can make you feel great, and I am not saying otherwise. I agree that a new lip color or a new dress can make you feel good about yourself. However, in the long run those things aren't going to make me love and respect my body. As I thought about this, I remembered times when I felt beautiful that had much more to do with my situation, and actions rather than my looks.

 I feel beauty when I am kind, honest, helpful, and when I am working hard. I feel better about myself when I am doing good things, and trying my best. Instead of focusing on my face, my skin, my hair, or any other aspect of my appearance, I can and should focus instead on dedication, hard work, accomplishing goals, service, kindness etc. Those things provide me with happiness and love. Those things are what make me feel the most beautiful inside and out. Those things will always do a better job in showing off my true beauty than any hair style, color, make-up or outfit ever could.

I am by no means perfect, and my anxieties about my appearance have not disappeared, but I am trying to change my mindset. I want Elsie to love her body. I want Elsie to respect her body. I want to teach, by example, that beauty comes from what we DO with our bodies--not how they look. 

The arrival of sweet Elsie Ann!(Part 2)

Let's get on to Elsie's grand entrance!

We got to the hospital. (Side note: I delivered at Alta View Hospital. They did an AMAZING job! I felt pampered, and well taken care of throughout the entire process. I was also impressed with how much care they took to ensure Clint was comfortable). I checked in and they sent me to a room to be checked. The nurse was amazed at how fast my contractions were coming, but told me I was only 1cm dilated. I about died! Seriously?? I was not about to go home, and I was making this baby come out no matter what. At this point, they said I could walk the halls for about 45 minutes to see if I could speed up the dilation process. If I progressed they said they would let me stay. I was happy to do it. I wanted to be able to stay. 

Walking the halls was interesting. I was dressed in a gown and those awesome socks they give you. We just walked around the same wing in a big loop over and over and over. The contractions were getting much more painful at this point, but I didn't care. I just kept on walking! There were pictures of babies on the walls. Clint and I looked at every picture as we walked by and commented on the portrait and the pose to keep us busy and focused. It hurt pretty bad to walk through the contractions. I had to stop once or twice, but that was it. I was determined to get the dilation process going. I was not driving all the way back to Lehi!

The walking ended--thank goodness! They checked me again and said I had dilated to a 2. They said I could stay and they would admit me. I was elated! So, they began the process of getting info from me and hooking me up to machines. All the while I was still having contractions every two minutes for a minute long. They would pause every time there was a contraction so I could just breath through them. I must say, I think I did pretty dang good. I guess I was picturing horrid movie birth scenes prior to this, and was worried I would turn into a screaming, sweaty, crazy monster. I breathed through them all really well and remained calm. After about 2 or 3 hours of being at the hospital, and breathing through my contractions, it was finally time for my epidural. That is what I had planned on doing from the beginning and I am glad that I got one. The epidural itself was strange and a little uncomfortable to get, but once it finally started working I felt so much relief. Little did I know Elsie would take FOREVER to get there, and I don't think I could have kept on just breathing through my contractions without my epidural. It was about midnight, and the nurses checked my dilation progress once more. I was at 2.5. This was going to be a long night. They turned out the lights and I tried to get some sleep. I slept a little bit, but was mostly really uncomfortable. Clint curled up in this tiny recliner. I felt bad for the guy, but he didn't complain and was a trooper. Things were starting to calm down, and then I felt like I was going to be sick. Luckily, we were able to get me a barf bag just in the knick of time!

A few hours later, I don't remember exactly what time, a couple of nurses came in. They looked concerned and worried. They told Clint and I that Elsie's heart rate was dropping extremely low. They told me they needed to get my doctor. They left the room, and Clint and I were stunned. Everything had been going so smoothly, and I thought, "How can this be happening?" The doctor came in. He explained that her heart rate was indeed too low, and that if it continued like this for much longer he would need to come in and talk to me about a possible emergency c-section. He was calm and collected, and said they would watch for a bit, and determine the next step. Fear overtook me. I was so worried for my sweet little baby girl. I was worried about a c-section. I asked Clint if he would say a prayer. He held my hand and we prayed together. He offered the most beautiful prayer asking for help and for comfort and faith. I don't know if he even remembers what he said, but it was perfect. The spirit flooded the room and I felt calm. I knew everything would be ok, and not to worry. We laid back down and just waited. The nurses came back some time after and said things were looking much better. I tried to go back to sleep. I remember offering a silent prayer to my Heavenly Father thanking him for taking care of everything and for watching over us.

Finally, around 7:30am they said I could start pushing. My doctor came in and checked on me and agreed it was time to start pushing. "Really? Finally!" was my thought. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and pushed........and you get the idea. NOTHING! I became so exhausted and was struggling to breathe. They put me on oxygen. I was still struggling and so I asked to stop for a bit. I also started puking again. My sweet husband held my hand and told me I was doing great. Elsie was just moving down pretty dang slow. I was starting to get nervous. "What if I can't get this baby out on my own?" Clint told me I that I was tough and that I could do this. He held my hand and kissed my cheek as tears of frustration started to come. He wiped away my tears and told me it would be done soon, and to not give up. With his motivating words, I said I was ready to try again. I was also breathing better at this point, but the nurses wanted to keep me on oxygen for the rest of the time. I started pushing and things finally got better. She started coming down faster, and finally the nurse said what I had been longing to hear for SO long (3 hours in fact). "Go get the doctor, she is right here and waiting to come out!" My doctor came in and asked me to push again. I pushed twice and Elsie finally made her grand entrance at 10:25am. She weighed 6 pounds 10 ounces and was 20 inches long.

What happened next is something I really can't even put into words. The moment my beautiful daughter entered the room the spirit was SO strong. They gave her to me and I felt so much love. I felt Clint's love, I felt love for Clint, and I instantly felt tremendous love for my daughter. I felt Heavenly Father's love so strongly for me, for Clint, and for Elsie. Clint and I were both crying and were both overwhelmed with the amazing moment. We were so grateful to be Elsie's parents. We were grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who allowed us to be trusted with her care. There was so much love in the room. It reaffirmed my testimony that God is indeed LOVE. And, as the Beatles say, "All you need is Love. Love is all you really need." I realized that nothing else mattered at that point. I have a loving Heavenly Father, an adoring husband, and a perfect newborn daughter. That's all I needed.

The arrival of sweet Elsie Ann!(Part 1)

So, I have been wanting to write about my labor experience for awhile. I feel like I am already forgetting too many of the details, and its only been 2 months! The day my daughter was born was the most spiritual day of my life, and I was so happy to share it with my love, Clinton.

My due date had come and gone, and I was so done with being pregnant. That last week of pregnancy felt longer than the rest of it all. I was going crazy!! My doctor had scheduled to induce me on the 14th of July. This would have put me a week overdue. The 14th is my little sister's birthday (who isn't so little anymore at the age of 19). We had planned to do dinner on her birthday, and so we rescheduled that thinking I would be having my baby on that day. Elsie showed no signs of wanting to come out on her own.

Dinner was rescheduled for July 11th. We were going to the Spaghetti Factory, which I was very excited for. That place is divine! Anyway, Clint had to work for a bit so he dropped me off at my parent's house to hang out for a bit before the dinner. He would join us later. While we were driving to my parents I started having contractions. This was around 3 in the afternoon. I didn't think much of it because my doctor told me that most women have hours and hours of contractions before the timing is close enough for them to go to the hospital. He also told me the pain had to feel like someone cut off my arm before I should even think about going to the hospital. My contractions certainly didn't meet this criteria at this point, so I figured we were dandy. Plus, I didn't want to go the hospital prematurely and be sent home. That was NOT going to happen.

By the time we got to the restaurant, I was a little less in denial that my baby was coming, but still thought it wouldn't be anytime soon. My contractions had been about every 30 minutes up until this point for about 30 seconds to a minute long. "Meh, let's go eat delicious food" was my thought. After ordering my food, things got weird, and FAST! My contractions started speeding up. Clint was timing them on his phone and he started to look a little worried--same with my mom. My contractions were every 1.5-2 minutes for a minute long! The waiter brought out the food. Clint scarfed down his spaghetti and meatballs. I looked hopelessly at my garlic cheese bread. The pain was getting more intense and my appetite was pretty much non-existent at this point. I nibbled at my food, but knew this was it! I remember a whirlwind of emotions flooding over me. I was excited, nervous, in pain, relieved, happy and scared out of my mind all at once. Thank goodness we had been prepared with a hospital bag in the car! Clint called the hospital and they told me to definitely come in. The waiter brought out some ice cream. I had two bites, and we were off! So much for not spoiling my sister's birthday dinner ha ha!

I guess I'm a blogger now!

So, as my life is changing, and all too quickly flying by, I decided I wanted to be better at journal writing. I have countless journals that begin with, "Dear Journal, This year I made it my goal to write in my journal." And, that's it! Ha ha. I thought that perhaps online would be a better forum. I am probably more likely to type something than write something. My time always seems to be limited, so forget the pen and paper. I will put my 100wpm to good use!  Blogging is my solution.

I also have felt that as I have grown older, and live farther from my friends and family this may be a good way for people to know what is going on in my life. But more importantly, I want people to know that, although I am busy with day to day life, I still have hopes and dreams. I have thoughts that I want to share. I have goals. I have good days. I have tough ones. You may not be interested in reading, and that's fine.  I just think that right now I need a place to speak. I need to feel like my voice is heard, and that I what I think matters to someone.

The lunch bell is now ringing, and my break is over. I better go, and get ready to welcome my 5th period class--all 37 of those boisterous 13 year olds.