About Me

My name is Kelli and I am a 27 year old stay at home mom to my four little ones. My oldest are twins, Caden (boy) and Avery (girl), who are 5 1/2 years old. Next is Sienna, whom we call CeCe, and she is 4 1/2 years old, and last we have baby Adele, who as of this writing is 10 months old. I am married to my best friend, Carl, who is the best partner I could ask for in parenting such a loud, rambunctious bunch.

Our twins were born very prematurely, at only 27 weeks gestation, and it started out my life as a mama with a bang. I had a hospital birth, with a forced epidural, and it was a quick and fairly traumatic labor and birth. We had little time to research anything about parenting, and with little prior experience with babies, we quickly succumbed to the baby-training views of those around us, all the while feeling that there had to be a better way.

The craziness of those early years as parents prompted us to look for ways that helped slow life down. We began shifting towards a more crunchy, AP style of parenting. I wore the babies more. Scheduled our lives less. To counter-balance the chaos, we searched for simplicity.

Now that are older three are 4 and 5 years old, we have a new little one. Adele was born at home, and her birth was one of the most special, amazing days of my life. Not just because I met my beautiful baby girl, but because her homebirth was everything I dreamed of, everything that I wanted from childbirth.

Over the last (almost) 6 years of being a mama, I have come to be passionate about breastfeeding (for as long as it works for mama and baby), babywearing, co-sleeping/bed-sharing, cloth diapering, and gentle parenting, amongst other things. We are a pretty basic attachment parenting household and we love it that way.

I feel so blessed to be a part of such a fantastic group of mama's here at The Mommy Dialogues!

Kelli

DIY baby moccasins

I saw a picture on Pinterest not too long ago of the most adorable baby moccasins, so I gave it a shot, with a few tweaks. Here is how it went:

My materials list:

Leather (I used kid doeskin - you want something soft)
Scrap fabric
Embroidery floss
Upholstery thread
Leather needle (for sewing machine)
Leather needle (for hand stitching)
Scissors
Pattern (I got mine here)
Spray adhesive
Pliers (or even better - a leather punch)
If you'd rather use pleather, or even two different types of fabric, go for it!

The first thing I did was cut out all the pieces of leather and fabric that I needed, using the pattern. I cut fabric for the lining, but I didn't line the top of the moccasin - I wanted to flip out the "fringe" later.

The next step was to adhere my lining to the leather. If you did this with fabric, you would use fusible interfacing, but I thought that ironing leather might be a bad idea, so I took the easier route and sprayed the leather with adhesive and then stuck the fabric right on it. It worked like a charm and three hours later I was ready for the next step.

Using my machine, I sewed the sides of the moccasins together at the toe. Piece of cake. Then I had to sew the sole of the moc to the sides. Not so easy. It's actually kind of impossible to pin leather using the wimpy pins I had, so I'd suggest using binder clips or something to held your pieces together as you sew. Another tip: sew slowly if you are using leather. It's a lot of work for that wimpy upholstery thread and you have fewer breaks if you go slow.

Next I ran a seam across the top piece of the moccasin, to create the flipped out part that I then cut into fringe. How can you have mocs without fringe?!

Then, the time consuming part: hand stitching the top to the sides. This is where it would be beneficial to have a leather punch. However, leather punches are expensive and I wanted to make these mocs NOW, so I opted to push a sharp leather needle through the layers of fabric and leather, then pull it through using a pair of pliers. Like I said, time-consuming, but the effect was pretty adorable if I do say so myself.

Now you go give it a try!

Adoption isnt always happiness and light

When I was a pregnant 17 year old and made the choice (even though it was a forced and coerced choice) to give my son up for adoption the impact of this choice was not yet fully realized. Even as i signed those papers, giving up my rights to my child I couldnt see the forest through the trees. I didnt have anyone telling me how hard it would be. No one to tell me that the grief and regret that I would feel at times would be all consuming. That birthday's and holidays would come with happiness, but also with an immense sadness that presses down on my soul. That for every day that I have that is wonderful and full of promise that there would be equally as many where darkness and grief would be all I know. Yet through all of this, there is a boy out there...who looks like me and is part of me. Who loves, and laughs and makes this world just a little better because he is in it and who one day...hopefully will know ME. Not just as his birth mom, but as someone who has loved him his whole life. Who has wished and dreamed about the things I want for his life and who wants nothing more then to hear the words "I love you too" echoed from his mouth.

My life hasnt been happiness and roses and unicorns poop rainbows. Looking from the outside in it appeared I had a wonderful life. That I was LUCKY to be adopted by my mom and dad. And I WAS and am lucky to have my father. He has his faults as all parents do, but he loves me unconditionally and I am without a doubt his daughter and I have never questioned his love for me.

My mothers love was conditional....conditions that I rarely ever met. I cant remember a time when I felt my mother loved me as her daughter. When my little brother was born...her biological child, that was it. If she could have gone back 14 years in that moment and not adopted me she would have. She certainly choose to forget about me and pretend I didn't exist after that point, and acted like I was a giant inconvenience and a pay check before that. She made it very clear how she felt at her funeral where I wasnt even mentioned and it was like I had never existed. That the 400 people who were there didnt even know she HAD a daughter let alone 5 grandchildren. My dad used to think I was exaggerating...until he saw with his own eyes the way it was. My mother was sick...mentally sick. She wasnt normal, because normal people dont do that. I used to blame myself for along time. Wondering what I did, why she loved my brother as her child and not me, why she didnt care what happened to me, or about me or even want to know me. I used to believe it was something I did when really it was nothing I did. I deserved a mom. I still deserve that. She didnt deserve to have me as her daughter. She didnt deserve to have 5 amazing grandchildren and she certainly doesnt deserve the tears that I will never again shed because of her.

-The Squished Hippie

On my feet

I open the door to the car, get in and just sit. I am so apprehensive about this retreat and what it will hold for me. This will be the first time that I've openly talked about the event that has changed my life forever and have people actually get it. Giving up my son for adoption. Driving down the toll way into Chicago, tears start streaming down my face. I know this weekend is going to change my life, but the pain it's going to take to get there wasn't something I was looking forward to.

I arrive at the beach house and put my stuff down in my room and head upstairs...my stomach in knots. I pick up my information packet and journal and read our schedule. First on the list is the opening ceremony and then....our stories. The part I was dreading the most. After the ceremony and after each women before me had done...it was my turn. I take a big breathe and cry my way through my story...and look around at all the other amazing women who are crying right along with me as i had done for each of them. I saw so much of their stories in my own...i heard the same pain in their voice and the same tears streaming down their face. I was home.

I went to bed with a sense of peace. Knowing that tomorrow would be hard, but also knowing that I had people to share it with. We discussed adoption language and parallels between the birth moms and the adoptive parents...we laughed, we cried, we shared and we loved. The more time I spent with these amazing group of women the more accepted I felt. A feeling which i havnt felt in a really long time. Crying felt good, letting go and just weeping was so freeing. I want to be so strong for my kids, I dont ever want them to know the grief that I live with and so I put on my brave mommy face. I dont cry, even when its the only thing I want to do and instead I smile. Being able to let go was freeing.

The last day was bittersweet. I was excited to go home and see my kids and be with my husband but was sad to leave the safety of my birth mom bubble. The closing ceremony was emotional for everyone. We all cried. Hearing all the wonderful things they all think about me was empowering. Things no one has ever told me. Things i dont believe right now, but hope to believe in the future. I read my empowerment poster everyday and try to convince myself that I am a fighter, and brave and selfless. That I'm stronger then I know and that I'm fearless.

I cant say that my views on the adoption have changed. That I have seen the light and am now ok with it and happy with my choice. I dont know if I will ever be ok with the adoption. For now though, having people who "get it" is enough and has done more for me then I could have ever thought possible. I never realized how lonely and alone I felt until I met my sisters at the On Your Feet Foundation Retreat. Thank you Vicki, Cher and Jenn for OYFF and to my sister birth moms. You have all changed my life.

-The Squished Hippie

My Son Wears A Cape

When we run errands, my son Jax can tell you the name of every hospital he sees. He can tell you why he went there & what the Dr's did. He can tell you what he ate while he was there. He took his first ambulance ride Thanksgiving of 2008 at 3 months old for labored breathing. His first hospital admit was just a few months later. Jax is 3 years old and has Cystic Fibrosis. To him, his life of Dr's, medicines, hospital stays, & x-ray's is very normal. To us, it's grown to be semi-normal. I don't think I will ever get totally used to it, though. I still cry when he gets his blood drawn. I have to step out of the room if it gets too bad. Hospital couches will never be comfortable enough to sleep on. My heart still drops when I hear him cough more than once a day.

There is no cure for CF. The life expectancy for a CF'er right now is mid-30's. With the help of modern medicine, it's possible that could jump another 10 years or more soon. Cystic Fibrosis is a genetic disease of the lungs & digestive system. It is not uncommon for some with CF to have to undergo a lung transplant while in their 20's. Jax has to take enzymes whenever he eats so that his body can digest his food. He is on a high-calorie diet so he can gain as much weight as possible. He does breathing treatments and vest treatments for the mucus in his lungs when needed. He does all of this without batting an eye.

He doesn't know he has CF yet. That is a talk we will have with him once he can comprehend the importance of it all. All he knows is when he is sick, he needs to go to the hospital. He tells us when he thinks he needs to go. "I need an IV now" he will tell us. Deep down it crushes me. I cry when he isn't looking. I hold my breath when he gets weighed at the Dr. Jax having this disease has changed my husband & I. We grow closer to each other when he is sick, clinging to each other for support. I have grown closer to God, as well. Knowing that we were trustworthy enough in God's eyes to be responsible for him is a honor.

I do not know what the future holds for Jax. I pray that he stays strong. During surgery for a hernia he had during the summer, the surgeon found he has congenital bilateral absence of the vas deferens. Meaning, he will be unable to father children because the tubes that carry sperm are blocked by mucus & do not develop properly. It saddened me to think that in the future, Jax might have trouble having children of his own. It just felt like another obstacle he would have in his way. The less pain he has in his life, the easier life might be for him. We are doing everything possible to make his life as easy as possible. There might be a day where easy might be unattainable for him.

Jax bounces back fast. He has more energy than any kid I've seen. He is always in good spirits. His Dr's are in awe of how well he is doing. My husband & I have committed our lives to helping him fight this. He leads the way, though, & we follow behind. A small framed, 31 lb boy is who I look up to.

About Geneva

This is me!  I'm a good-looking lady!

My name is Geneva and I am the proud 23-year-old mother of Coyote Rain, born 11/3/11 at 41 weeks and 5 days gestation. I am currently a SAHM but will be returning to Boise State University full-time in the spring. I am a sophomore there with a major in Political Science, a minor in Philosophy and a dream of one day becoming a lawyer. 

I married Coyote's daddy, Ben on 11/11/11, the exact date we had been planning since we got engaged almost two and a half years ago. We are both enjoying our new roles as parents and spouses, though I must admit, hearing the word “wife” applied to me is still very odd.

Ben and I met in Alcoholics Anonymous, where I currently have four years of sobriety from drugs and alcohol. I am also in recovery from bulimia and anorexia, though it is much more difficult for me to quantify the amount of time I have accumulated; I lived in the disease for five years, was in and out of recovery for three years and truly believe that pregnancy gave me a new set of eyes to view my body. I am now the healthiest I have ever been, both physically and mentally, and I am a big advocate of therapy and throwing away the bathroom scale. Teaching positive body image has become a passion project of mine. 

This is my husband!  He has very good body image.

Motherhood is the craziest job I've ever volunteered for. (Upon reading this, Ben scoffed.  "Volunteered for?" he said. "That should say 'begged for!'") I spent nine (and a half) months living in the library and the second my son was placed in my arms, I felt as though I hadn't prepared at all. I have learned a ton about "alternative" parenting techniques, however, and I do a lot of things differently than other moms I know. 

This is Coyote.  He is cute and has a big belly. Also: check out my adorable hat!

I am an attachment mama; I practice babywearing, exclusive breastfeeding (and plan on extended breastfeeding; allowing Coyote to wean on his time schedule, not mine), and co-sleeping. I also cloth diaper, practice part-time elimination communication (infant potty training), baby-led weaning, am anti-RIC and vax-free. Our household only has battery-free-toys and we will not be allowing television until after the age of two. 

These are all things that I am excited about and passionate about. I am an avid book reader and am always happy to provide empirical evidence to back up the parenting techniques we have settled on as a family. I often come off strongly to those who make different parenting decisions, which is partly because it is difficult to show demeanor through a text-based interface and partly because I avidly believe that my decisions are the very best for my family, though I certainly do not claim to know what is best for anybody else nor do I pass judgement on other families. I am simply doing my best to raise the happiest and healthiest child that I can. 

Happy, water-loving boy! And Coyote, too!!
(Ben would like me to note that he DOES own clothes, I just happened to pick photos of him topless.  Because he's very cute topless.)

Silly baby making faces with Mama.

Two watermelons, weird diseases and happily ever after

After a work-related trip to Puerto Rico, a friend suggesting that I might be pregnant when I complained of sore boobs and a peed-on pregnancy test, it was official – Jed and I were expecting. It came as a little bit of a shock, but these things do happen, especially when you don’t take adequate precautions. I had a previous miscarriage at 6.5 weeks, so my OB/GYN office set up an appointment and ultrasound for around the 6.5 week mark, just to make sure that all was well in the land of my uterus. After hearing/seeing a healthy baby heartbeat, I was relieved. I knew I was anxious, but that sound was wonderful. It was also followed shortly by, “Congratulations, you’re having twins!” to which I responded in my most ladylike manner, “Are you shitting me?!”

Apparently, no, the ultrasound tech was not, in fact, shitting me. There were two little darlings growing in there, both measuring right on schedule. I smiled like a madwoman and giggled uncontrollably, but I think that was just my way of responding to the overwhelming fear that gripped me. Twins? How would they fit in me? I realized, as I hugged my elated husband, that my response was selfish, but my belly was flat and my frame was petite. Two babies? Two watermelons? In there?

Fast forward to 29 weeks gestational age. One boy, one girl, one shortening cervix and all of a sudden I was in preterm labor. Jed had been back from guiding hunters (one of his jobs) for all of 24 hours when I demanded that he drive me to the hospital, an hour away, because I was in labor. He did have the gall to say, “I think you’re overreacting,” before putting some boots on and driving me to L&D, where they gave me some shots, gave me some more shots, then gave me magnesium sulfate and called the helicopter to fly me to Albuquerque to a level three NICU.

After throwing up on my headset en route to Albuquerque and wondering how people ever fly in helicopters, we landed and I was transferred to a much softer surface, and then wheeled to a room with a glorious view of the mountains. I was still vomiting every hour or so, which was one of the less pleasant side effects of magnesium sulfate (right up there with feeling like I might spontaneously combust). A doctor came in to check my cervix, which was dilated to an intimidating 3 cm. I called Jed immediately – he was still driving from our first hospital – and told him to stop messing around, we were about to have tiny babies.

The NICU folks came in my room and told me things about necrotizing enterocolitis, cerebral palsy and umbilical IVs. Hospital admissions people came in and asked me to sign admissions paperwork. My nurse asked me to vomit into a bucket. I couldn’t see straight, I couldn’t think straight, I was sweating profusely in a sixty-degree room, I was dilating, the perinatalogist who checked my cervix talked to me about my impending C-section (thanks to my breech boy) and the sun rose and set two times. My labor stalled thanks to the wonder drug, in spite of my gut feeling that I was about to be the mother of tiny, furry, translucent babies.

So I lived in Albuquerque, in the hospital, contracting away, for the next month. I taught myself to knit, watched episodes of Project Runway all day, ordered hospital food three times a day, befriended the nurses and kept cooking babies. I had visitors every single day that I was there (if you count Jed as a visitor, which I did – he didn’t have to be there). I also developed cholestasis of pregnancy, a disease which causes unbearable itching for the expectant mother and can lead to fetal demise in the worst case scenario for little ones. The perinatalogists and I decided that if I went into labor again, I would have the babies at that point and I kept them cooking we would deliver them at 36 weeks. At 36 weeks, I could potentially go back home to my original doctors, who would let me attempt a vaginal delivery. The doctors in Albuquerque weren’t comfortable with a breech birth (even if it was the second, smaller twin) and after thinking long and hard about it, I decided that I didn’t want doctors who weren’t comfortable with a breech delivery to attempt it with my babies. As much as I wanted to avoid a C-section, I wanted healthy babies more.

I went into labor again at 33 weeks and 2 days. I wasn’t convinced that I was in labor, but I knew that baby A was lower and I had some minor back pain accompanying my normal contractions. So when the hospitalist checked my cervix and said I was a stretchy three and 80% effaced, I was surprised. When he came back an hour later and said I was definitely a four and almost 100% effaced, I was shocked. He said I had about half an hour before the surgery and I asked, “Why so soon?” to which he replied, “Better now that when it’s an emergency.” My contractions weren’t particularly painful, and I wanted to experience labor, but he was being logical, so we got ready, sent text messages to the almost grandparents and then walked down the hall to the OR.

I got the spinal, got scrubbed all over my abdomen and was just getting cut open when Jed came into the OR and held my hand. There were NICU nurses ready to catch my babies and whisk them away. I felt cold, anxious and like the situation was totally out of my control (which it was). I heard the doctor say, “A, fluid, clear,” and then I heard Clara Blue cry for the first time at 2:23 am on October 24, 2011. I cried when I heard her – she sounded so strong and healthy. Then, “B, fluid, clear,” at 2:24, and Cormac Leo started crying – a little weaker, but still a great sound. The NICU nurse showed me the little guy, then whisked him off and I laid there, getting cleaned up and sewn shut and wondering how my children were doing.

Jed went to the NICU almost immediately and took pictures of the pair of them so I could see what they looked like. After a few hours, once I had eaten, cleaned up a little, and could feel my legs again, Jed and his best friend wheeled me down to the NICU to meet my creations. Clara was on a nasal cannula, but was a healthy 4 lbs. 12 oz. and doing just fine. Cormac was having a harder time breathing and was on a bubble CPAP. He weighed 3 lbs. 15 oz. and both twins were 16 ¾ inches long. I felt strangely detached from them both, like I was glad they were fine, but that was it.

I started pumping that day, and got to hold Clara the next day. It was wonderful to finally get to hold her and I had no problem bonding with her as soon as I got her in my arms. It was a few more days before I held Cormac, but when I did, he was calm and quieter than he normally was and then he went to sleep on my chest almost immediately.

I pumped the entire time that the twins were in the NICU and, thankfully, I produced enough milk for both of them and then some! Their breathing improved, Cormac had a heart murmur that resolved itself, they started eating like champs and then, on November 20, we all got to go home! It was wonderful (and unbelievably lucky) that they both got discharged at the same time and the feeling of driving our babies home after waiting for them all that time was unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It was worth every bit of what it took to get us here.