The power of Eleven

Eleven is my favorite number, partly because of it's earthly and spiritual significance in my life. I have many reasons why I love this number and now, I will share with you why Eleven is so important to me today. For it was eleven years ago tomorrow, that I birthed my beautiful, vivacious redhead minutes before the clock ticked it's way to ten o'clock that night. I am dedicating this post to the little girl who forever changed me, and the world we live in. Words will forever be inadequate when describing what Macady means to me.

In March of 1999, I wrote a letter to my child. In it, I described how I couldn't wait to meet her, how excited I was to be her mother, how I was preparing for her arrival. She was not conceived until September of that year. I knew my little one was ready to come to earth, long before she arrived. Although we had dated for four years, I still did not feel were not ready nor financially prepared to have a child. But I embraced my pregnancy, thumbing my nose at society, not caring about any factors that attribute to a proper, earthly birth. I grew, I expanded, the morning/nightly sickness lasted for six months and I endured it happily. I lost a lot of weight at first, but gradually began to blossom. During the seventh month, I suffered from toxemia, bloating, rapid weight gain, water retention, and despite voicing my concerns, I was never heard by my doctor. I worried about my baby and every night, I would slowly pat my abdomen to the rhythm of my heartbeat, and sing the Cedar Smoke song to her. I didn't know all the words, they were lost to me from my time in the Gros Ventre sweat lodge, but the music remained firm in my bosom and so I sang to her. Patting and soothing, I told Macady how much I loved her and how grateful I was that she would choose me to be her mother.

Barely 21 years old, three weeks earlier than expected, I delivered my tiny little fairy on Memorial Day Monday. I will always treasure the feeling as she slipped from between my legs, and I wanted that moment to last forever. It was the only thing I felt during the actual delivery, as I had labored for twelve hours and finally asked for an epidural. I wish I could go back in time and take that wish away :) Born at 9:57 pm, my five pound, premature Fae child was placed in my arms after an hour of being checked, checked, and checked again. I begged for her, and they just picked her up for a glance before wheeling her away. The delivery was forced. Encouraged even, as my water breaking had "ruined" everyone's Memorial Day. Nurses argued with the doctor, who later joked that we should've all stayed in Island Park to save the travel back to EIRMC. Forceps were used to pull her from me, stretching and misshaping her head, tearing me open and then the dreadful expectation to stand on legless limbs mere minutes later and the disgusted looks I got for not being able to. I remember saying that oxygen made me ill, it was so sickeningly sweet. I remember saying, No! I don't want to see it! As the doctor pulled up the bloody placenta to show me where my baby had been living in. I remember nearly passing out at the sight of all that blood, and wondering why, oh why, hadn't they brought her to me?

Finally, after an eternity, they brought my pink-cheeked, peach-fuzzy headed, utterly perfect child to me and I wept tears of gratitude as earthly words escaped me and a spiritual feeling indescribable to anything else encompassed us as we held our daughter. Her name is Macady, from one of my favorite books from teenagehood. In my own interpretation from Mac meaning mine, and Cady from Catherine and Cadence; to me, her name means My Pure Rhythm.

The picture below is one I've kept hidden for many years, because it truly shows how exhausted and washed out I was...Unhappy because she'd been away from me for too long, I hadn't so much as washed my face and 15 hours later, I looked like this. I do not have another hospital picture, although another wish is that I could've made myself up a little and had a nice picture to show. Hence, it's been hidden at the bottom of the picture box until now. Now I'm okay with it.

And with her daddy, who remained speechless most of that night :)

I never listened as they told me how fast time would fly. I wish among all other things, that I could've truly appreciated and treasured her babyhood and toddler years. She was a perfect child. She never screamed, only cried infrequently and only then if she was poorly, wet or hungry. Since I didn't allow those things to happen, she was rarely sick or wet and never hungry.

I would sing to her every Summer morning as she woke: Good morning, good morning, can you hear the birds? A beautiful song, without any words. Good morning, good morning, a song sweet and true. Good morning, good morning, a song just for you.

I will always maintain that by telling her how excited I was to be up all night feeding her, telling her it was okay to wake up to be fed, it was okay to sleep, loving her whilst in utero, it truly effected how she spent her first years. She came home sleeping through the night. I remember telling her the opposite of whatever naysayers would tell me and I really believe it worked.
Here she is on her first birthday.

Macady didn't go through her terrible twos, or threes. She had one major tantrum when she was about five and that's all. We bought the horse movie Spirit for her third Christmas. We subsequently went through three more DVD's as it was watched over and over and over. It was the first movie that she cried watching. It was an amazing experience to witness her *feel* how the horse was. Her little soul embodied the moral of that movie. She was, and still is my Spirit, that could never be broken. I was extremely lucky and most certainly blessed to have such a patient and caring child. I wish I could go back to those beautiful days, for just a moment.

Like her mother, she was born with the gift of discernment. She is able to foresee events before they happen and recites conversations nearly verbatim that have occurred while she was in a completely different location. I remember driving one day and she told me that Heavenly Father sent her our kitten, Stripes, to us because we were chosen to be her mother. Out of the blue, another driving day, she told me she was a Rainbow Child, because that's what Heavenly Father called her. She tells me often that I am more of a big sister to her, rather than a mother...that her Nanny is more like her mother, but she is okay with that, because "It works". She has seen her brother McKay, since she was two years old. As our families' Scottish surname, correctly pronounced, it sounds like Mc-Eye, not a hard 'a' sound. She called him My Guy then, and when I asked her if it was an angel or her brother, she squealed in delight and my scriptures fell from the shelf, where they had been secured, onto the floor and I was chilled. She sees him often and always inquires to when he will be here. Years later, I still have no answer for her, but will fully embrace that time should it come again.

So here we are, on the eve of her eleventh year. She has been gone all day, riding her bike, playing with friends, packing a picnic lunch in her backpack, headed back to the park on her bike. I have spent all afternoon wrapping her presents in her favorite colors, turquoise and pink. I cannot wait to watch her open them all tomorrow! I will always indulge my biggest blessing, as if there is no tomorrow. I treat every celebration as if I won't have another chance to do so. Morbid, some may think. But when you only have one, you learn quickly to take advantage of every moment possible, to cherish and spoil, as it were. I am lucky to be able to do this, and still have a gracious, sweet child who says thank you for everything and never expects anything. She truly shines in her humility and in so many other ways. I dedicate this to my precious darling. May this Eleventh Year be as special to you as it is to me. May you stay as sweet as you are and may the Lord bless and keep you always.
All my love,
Mummy xxxxxx

Yikes

Who knew a year could pass so fast? Thanks to facebook, I can update my status a heck of a lot faster than this route and obviously have neglected this poor page. So now I'm not sure whether I should just do a quick update or jump into what's new....Let's see, Macady will be 11 next Sunday, she's nearly taller than me (and is with shoes). My shoes. And my clothes. Yep, she's officially growing up and I'm still in denial over the whole thing. I'm simply not old enough to have a preteen and that's all there is to it. As expected, there have been a lot of changes this year. Between Church, work, marriage and family, not necessarily in that order, many things have 180'ed. So glad things are better with the whole death-do-us-part deal though, because it went beyond rough and I was so done last year. I've found that whenever I'm doing what I know I'm supposed to be doing, doing what the Lord wants, the adversary takes a giant toothpick and starts in at the chinks in my armor. And digs until I bleed.


Church is church. I'm still in Primary, 7 years now but I've graduated to the 7 year olds. I've taught every single child in the Jr. and one class in the Sr. so far. Church is better, since Scott was ordained an Elder on Easter Sunday. That was simply amazing and I could dedicate an entire post to how much I wanted to shout it from the rooftops and he didn't tell a soul until the night before. Humility. It's an awesome trait that I so don't possess. 


We are (thinking) about going through the temple, but I have so.many.questions. I don't even know where to start, who to ask, and the fear of embarrassment and ignorance is so real. I just keep in mind the one time we got to go through as a family before the Rexburg temple was dedicated. I remember every detail, what was happening around me, the words I had heard, and how I was told that it wouldn't feel the same as it should, because of the iniquitous feet that had traveled the same path bruising the sacredness that is there. I remember what the Celestial room looked like, how it felt and how I couldn't stop staring at myself in the eternal mirrors as one temple worker discussed the plan of salvation and eternal families. As someone who doesn't look often in the mirror, for I am embarrassed at what I see, (unless it's to check if I have something in my teeth), I simply don't look. But that afternoon as I walked into that room, I could not stop staring at my reflection. I smile when I think of the explanation of how the mirrored effect worked, that you can't see the eternal significance if you only look at yourself, but that you must look at the person next to you to get the full effect of the eternal family. And I laugh because the only thought that crossed my mind when I heard that, was "Great! My eternity will be spent alone!" I cry when I think of the words I heard so clearly, as if someone was standing right next to me: "Anna. This is how your Heavenly Father sees you. This is your true reflection. The mirrors of the world are simply of the world, meant to destroy the beauty that is within you." Until that day, I'd never even thought of how a worldly mirror can effect the way you see yourself. But to me, it rang true and for just a moment, I felt beautiful, loved, whole. And as I processed all this, we crossed the threshold of the Celestial room and I thought to myself that at least I had this moment in a temple, with my little family and that the spirit there was so unexpectedly strong, regardless of the naysayers. And then I heard the only words Scott spoke the entire tour. In a hushed whisper, a promise that we would return as a family one day. A blessed, blessed day.


Since that came out of nowhere, I'll go on. I still want another baby. Definitely at home or a birthing center, non-medicated, with a certain soul sister at my side coaching me through it. I want to nurse until my baby is ready to wean. I want to enjoy postpartum and not feel like dying. I want to heal quickly, without waiting for drugs to eradicate out of my system. I want to be able to freely move my body, lay my baby down without hurting, feel free to get chiropractic work, align our bodies and our spirits, to feel beautiful and not hate my body for 11 years. I can totally envision it and think about it a lot. Macady still asks me when her brother is coming. I tell her hopefully before she leaves for college. Holy schnikeys....can you even freaking imagine? Happy Graduation, dolly. You're going to be a big sister. Oy vey.


I couldn't leave this story without mentioning one of the biggest life-changing events I'll ever experience and one day, I'll share my writings about losing Pard. I call them the Pard Letters. I miss my beloved sweet friend every day and four months later, every time I think of him, my throat swells closed and tears spring to my eyes once again. For now, I'll just say that Pard was much more than just a dog, he was everything to us. He still comes to me in spirit and I know he will always be close to me. He is buried in the backyard under the lilac trees and we will never move from this home. Because since his passing, this house that we have lived in for nearly 9 years has become a home and I am just realizing how much living we've done here, how we've raised a child here and filled it full of love and memories. This is the house that built us and I hope we never have to leave.


That was this year in a nutshell. I was simply done and didn't have much left to give in many areas. But, like all good stories, things turned around and I learned way more than I expected to. I've grown up a little bit, and it really wasn't that bad. And I've learned how to improvise when it rains and you need a match to light your way.