But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. ¹⁰ That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2^nd Corinthians 12:9-11

One thing that I’ve wrestled with is speaking about my child’s sickness. It pains me to say this, but I’m thankful for his autism. The bloody, generic label slapped on my little boy’s broken body. I actually loathe autism, but I’m thankful for it. How can that be? I hate Jacob’s condition. I hate what it has done to him. I hate what it does to our family every single day and every sleepless night. So why in the world would I be thankful for my son’s sickness?

Because it has changed EVERYTHING.

A few things that my child’s brain inflammation, gut dysbiosis, mitochondrial dysfunction, heavy metal contaminated, methylation-impaired, lyme disease ridden, depleted little body has done for my life:

It saved my marriage. Ben and I would have been split up long ago if Jacob wouldn’t have regressed into this horror at 15 months old. It took two of us to care for him even when we didn’t like each other. We were forced to make it work.

It humbled me. I should just drop the mic here.

It made me appreciate the family unit and crave it for my family. It’s something to protect.

It sent us through the grieving process. I grieved the loss of little things like typical “firsts”, playdates, just being a normal mom. I grieved through his chronic illness, I grieved through the loss of my parents being together. I grieved through my own marital journey. In some weird way, grief is very hard to verbalize yet so therapeutic for my soul.

Patience. Oh my word. The patience. My child cannot speak one word. It’s so frustrating for him. He can’t tell me what he needs, what hurts, what he loves. Our nonverbal communication is strong up in this house.

Perspective. It helps me understand what is truly important in life. Gets my focus right. Grounds me. We get to celebrate the smallest things…like smiling, interaction with a sibling, peeing on the potty, trying a new food. It’s kind of fun to be jumping up and down, freaking out and dancing over small gains. They are such huge wins to us.

Empathy and Compassion for those who are hurting…for things I haven’t walked through and cannot possibly understand. There are a lot of hurting people out there. I was telling my mom about little baby Alfie in the UK. I couldn’t get through the story – had a breakdown over it. Lord – break my heart for what breaks yours.

Reality check. Brought me out of deep denial. Made me seek Truth. As the kids are saying I was #woke. I live a transparent life. Real and raw. It turns a lot of people away. I get it – truth can be ugly and scary. I love the ugly. My friends – beauty from ashes is a great way to live.

It brought me to my knees, to the most broken place I could be, so that my faith would be renewed and I would come to understand that I had to put complete dependence on Christ to get through this. I do believe that God has used and will continue to use Jacob’s health for amazing things. Sometimes I see glimpses of it. Thank you, Lord.

Don’t get me wrong. I still hate autism. I have hard days on most days. But, I’m learning how to be thankful for the hardships in this very short life. It’s an intentional and necessary choice.

…I see you move the mountains, and I believe that I will see you do it again. You made a way where there was no way, and I believe I’ll see you do it again.  (Elevation)

I love my children’s names. We have 3 sons.

Jacob Hughes – 

Jacob is a name that I have always, always loved. I knew if I had a son his name would be Jacob. Luckily, my husband liked it too. Hughes comes from Ben’s grandfather whom he loved and misses very much.

Colton James – 

It was way harder to pick a second boy name. This one took us a long time to agree upon. While I was pregnant with him, I was obsessed with the show Nashville. Haha…you can laugh…but you know you watched it too. Remember when Reyna was dating Luke? Luke was always yelling at his son, Colt. I loved that name! I knew I couldn’t tell Ben that. He would never let us name our son after a stupid tv show (which, by the way, he watched with me). So when I told him I really like the name Colt, he thought it over and said he liked it because the Colt 45 was the gun that won the West. I went with it and said yes…that’s it, that’s awesome! (Side note: Ill be waiting to see if Ben reads this post.) Where the heck is James from? I wish I could tell you that it’s after a family member but it’s not. Just a masculine Hebrew Bible name that we found fitting. The neat thing is Jacob and James both mean “supplanter, holder of the heel, grasps the heel”. Jacob and Colton are in sync. They feed off each other. It’s interesting that they have names that mean the same thing. Have you figured out that I like Biblical names for boys?

Noah Benjamin – 

The name Noah came to us out of nowhere (well obvi the Bible but you know what I mean) and we instantly loved it. Noah means comfort and rest. Benjamin is obviously Ben’s name and I loved the idea of our last son carrying his name. Noah is our little love baby. He was not in our plans…he was straight from God. We had a planned vasectomy and knew we were done having kids after two (even though I always wanted four). Having two was hard enough for us and we couldn’t possibly handle another. When it was time for the procedure, we couldn’t go through with it. We were so conflicted. Something was not right and we could feel it in our guts. Always go with your gut. Procedure postponed. In January, I got the flu. Horrible flu that sent me to the ER. If you know me, you know that I have to be dying to go to the doctor (especially the hospital). They asked me if I was pregnant, I said no. They asked if I was sure, I said yes. They did a pregnancy test, it was negative. Guess what, I was pregnant. About a month before Noah was born I learned about a stem cell transplant trial being performed by Duke University on children with different brain injuries. The trial was closed but word on the street is that they were having an expanded protocol you could pay for using the derived stem cells of your child’s banked cord blood or of their sibling’s banked cord blood if the siblings are a match. Now, I’ve been researching recovery treatments for Jacob for over 3 years. I knew nothing about stem cells. Ummm, I started my career in transplant. However, it was solid organ transplants, not stem cells. I didn’t bank my first two sons’ blood. I thought it was a fad and it was really expensive. However, Ben had his vasectomy exactly one month before Noah arrived soooo – last kid, last chance. We banked Noah’s blood even though chances were that we wouldn’t have enough blood from delayed cord clamping at the birth center. The birth center had performed only one collection before…because, again, one of the points of going there is to have delayed cord clamping. There is usually not enough blood to collect afterward. Out of all the midwives on call, Maddie delivered Noah and she was the only midwife who had a lot of experience collecting umbilical cord blood. Blood bank sent the results. Duke said it’s over enough. Then we had to get HLA matching done to see if the boys were a match. Just got word. They are a match. My prayer to God is if He wants this procedure done for Jacob, He will open doors. Currently, doors are opening and we are waiting for next steps.

Back to the names. I love calling the boys by their nicknames.

Jay and J-man

Colt and Coltie  (formerly known as Big Tiny)

Noah-B (and you have to say it like your singing to the Black Eyed Peas song “Imma Be”.)

What did you name your babies and why? Write it out and save the story for them.

#names #meaning #mythreesons #boymom #partyoffive #autismrecovery #braininjury #autismmom #autismismedical #hope #nevergiveup #restingod #mycomfortisinthelord #listentoyourgut #momgut #nicknames #waitingonthelord #trustinghim #doorsopen #miraclebaby #powerofprayer

It’s such an ugly term for someone in their (ahem) mid-30s. Everything is different about this pregnancy and birth experience. For one, I’m considered over the hill in the birth community. Therefore, I get to do extra special things like regular non-stress tests. I also get the option to induce if I want to…because I’m old. I’m going to a plush birth center that is like an upscale hotel. They have the nicest bed with great linens, dim lighting, the biggest tub you have ever seen (I will have one of these in my home one day), a beautiful gigantic shower area, and a heated bidet. Maybe we will have one of those in our home one day. I don’t know yet…I will have to try that out. I’m sure my husband will beat me to that new experience. They have lots of other little amenities, too. The only caveat to this “seems to good to be true” experience is the discharge time. They like to get you out of there 4 to 6 hours after delivery. Say what? You should have seen my eyes almost pop out of my head. I’m not going home four hours after I have this babe. My hand raised immediately, “how hard and fast is this rule?” They told me the max stay time is 12 hours and all the reasons why they want you to be at home resting in your own bed with your own family. My heart sank. Do they not know that I have two insane children who are going to jump on top of me as soon as I get home? Do they not know how dirty my house gets as soon as I leave the house for more than a couple of hours? The dishes, the laundry, the toys, the food. Oh my gosh. Do they not know that my beautiful, but extremely whiney children need me at all times of the day? Afterall, they are the reason I’m exhausted and my hair is gray. We need a break, people. My brain started running circles thinking about all the excuses I will have ready in order to stay longer. My current mission is to be an exception to this rule. They are going to have to get security to escort us out of that place. Seriously…it’s already paid for. What if my labor is super fast? I’m not going home; I have already paid for this stay! We shall see what I can accomplish on that front. Back to the bloody advanced maternal age deal. I understand all the reasons why they are more careful…after all, I am technically an RN. But geeze, I thought this place was going to be a whole lot more “au natural”. It certainly is and I do get to waive things I don’t want for the most part, but these midwives and nurses mean serious medical business. Plus, the place is new and for low risk mamas; they have to keep those ratings up. They will shoot me over to Vandy before I can even blink. I’m praying and hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. After all, growth and wisdom comes with advanced age, right? This advanced maternal age mama knows that there is no way to predict the outcome of this birth. I may as well relax, enjoy it, and let it all happen as it is meant to be…even if the stay happens to be short.

Faith is facing reality but not being discouraged by it. – Rick Warren

Over the weekend, I had the best little shower held for me and my new baby love. It was a morning of fellowship with women who had spent 10 months with me in a deep, raw, excruciatingly truthful study. Women who were once complete strangers to me. This study is called a step study and it’s part of the Celebrate Recovery program. Have you ever heard of it? It’s for people who have hurts, habits, or hang ups. So pretty much for everyone. Codependency, depression, and anxiety – those were my hurts and hang ups that I couldn’t seem to get over by myself. When you want something bad enough or your life is that broken, bold steps to make a change may become an option on the table. This was definitely over my boldness threshold, but I wanted it and needed it – badly. So I dove in. It wasn’t easy. Opening old wounds is not a good time. Taking an honest look at yourself and then sharing it out loud in a group of strangers felt like jumping off a cliff. It got easier. Instead of dreading the class that I committed to, I started to look forward to it. The more I studied and the more transparent I was with myself, the closer I became to the Lord. Chains broke and my perspective changed. I was around like-minded women in a safe place. I was surrounded by love, prayer and the Holy Spirit while I shared pieces of my broken life. Radical honesty with myself and others. It was the most vulnerable position I’ve ever been in and provided the most healing and freedom that I could ever imagine. Are all my issues gone now? Nope. Has all the pain disappeared? Nope. Am I committed to this journey of healing through Jesus Christ and seeking His will for my life? Yes. I’ve never felt more ready to bring new life into this world. Thank you to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and to my “Step Sistas” for the beautiful relationships.  Oh – and for the baby gifts. Baby gifts are always so much fun.

Last week, we were faced with some heavy stuff in a lot of different areas of life. I was burdened. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my oldest son, Jacob, would be labeled as severely autistic – low functioning. I describe it like that because there are so many misconceptions and media always portrays autism as cute or quirky, but there is a whole world of us families dealing with kids who are extremely disabled and it can be really challenging and exhausting. All summer I have been heavily burdened with my son’s increasing ipad usage. I know that screen time is really bad for kids. I’ve read lots of studies on this topic. He is four years old and severely addicted to kids youtube on his ipad…not to watch the shows but to obsessively scroll through them. Admittedly, we use it as a babysitter because he has had a really long break from school and he is super bored. We use it as a crutch because I can’t take my kids anywhere by myself and my husband works all day. It works as a tool to prevent melt downs, too. Soooo, I justify his usage and deal with the guilt.

As of late, Jacob has been purposely waking himself up between 4:30 and 5:00 am, opening his door, slamming it shut behind him, and running to the kitchen where the ipad is plugged in. He grabs it and proceeds to get on kids youtube scrolling incessantly through the Disney Junior shows. He will stay on one show for about 30 seconds and go to the next. Sometimes it’s just a few seconds. He becomes a drone; he won’t play with toys. The more he watches, the more he wants it. It’s like crack…or what I imagine crack to be like. Recently, someone in one of my autism recovery groups posted an article about how bad ipad usage is for the autistic brain. I have read it before but it was an explicit reminder. Comment after comment (especially from some folks who have recovered their children) said that once they took the ipad away, there was a drastic change in their child. So, I was even more burdened this time. Later that morning, I asked my husband, “Why haven’t you backed me up on this?” He said, “I know it’s bad for him, but you are the one who has to stay home all day. I don’t know what you are going to do without it.” I said, “Let’s just try it. We don’t have to take it away, but youtube kids has to be deleted. If we can’t handle it, we can always put it back on.” So, when I was woken up at 2:00 am the next morning, I couldn’t go back to sleep because I was super burdened and couldn’t shut my mind off, I remembered to pray. Pray to God and seek his guidance. Well, this popped into my mind almost immediately, “You can do hard things.” Over and over I found myself saying, “I can do hard things.” Now I have heard God’s voice in my head one time in my life. This time this was a thought and a gut feeling that I believe the Holy Spirit gave to me. Friends, if Jesus isn’t your jam, it’s totally okay. This is for anyone who needs a little encouragement and we love all people. So stick with me. Simple but powerful words. “I can do hard things.” I jumped out of bed and deleted the app off both ipads. I made sure to really delete it. My kid can find youtube kids on any device faster than I can blink. Then, fortunately, I remembered that Jacob will definitely try to sneak my phone away, so we deleted it off the phones too. Jacob woke up before 5 am, ran to his ipad and cried hysterically for I don’t know how long. Ben had that shift. It was bad. Next morning, same thing. Pure devastation. Next morning, not so bad. And guess what, we’ve had playing. We see our boy having to use his imagination to figure out what to do. He likes to throw things and destroy things. That’s okay, we will take it. He picks up the ipad every now and then, plays a puzzle or traces letters and then throws it to the side. He is weaning off this technological drug. I’m not an expert at anything, but what we do know is that Jacob’s nervous system especially the vagus nerve is out of whack. His body stays in fight or flight mode. He craves this crazy constant stimulation and he can’t regulate himself. It’s up to us to help him no matter how exhausting the journey may be.

I want to say this. You, too, can do hard things. You really can. This may seem like such a simple task to some…taking the ipad away. It really did seem like a mountain to climb for us. I can guarantee that you are going through something difficult. It may be marital problems, a health issue, may be it’s your job, sticking to clean eating, or choosing a good attitude. I don’t know what it is, but you probably struggle with something. You may say to yourself, “I can’t do this. It’s too hard.” Or you delay action because it takes too much energy. Say to yourself and believe it, “I can do hard things.”  Say it over and over and over. I can’t believe how empowered I feel after doing this. I feel like I grew – like real personal development. I also grew as a parent. This is just one hard decision to make that will help us have strength for the next hard one. Small steps of faith, obedience, and personal belief will help you conquer anything. Remember – you can do hard things!

Yesterday I had a prenatal appointment. I’m going to a birth center versus the hospital for this 3rd birth. While I miss my OB and his staff, this is the route I’m supposed to go. This particular visit was a group visit, which sounds weird, but I enjoyed it a lot because they let me talk a lot. I think I’m entertaining; but in retrospect, my straightforwardness is probably terrifying. I’m surrounded by all first-time mommas so the midwife usually asks me to tell about my experiences. Plus, if anyone knows me, I love telling people what they should be doing. There’s also a bowl to put your questions in. No one was doing this so I decided to make it interesting and write down several questions…you know about placenta encapsulation and circumcision options, etc. Things that go through my head about 87 times per day. The norm, right? Six out of seven of the women were having boys and almost all of them said “oh I didn’t even think about that!” That was a little surprising. However, the best question was from a young girl who asked, “When are you going to tell us about the gross stuff? Like, you know, when we pee ourselves.” She was also disappointed about having a boy because she didn’t want to get peed on. Oh for the love, bless her little heart. This was my face after she said that.

Instead of going into grand detail, I recommended she read Ina May’s Guide to Natural Childbirth. Those stories and pics may enlighten her a bit. I was also very tempted to invite her to our house for an afternoon…you know, to show her that getting peed on or peeing yourself is the very least of her worries. It is most definitely the least “grossest” thing about motherhood. Anyway, I leaned over toward the midwife and said “Your tour video really doesn’t do anyone justice, you know?” She laughed and agreed with me. Let me just describe the tour scenario for you. You walk into the most lovely, comfortable, family-friendly center (it used to be the Outback on West End). Then, you have snacks and beverages and sit on comfortable couches. Then you go into their educational room and the educator talks and we all introduce ourselves. Then, we watch THE birth video. You see two hipsters in the bed in a really nice suite. The woman is in labor and her partner (who has a man bun and an epic beard) is basically swooning over her. The music is soft and very hipster-ish. My husband and I are trapped in the middle of the audience and he leans over and says his infamous line in his non-existent whispering voice, “I’m not going to lie, it’s about to get weird.”  We are trying really hard not to laugh because we are mature like that. You don’t know if they are going to have a baby or going to have sex. Seriously. It was intensely intimate. The only reason we were laughing and saying it was ridiculous is because of how opposite my labors have been. I have flash backs of murderous screaming, pooping in front of everyone, standing in the smallest shower ever, being carried to the hospital bed, telling my doula and my husband that I’m done with them, begging for drugs, and of course, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Dr. Link, HEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLPPPP MMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”! Then, I remember the look on a nurse’s face when they dumped my placenta in the cooler we had brought. I still have my placenta pills, tincture and a souvenir from the organ that nourished Colton. On to the rest of the tour…they take everyone into one of their birth suites. It’s amazing, like a 5 star hotel. The beautiful bed with the white down comforter. The biggest tub I have ever seen to labor and soak in. A huge, contemporary shower. Even a bidet. Also great squatting bars and other ways to labor comfortably. Everyone is looking around and the midwife is answering questions. I lean over and whisper to my husband, “What happens when I sh*t all over those white linens, do you think they’re going to charge us extra?” Then, of course, we laughed hysterically. (Just keeping it real here.) Here’s what the birthing suite looks like.

It was a great prenatal visit and I think it encouraged some of these new mothers to research and become informed so they can make intentional decisions for their children and for their own bodies. I am not anywhere close to a childbirth expert, but I have a little experience to share and like to encourage all moms to do their research. And while I love to tell the real, raw, “gross” details, I will say that natural childbirth is one of my greatest accomplishments. The way I felt afterward is hard to describe – the energy, the empowerment, the alertness, the love.  I’ll definitely be re-reading the book I suggest in order to boost my own confidence! Oh and who knows, maybe I’ll get to experience labor like those two hipsters did in the video. Ben may need to grow a man bun and grow his beard out. Cheers to all the mamas, however you may have birthed or adopted your children. And a double cheers to all the mamas who are getting peed on. It’s all beautiful in a “gross” kind of way.

It took us a whopping 34 hours to meet Jacob. I started keeping track of the time once I had regular contractions starting at around 10 minutes apart. Jacob’s labor is exactly like his personality. Cautious, drawn out, analytical, methodical, careful, slow to act. He’s going to do everything in his own timing.

In extreme contrast, Colton’s labor – wham, bam, thank you ma’am, I’m HERE!!! Now feed me.

Ben’s analogy of the boys’ personalities: if the boys were robbers, Jacob would be the one carefully planning out how they were going to break in. Colton would kick in the door and say “let’s do this!”

So, what is baby BOY # 3 going to be like? Will his labor foretell his personality? Does this ultrasound picture of him flipping us the bird give us any hints?

You’re welcome to pray for us. 🙂

A six foot wall that is…at the Hardesty residence.

Over the past few months the boys have gotten faster, sneakier, and just plain obstinate. After my non-verbal four year old was caught three doors down naked as a Jay bird, we said enough is enough. We’re building a wall; we’re going to make America great again. Seriously, we have got to contain these crazies. Now that my belly is growing, it’s becoming exceedingly difficult to catch them. Oh, and they don’t listen or respond to whippins or time outs. They are the type that think it’s worth it. “Bring it on, mom and dad…I’m just going to do it again because it’s fun.” This is what I think they are thinking as they are climbing up the neighbor’s back deck steps (naked). I have prophetic visuals of what things may be like when they are teenagers, and I quickly shut down those thoughts because it’s just plain terrifying. So back to the wall – it’s built and it’s beautiful and it has made America great again (or so we thought). We used a company called Reliable Fencing out of Mount Juliet, TN. Talk to Rosie, she was great. They sent a crew out and they worked. Like actually worked even in the pouring rain. They even worked while smoking. I was so impressed. In addition, I’m quite impressed with my husband’s handyman skills. He knew exactly what he was going to do to make a motorized gate and make sure it matched the fence. There’s something really beautiful about watching your partner grow into the man he is supposed to be. I’ve known Ben for 15 years. When I met him, I was 20 years old sitting in Management 310 class watching him. We went to a really redneck college and I show up wearing Umbro soccer shorts, a ratty t-shirt and a pony-tail. What did Ben wear? He wore tight, plaid shorts, a sweater vest, and crazy, spiked hair. I would think who is that guy? Why is he wearing that? He is either really confident or still drunk (turns out a little bit of both). I remember him speaking in a debate about import/export policies at 9 am on a Friday morning (Thursday nights are party nights at WKU – fyi for any parents reading this.) My point is that Ben was so different back then. Then I watched him finagle his way through corporate world and then become a business owner which is where he is today. Today, he loves where he is. He owns his own alarm company. He wears Dickies work shorts from Walmart (which he LOVES) and he drives a minivan for work (which he LOVES). And best of all, I get to witness his journey as a dad and his relationship with the Lord. By the way, I have a great story about our minivan purchasing experience which I will share soon.  Back to the fence. It made America great again, until this happened…..

Tomorrow is Memorial day. We’ve had an exhausting weekend with some hardships and some celebrations. I’m happy my husband is home. He is currently asleep with our two year old and my 4 year old is fast asleep in his bed. I’m sitting here eating a mozzarella and tomato salad (weird pregnant craving) at almost 10 pm reflecting over the weekend and thinking about tomorrow. At the same time, I’m responding to emails, texting with my sister, structuring my downline and strategizing the next opportunities to share this amazing little business I got going on. What a blessing it is. Thinking about how I got here and how this all came to be. Freedom. I have so many freedoms that I have taken for granted for so long. It feels good to sit in silence tonight and be intentionally grateful. I’m so grateful where God has placed me in my life. I was born into this wonderful country and can do whatever I want whenever I want. I do not feel suppressed as a woman; I feel empowered. I can have a small business and help my husband with his small business. We have flexibility to be with our children. I can go back to school whenever I want and I did. I mean, who in the world gets two bachelor’s degrees? I do. Why? Because I wanted to and we worked to pay for it. I lived in the corporate world for a while and made great money. No pay inequality issues here – probably because I asked for it and negotiated. How did I know how to do that? I read a book in college that talked about how a huge percentage of women accepted the pay they were offered; they didn’t negotiate or ask for more. I believed it and even though I was scared, I always asked for more money and guess what? I got it! In addition, I can worship whoever I want, whenever I want. And in case you don’t know it yet, I worship Jesus Christ. If you don’t know him, you may want to get to know him (actually I promise you will want to know him). Currently, I’m reading this book my pastor wrote called The Forgotten Jesus and it’s about seeing Jesus through a Jewish lens and the Jewish culture. It’s freaking fascinating. Even more importantly, I can’t quit thinking about how thankful I am for people who fight for this country and for all of my freedoms, and I want to recognize tomorrow for what it is. I have never been thankful for my freedom; I’ve taken it for granted. I’ve never been patriotic. I never really knew anyone who served. Some people in my family did, but I don’t know them or they never talked about it. I was taught to never register to vote. Reason? So I wouldn’t have to do jury duty. I am also under the impression that if you serve in the military, the government owns you. That sounded scary. You know what is really scary, being born into a country or culture where women cannot be heard, where women are raped and abused, or even the most horrifying to me, women who are born into or forced into sex trafficking. Why do I think about this? I guess at the ripe old age of 35, I’m finally learning just how important it is to have an attitude of gratitude.