SO EXCITED!!!

YAY!!!

I am proud to say that with the help of nursing every two hours (still), Jillian Michaels kicking my butt, eating delicious super foods and taking lots-a vitamins....

I've lost 41 pounds since Atticus was born (seven months ago)!!!!!!!!

I gained 28 pounds with him so the extra 13 pounds was a huge blessing! I'm a weight I haven't been since middle school but MORE IMPORTANTLY, I feel amazing. I feel more energetic and my body is loving me for it!! Health people. It's important!

And yes.... it's possible!

Cheers!!!

Trust and Obey

The baby is finally asleep. Cohen is using his cute dirty fingers as paintbrushes and painting me something that resembles a turkey battling a coffee mug. Joy.

I have been reflecting on what 2013 will look like for the Tamayo family. Often times, I'm reminded that my agenda must coincide with the family agenda. What I want isn't necessarily what is best for the family. I feel like being in a family is a constant give and take. This is my season of give.

Zac and I are thrilled that he is starting school again. He'll be commuting to Pueblo two days a week (for very long days) and working the other days he has off (nice, 10 hour days). I'm starting a new job in a couple weeks. I'm thrilled to doing what I love doing... teaching.

What's funny though, is that I have been exploring other career options besides teaching. I'm waiting to hear back from an advisor in Denver about a Speech Pathology program. I'd have a year of prerequisites and two and a half years of grad school after that. Not that I really mind school, I'm just looking for something that "fits" me and has lots of jobs available. This seems to fit me. Alas, we shall see.

Atticus is pure joy. He is very attached to me. Loves to nurse. Loves to be held. Love to sleep in our bed. Loves to giggle. Truly, he's such a content and good natured baby. I love watching him grow. I'm grateful for family here to love and dote on him.

Cohen is becoming such a little man. He has big thoughts. He is pensive, thoughtful. He tries to understand deep philosophical things. He stands for justice. He is kind and sensitive. He punishes himself when he does something wrong and just sobs. He's a mini-me. Truly.

2013, I hope, brings stability and assurance. Zac always encourages me to trust God and not lean on my own will, ideas or choices.

It's like what we always say to Cohen... Trust and Obey.

My motto for 2013

Grief-Massacred

20 children were massacred today. 6 Adults.

Massacred. Shot in their innocent bodies as their hearts cried for their mommies and daddies.

I cried a lot today. Painful crying. Sick, knot in stomach crying. 

And yet, I know God works in mysterious ways. He never caused this. I don't think he is punishing us for taking prayer out of schools. For electing a democrat as a president. 

Ludicrous. The world has been crazy since Adam and Eve deliberately disobeyed him. Nothing shocks him. He's in control. And still... my heart heaved.

I think Maya Angelou said it best today:

Our country is grieving. Each child who has been slaughtered belongs to each of us and each slain adult is a member of our family. It is impossible to explain the horror to ourselves and to our survivors. We need to hold each other’s hands and look into each other’s eyes and say, “I am sorry."

It is impossible to understand this kind of slaughtering. It is impossible as parents who have never lost a child to wrap our heads around someone who we don't know steals our world that is so precious. Removing innocents from our lives like they are nothing to us. 

The face I kept seeing is Cohen's. 

How would he have reacted to a man with a gun coming in his classroom? Pointing it to his small frame?

What would his last thoughts be?

These thoughts kept bringing heavy tears to my eyes.

I imagine that there were a slew of angels walking in with this man so full of evil. Vibrant and beautiful, fresh from the throne room. God, sending his most sensitive and loving celestial beings.

I imagine these incredible angels hitting this world with a thump as they trailed behind the mass murderer. I imagine they held the door open for one another as they looked at one another. I imagine even they sighed a deep, heavy sigh. Ready to usher these children that God listed by name into another realm.

I imagine they walked behind each of those children before they were brutally shot. I imagine each angel put a gentle hand on each of the precious lives as their bodies were torn apart by the evil that took their physical bodies. 

I imagine the children's souls saw the angels and not the chaos around them. That each of them smiling and looking at each other walked through the brutality outside. Unaware. I imagine one brilliant and kind angel smiled at each of their faces, knowing them each by name. Telling them of the incredible love and kindness that awaited them. 

Then gone. 

Gone to a place with no pain, no hate, no discouragement....

No evil.

I held Cohen tight tonight. I know his destiny lies in that of his creator. It doesn't mean I grieved hard. Really hard. I watched at his school as parents ran to pick up their kids, looking at them like they hadn't seen them in years. It touched me.

And tonight I think of all the parents who don't have a child to put to bed. To argue with about brushing their teeth. To read to. To cuddle with.

I imagine these children playing in the arms of the one that crafted them so brilliantly. Always safe in his arms.

Genesis 50:20

You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.

My Battle

I pour myself a second glass of wine.

I listen to a fireplace humming.

I create a vision of beauty through my rose colored glasses.

Glasses too narrow. Too heavy. Too much. 

I sense something gracing my presence. 

I forget the life I used to hold on to.

I prepare for a journey that does not divulge into two roads.

Maybe three roads. Four even. Too many to count.

I dance to a forgotten song.

I sink into the depths of my own fortitude. 

I cry remembering what this purpose looked like for me.

Unshakeable. Inevitable. Irrevocable.

A girl. Just a girl. Like me.

Hand on child bearing hip. Legs on old worn down furniture. Lips parched from lofty days. Knees breaking to the sound of cries. Hair matted from the endless turmoil. Breasts heavy from endless feedings. Eyes glazed from the all consuming battle.

One. Two. Glasses of wine. 

His Body is Too Young to Look Like His

The feeling should not be described as discontented. Unhappy. Or annoyed. It’s neither apathy or frustration. It could be sadness.

But really, it’s probably grief. 

A couple weeks after Atticus was born I was given an alarming message. It blindsided me but it didn’t shock me.

“Mackenzie, did you know dad is in the ICU?” My sister Mikia informed me as she stared at her phone.

I’m careful with my expressions. I’m not someone who needs to feel the drama or participate in it. I wasn’t sure which expression to convey. So I was stoic, almost cold.

I couldn’t articulate a sentence. I was grasping for words. Language. Joan Didion tells us that we tell ourselves stories in order to live. I found myself lost in language, unable to find the right expression, the correct answer or even a simple breath.

I was lost in my own thought process.

I shook my head.

“No, I didn’t know”

One sibling began rambling about how she was going to go see dad, my mom looked as paralyzed as I did... knowing she wanted to support us but unable to find her own correct words.

I received more information. Details.

He was unable to talk or stand. His friend had to call the paramedics. He tried to fight them off. He wasn’t breathing. He was transferred to a larger hospital. He might not make it. He was on life support. He was unconscious. 

They think it’s thick blood. They think it's cirrhosis of the liver. They think it’s a stroke. He's receiving a tracheotomy.

Heart attack. Coma. Pneumonia. 

??????????????????

Somewhere between all the words a sweat bead formed on the back of my neck. 

I hadn’t seen my dad in almost 16 months. I had no desire even now to see him. 

Nothing changed for me. My boundaries were still the same as they ever were, even with his looming death smacking me in the face.

I wiped my neck which had stiffened.

It’s not that I didn’t love him. It’s not that I didn’t care. 

I just wasn’t ready.

I listened as the other, more current with my dad, siblings updated me on his condition. Mikia and Sam made the long treck to Pueblo to see him first. Wide eyed they updated us all on his state.

Tubes in his nose, mouth. Unable to move or speak. Unconscious. Swollen. 

Sick. Very, very sick.

Tatiana and Ben made the next treck to see him. Same. Unable to move or speak. Tatiana wrote him a letter. My uncle Mark flew in. 

We all were grateful.

Death, grief and sadness all took residence in the front part of my brain and nestled it's way into my heart.

All I kept thinking is that he had died to me already in so many ways. 

Why would I go see him now?

So there I would stare out the window during my 3AM feeding, hoping my mind would stop buzzing, stop yelling and terrorizing my feelings. I had to make a decision to see him or not. I did not want to make that decision. 

It was not until I received a letter from a college friend of my dad’s; he encouraged me to allow him to apologize if in fact he were to die. That I could give him an opportunity to convey a message. This struck a cord with me. I needed to allow that moment to take place for his sake, not necessarily mine. 

It still loomed in front of me.

I arranged to meet with Uncle Mark. I was so grateful he was there. He would ask the hard questions to the doctors and allowed us kids to figure out our way.

I was still the only one who hadn’t seen my dad.

And truly out of just pure gut, I called Mark and told him I was ready to see him. Zac and the boys would come with Co and Ax would not be allowed in the ICU, obviously, but I would have my support system. 

I didn’t know what I’d say. I didn’t know what I’d do. 

I just stepped out in blind faith.

I sat in the ICU, talked with a family that was there visiting that knew my dad. So many would ask me questions, but though I was family, I was a stranger just like them. I didn’t know anything. Cohen didn’t know anything. Zac was my quiet, yet my strong ally through it all... knowing I needed to feel everything.

Mark asked me if I wanted him there in the room.

“Yes, thank you"

It came without hesitation. I was nervous.

I walked slowly into the ICU. It smelled like dirty socks masked with an artificial lemon hand sanitizer aroma. 

My stomach began to grow knots. My hands were sweating as we came around the corner. I walked into his room and stared out the window. I couldn’t look him in the eye yet.

Fear, grief, anger and sadness. They were all felt simultaneously. My knees buckled under my own weight.

I walked to the far side of the bed. He was awake. He hadn’t been awake for my other siblings, the ones that actually talk to him. He was awake for me. 

The irony killed me in that moment.

He had three tubes in his mouth, tubes in his arms and could hardly keep his eyes open.

He stared at me, and I tried to stare at anything but him. The monitors. The wrinkled bed sheets. The chair to the left of his bed.

“Hi dad”

Silence. My stomach grinding into my back then up my rib cage. He stared at me.

I wanted to run.

“Hi dad, I just wanted you to know that I came to say I love you and hope that you get the healing you need when this is all over.”

My arms, crossed. I kept rolling my eyes to the ceiling. Fidgeting with my fingers.

I couldn’t help but notice the strained intimacy I kept trying to force. It was a vulnerable, sad and emotional moment, but I kept taking small steps backwards... shifting my weight. I was an outsider in the seemingly intimate moment.

My thoughts were factual, guarded.

He began to cry. Weep. He held out his hand to touch mine. Huge and swollen. I looked at Uncle Mark and reluctantly patted his hand. 

“You’re going to be alright dad, I love you and want you to know that I want you to have a relationship with your grandsons...”

He tilted his head and began to cry some more.

“I just had a baby and named him Atticus. He’s.... um....  beautiful.” I kept staring at the floor, to Uncle Mark and then at my dad... I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“I love you dad. All your kids came to see you because we want to see you get better in every area of your life.”

Then, I couldn’t help but make my boundaries clear... “The next time I see you will be when you have done the work to be better.... in all areas of your life.”

He kept staring at me. It was burning through my whole body. I wanted out. It was too much.

“Um, ok dad?”

He attempted to write something. He wanted to tell me something. It was an awkward time for me standing there, arms crossed watching him watch me.... trying to write something with his big swollen fingers. 

I just wanted out.

I began inching my way toward the door.

“I love you dad, hope to see you soon.” 

Uncle Mark followed me as we left.

I immediately saw the hand sanitizer as I bolted out of the room. I pumped it four times and rubbed it all over my hands and arms. Telling myself I was doing it for Atticus... knowing in my heart I wanted the experience off of me. It burned in my soul. I gave Zac a look as I scurried into the waiting room.

I wanted out.

Zac went and talked to my dad. Conveyed a similar message as I did but with more charm and finesse. I nursed Atticus in the lobby. I distracted myself by counting the tiles on ceiling.

47

Zac finished, and I packed up. We drove home.

I felt disconnected and silent. I love him. I want the best for him...

But I don’t know him.

My mind and my heart filled my thoughts for days. I kept telling myself I needed to process what had happened but distracted myself in other ways.

He was in the ICU for nearly 6 weeks. Nearly dead. 

I cried once last week about it. My emotions finally manifested and grief washed over me. It was there, staring out the window at my 3AM feeding. I nursed Atticus and sobbed. I couldn’t control myself. My grief turned into anxiety, and I felt sick. Alone. 

My dad has lost almost all of his friends and no one that I am current with really knew what was going on. My dad was dying and it was complete strangers who would send me messages of comfort. Nothing made sense.

I sat there after putting Atticus to bed. Alone with my grief. Alone with my pain.

My strong wall that I built was crumbling. I was hurting and my feelings were so out of touch.

Still are.

I haven’t seen him since then. It’s all I can give at this point. He knows my heart.

Grief. It sneaks up on me at times and shakes it’s fist wanting to be known, heard and dealt with...

It’s the one emotion I hate more than the others. It can’t be tampered with or destroyed completely. It aches in every part of the body.... revisiting especially when you wish it wouldn’t.

So I pray and I leave a tiny sliver of my heart for hope...

Miracle of the Moment

Atticus Samuel.

2 weeks old.

So stinkin' cute.

He brings me such joy.

Currently nursing every two hours during the day, every three hours give or take at night. He is sweet and content baby and never cries for very long. He loves to "yelp" which seems to just freak him out more than anything. He has the longest fingers and toes. His nose is different that Zac, Cohen and mine as well.... it curls up all cute. He pees and poops nonstop and grunts and groans due to gas. 

Yes. Joy.

I remember around this time with Cohen I was insanely overwhelmed. There wasn't a day I wouldn't sob myself to sleep only to wake up to Cohen crying. I would sob while I nursed him, changed him, bathed him... whatever. He was too much for me.

This time... I feel more relaxed. When Ax cries I don't tense up and want to cry... in fact, I think it's precious. Good lungs.... right? I am tired, sure, but aren't these moments precious? Don't you blink your eye and suddenly they are grown men?

Zac and I always talk about the miracle of the moment.... how we should never wish our lives away on a life that seems bigger, better and more important. Sure, it's nice to dream and have goals but not if it sacrifices our moment. Living in this very moment despite the coulda, woulda, shoulda. 

So I live in this moment. It's fleeting and children are such a treasure. 

Atticus

Atticus Samuel Tamayo.
6 pounds 14 and 1/2 ounces.
20 inches long.

The name Atticus came from my favorite literary character....ever. Atticus Finch. What's funny is most people when they hear the name Atticus either know the book or obviously don't. It's not a name you hear in classrooms, at work or shouted on the street.

I love the name.

Right after I found out I was pregnant Zac and I were figuring out what names we liked. He mentioned Atticus. I immediately thought of To Kill A Mockingbird. It just struck me all gushy inside.

I wanted a man that my baby could read about, to ponder about and reflect upon when he's older. I want him to know that he was named after one of the most incredible and kind spirited men in all of literary history. A man who was brave, fought for social justice and loved his children. A man who was wise and considerate but never prideful. A man of courage.

"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see through it no matter what."--Atticus (pg. 112) 
"Before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience."--Atticus (pg. 105) 
"You just hold your head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anyone says to you, don't let 'em get your goat. Try fighting with your head for a change…it's a good one, even if it does resist learning."--Atticus (pg. 76) 
"It's not okay to hate anybody."-Atticus (pg. 246)


Samuel came from another man I adore, my sweet brother Sam. I loved the meaning of Samuel "God heard" and I also wanted to keep with our Hebrew naming theme (Cohen means "priest" in Hebrew). Zac and I agreed upon it and we were going to surprise Sam after Atticus was born. What makes this story even more wonderful is that Atticus was born on Sam's 22nd birthday.

A little guy born into the world with the names of incredible men on his shoulders. Just the way I envisioned it.

My labor was insanely easy this time around... grateful since the first time it was 40ish hours and 9 hours of pushing. I started having contractions while getting my hair done with Mikia but wrote it off as nothing. When I got home though they got more and more intense. Zac got home from work about five, and I was having a hard time talking through the contractions. I knew they were getting more intense.

We got to the hospital around 6:30pm and I was checked.... 3.5 cm. Ugh. I was told to walk around the hospital to see if I could progress a bit. 45 minutes later I was sobbing. Gripping the hand rails of the hospital. Seriously, in so much pain. The best part is when Zac told me to "just breathe"... I think I almost ripped his hand off. Nothing made the pain feel better and I was having only back labor. I told Zac I had to be checked and at this point I was almost to 6 cm. I told them epidural NOW. I was beating Zac's arms and chest in so much pain. They couldn't get the IV in, I showered earlier that day and was really lotiony. HA. We traveled to the delivery room and waited for the anesthesiologist. I was sobbing and completely out of body. I was at 7 cm. I got my epidural and cried into the arms of the nurse. I layed down after and still wasn't feeling any relief. He told me it would take about twenty minutes before full relief. That's when my water broke and I felt the urge to push. The epidural hadn't even kicked in, my mom had just walked in the door and I was ready to go! UNREAL

Fifteen minutes of pushing and he was born. So perfect. So cute. SO EASY. Such grace to me.

Now, a week later I am still getting my groove back. I wake him every two-three hours to feed as he loves to sleep. His cries are precious, and Cohen is in love. He especially loves to talk about the hand sanitizer. He is such a great big brother.

Now the real challenge will be managing the two schedules. Cohen and Atticus. The never ending question of "Who needs my attention more in this moment?!"

I'm getting a groove. Things are starting to settle down.

Mommy of two!