Plans...

Fourteen years ago, I had a plan. I planned to spend the day cleaning and packing and spending time with my little one. I planned to go to the hospital the next morning for the scheduled arrival of my somewhat overdue second child. I absolutely DID NOT plan to wake up to the nagging signs that things were NOT going according to plan.

My absolute favorite photo of Abby ever...

I was changing beds and vacuuming carpets, trying desperately to ignore the increasing intensity of those nagging signs. I remember thinking that five-minute-apart contractions that stopped me in my tracks and left fingernail marks in my dresser were probably cause to call Jon and head to the hospital. I distinctly remember practically begging for the anesthesiologist as we arrived. Contrary to my first experience, I was not deluded by natural childbirth theories and mythical focus objects. In my book, natural childbirth is an oxymoron. Back in the pioneer days, I would have been dead on the side of the road.

Oh, the plotting of such a young mind...

I actually had a lovely labor, accompanied by a beautifully executed continuous-drip epidural, in complete contrast to the seemingly horrific events of my first time around. What initially appeared to be a quick labor turned into an all-day affair, and Abigail Christine finally made her appearance at 10:25pm. Unfortunately, the cord was wrapped around her neck twice, and efforts to speed her delivery caused a lot of damage to both of us. By the next morning, I was in more pain than I have ever experienced, and I learned that Abby needed to be taken by ambulance to another hospital with a pediatric intensive care unit. And that she had stopped breathing at least three times overnight. And that she had swelling and bruising on the back of her head, possibly indicative of brain damage. It was a rough couple of days, to say the least.

Don't tell her I told you...

I'm pretty sure this doll is still on her bed somewhere...

Always upside down because of the music box in her head...

Long story short, we were able to bring Abby home four days later. She was on an apnea monitor, but, thankfully, we never had to do anything other than jostle her to remind her to breathe. Her CT scans appeared normal. And I was on my own with an almost-two-year-old who was not so happy to be dethroned and a newborn tied to a battery pack. And I won't even discuss the pain I was in. BUT eventually life settled.

Abby was a darling baby...always full of smiles. Little did I know she was smiling because there were big plans rolling around in that little head of hers. Plans to climb onto and jump off of any and every piece of furniture (or static object, for that matter) we owned. Plans to abscond with her sister's dress-up shoes, purses and Barbies. Plans to turn our TV on and off until the button would fall off. Plans to take a Sharpie to her new dress moments before departure on Thanksgiving Day. Plans to make portraits of my two beautiful daughters a fantasy. Someday I'll share the Christmas picture debacle at Sears when she was a year old and Mindy was three. Shivers still run up and down my spine every time I see a Sears Portrait Studio.

Abby at two years old...

If ever a photo captured a child's personality...

She has, though, always been the most pleasant child, passionate and sensitive, loving and generous. Don't get me wrong. She could throw a seriously passionate fit in the toddler years. Especially if there were needles involved. I'm pretty sure it took four of us to hold her down for her kindergarten shots. And she can still work up some drama, but it's usually lacking in typical teenaged contempt or disdain. She dearly LOVES a prank. LOVES a prank. LOVES. a. prank. Her impulsiveness has led to many a saga involving toothpaste on toilet seats, rubber bands on kitchen sprayers, cheese slices under car door handles, and eyeliner mustaches on sleeping subjects. And those are the harmless pranks of which I speak. We live in fear on April Fool's Day. But she would give her last dollar for an orphan. She can't stand the thought of an abandoned puppy. She's practically a horse whisperer. She's a talented writer. She's hilariously comical, especially when she tells a story. Ten minutes and four thousand words later, she gets to the point. If she sucks in air before she starts talking, you're in for the long haul.

With Grampa...Father's Day 1997

It snowed on Abby's third birthday!

Shortly after this sweet picture was taken,

Mindy burst into tears...

"It will NEVER snow on MY birthday!"

It actually did snow on April 24th,

a few years later...

And every moment of exasperation I have ever had with this girl has been followed by the memory of how her story could have been written. I truly believe God gave me that experience following her birth so that I could more fully appreciate the gift of her personality. Especially for days that included Sharpie markers.

Abby at six years old...

The angelic side of our spunky little girl...

So now I look at my girl, lithe and long-legged, with fair skin and strawberry blonde hair that has brightened into a mane of the most beautiful shade of red. I can't believe she's 14. Ready to start high school in the fall. I promise you, it was yesterday that I was watching her canter around my living room in her sister's stolen dress-up shoes with her beloved, bedraggled baby doll slung over her arm. Although my laundry hasn't been completely done for even a day since she was born, I thank God every day for HIS plan...and the fact that it included this impish, gorgeous girl in our lives.

A little touch-up after a Color Guard competition...

Shows just how dangerous she can be with eyeliner...

I'll save the pretty pictures of her birthday for my next post...