Dorothy’s Birth Story

Dorothy Emmanuelle

Our girl is here!  

I started a draft of Dorothy's birth story when she was a month old and could not formulate words to get the experience down "on paper" (typed out), so here we are months later and I am finally crossing the to-do off my list.

Much like her big brother, baby girl was super cozy and did not want to arrive on her due date, December 14th. A week over and she was still not budging. I had zero signs of labor and Christmas was days away. Thankfully, I was able to arrange with my doctor to delay the typical timing of induction (41 weeks) so that I wasn't guaranteed to be in the hospital on Christmas. Had she come on her own, I would have been perfectly fine with Christmas away from home, but I didn't want to schedule it. 

For the record, my OB was super reasonable with the delay of my induction. All she asked was that I have an extra ultrasound to check fluid levels around our girl at the 41 week mark. Our levels were great, so we were good to go pushing the induction to the evening of December 26th.

After a phone call on Christmas Eve and some shuffling of schedules, we were able to move from an evening induction to a 9am appointment and I was thrilled. We got to the hospital 10 minutes late (#secondchild lol) and were checked in shortly after and taken to an actual room, not triage! (See Matthew's birth story for why that was so exciting to me.) The nurses got me checked in and set up for an IV if necessary. The doctor came to check my progress and I was at a zero for everything which wasn't super surprising since I hadn't had any signs of labor, but was still discouraging because we were at nearly 42 weeks pregnant and I hadn't dilated at all. 

Almost a week before the induction I developed a very painful rash on my lower back that all of the nurses and doctors that saw me assume was shingles. (Cute, right?) Because of the rash, they had the anesthesiologist come by to see if it would affect their ability or plan for an epidural if I decided to get one (the plan was to try for an unmedicated birth). Luckily, it was not in the way of anything, but they did put a big clear bandaid over it to be safe, and that oddly relieved some of the pain which was a bonus. 

At 11 am they had me on my first dose of Cytotec (vaginally). After three hours I had started some easy contractions (maybe a 2 on the pain scale), but there was still no change in progress, so they began the second dose and the discussion of the Foley catheter was introduced. I had already mentioned to my nurse that I really did not want to have one since it was such a painful experience with Matthew. I’ve heard the pain from them ranges from person to person, which must be true because I have friends who barely noticed theirs and others who, like me, found them to be the most painful part of childbirth. My nurse (I wish I remembered her name because she was incredible) helped communicate that with the doctor and I did not feel nearly as much pressure to jump to that intervention as I did from the doctor who delivered Matthew. 

They checked my progress after the second dose was completed at around 5:30 pm and I was only about 1 cm dilated which was discouraging. The doctor mentioned the Foley again and I asked to try one more dose of Cytotec. After she'd inserted it and left, I turned to Michael and told him there was no way we were having our baby today. I think baby girl may have heard me and said, "challenge accepted," because boy did things change with that third dose. 

With Cytotec you aren't allowed to move around for the first hour, which was not an issue the first two doses because the contractions were so manageable. This time, however, they started to get stronger and it was challenging to stay still with my legs elevated and work through them. They went from about a 2/3 on the pain scale to a 7/8 very quickly.

At 6:30 pm, the nurse switched me to a cordless monitor so I could move around a little easier. I asked for a birthing ball to work through some of the more intense contractions. After a bit of searching, they found one that was just a tad too small for my height, but I decided to try to make it work. After a few contractions, I still wasn't feeling comfortable, so I decided to ditch the ball. I stood up and instantly peed everywhere! Or at least, I thought I did. We placed a call for the nurse to let them know I'd had an accident and when she arrived she let me know I had not peed, but my water broke! To be fair, they manually broke my water with Matthew and I'd already had an epidural, so I had no idea what to expect and the floor had a warm varnish, so the liquid looked yellow. We all had a good laugh. 

Contractions at that point were still very intense, and I thought I was still barely dilated, so I asked to have my progressed checked. The doctor came by around 7:30 and I was at 5cm! 4cm in around 2 hours which was crazy fast compared to Matthew. 

I was so glad to see progress, but again, my only context for labor was with Matthew, and when I reached 5cm with him I had 5 more hours of labor. With that in mind, I asked for the anesthesiologist to come for the epidural because 5 hours of contractions at that intensity would have been miserable. 

My nurse must have had a better sense of how quickly things were progressing because she had the team come asap and there was a sense of urgency in the room while they did the procedure (though that may have been because it was hard to sit still through it all). 

The team left and maybe 20 minutes later I told the nurse I thought I was getting close to go-time. She told me to let her know when I needed to push, and I asked how I would know (they told me with Matthew), and she said, "oh, you will know". 

Sure enough, maybe 2 minutes later I, I knew. 

The delivery team quickly arrived as I was starting to push. Delivery was way more painful this time. I wonder if maybe the epidural didn't fully go into effect or if I didn't notice as much with Matthew because of how painful the Foley was for me. But even though it felt like ages, I only had to push a few minutes (through about 1.5 contractions) before our sweet girl was born at 8:35pm. 

Four months later, I am still in shock with how different this labor and delivery experience went. It was less than 12 hours from the time we arrived at the hospital to getting to hold our girl and I went from 1cm dilated to 10cm in 3 hours. 

Things went so much faster (and smoother) this time around and the whole experience really confirmed my suspicion that the few things about Matthew's birth that were off had to do with the newness COVID - not that it didn't have a role in this birth. Half of the mom's on our floor tested positive so masks were understandably required as the staff frequented each room. (Apparently I only have babies during peaks in the pandemic.)

We brought our girl home on December 28 and she’s been getting loved on by her big brother ever since.

Peace,
Sarah

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Our "Breastfeeding" Journey

It’s World Breastfeeding Week (or Month, depending on what post you see). This is also the month that I have chosen to stop nursing (exclusively pumping / combo feeding) Matthew and I thought I would share a bit about our breastfeeding journey on the off chance that it might bring comfort to another new mama out there with a similar experience while she discerns what’s best for her family.

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Let me preface this with the following: I was formula fed. I was also raised by parents who worked full time outside of the home, went to public school, and was delivered via cesarean (including an epidural). And I turned out fine.

There is no “right” way to raise your baby. As long as you are loving on that sweet child, you are doing what’s best.

These seem like ridiculous statements to have to make, but I know a lot of women who’ve been criticized for the way they choose to raise their kiddos. A friend of mine was stopped by a stranger in the grocery store while buying formula and told that breast is best. Another friend’s sister was criticized by her doctor for choosing not to breastfeed. The comments I hear from people who assume I went to private school about public school education are laughable. And the level of superiority some people feel for birthing vaginally – especially if they did it un-medicated – is sad.

And I know that because of a lot of these stories, I have found myself personally defensive about my choices in parenting and have even felt like a failure – and I’m only four months in!

So, I want to be clear. This is simply my experience. It’s not meant to be a “this is the right way to do it” post. My story may parallel yours, it may not. You may relate to some of my feelings about nursing, and you may not. Either way, that’s fine.

The main reason I’m writing this all down is because the biggest comfort I’ve felt in my parenting journey so far, is friends sharing they’ve had similar experiences. 

When I announced I was being induced, I was shocked at the number of friends who shared positive induction experiences. And when I shared my difficulties breastfeeding, I was similarly met with the solidarity of women I love, some that were right there in the thick of it with me. In fact, when I was deciding whether or not to stop nursing, it was a post from a friend articulating similar feelings that, in a sense, gave me permission to follow my instincts and set an end date.

My hope is that this post might offer some of that same sense of solidarity I’ve been blessed with. Our mothering journeys may be eerily similar or radically different, but in the end, we are mamas aiming to do what is best for our sweet babies. And that’s really all we need to worry about.

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Matthew Arrupe

We welcomed our son, Matthew Arrupe, into the world almost four months ago and in this short time, our lives have changed drastically for the better.

All the clichés and warnings about time flying or kids growing up in the blink of an eye are bitter-sweetly true. It’s incredible to see the newness of each day, but hard to say goodbye to those sweet newborn moments and pack away the clothes and diapers he has already outgrown.

I’ve never written a birth story (clearly), and am not even really sure how to go about composing one or what you’re supposed to include (how much is TMI?), but in these few short months I’ve noticed details of Matthew’s birth slipping my mind. So, in an effort to record the memories that aren’t yet lost of that incredible day(s), I’ve decided to write them down – in the middle of the night as I pump for the billionth time.

(Dress | Onesie | Dress Shirt | Pants)

Here we go:

Our sweet little green bean was due on March 25, 2020. Many of our pregnancy milestones had occurred on holidays, so I naturally joked that they would more likely arrive on April Fools.

Well, the joke was on me.

To be fair, based on our fertility charting, we expected that the baby would arrive in early April. I was just hoping my body would get fed up and speed up the process a bit. It did not.

Our due date came and went and based on the (lack of) progress my OB observed in my final few visits, we were scheduled for an induction the day I hit 41 weeks, at 6pm on April 1.

Oh, and did I mention that this all was happening at the beginning of a state-wide shelter-in-place order due to the Covid-19 pandemic? I know they say birth plans should be flexible, and ours was (I thought), but there really was no preparing for this particular bump in the road.

I spent the days leading up to the birth fearful of changes to hospital policy, fearful that my husband, who works in the medical field, would not be able to be with me. I expressed this fear to my doctor at my second-to-last appointment and she assured me that scenario was so unlikely it hadn’t even crossed her mind. By the next appointment, she explained that it was a possibility given what happened in NY, but she and the other OBs were advocating for an exception to be made for Labor & Delivery. I checked the hospital’s new protocols multiple times a day. One conversation with an operator at our hospital left me hysterical as she led me to believe it was very likely I would have to labor alone. Thankfully, that was not the case.

By the time of our induction date, the hospital’s restrictions limited the number of “visitors” for L&D to one person, which meant Michael could be there. On one hand, the policy helped keep our delivery private (which I preferred – sorry mom). On the other hand, our doula couldn’t come either. And since I was being induced, she couldn't help me labor at home and begin the birthing process with the extra support we’d hoped to have.

I didn’t really think I had a birth plan, other than to deliver safely with a few preferences that were pretty flexible in my mind. But when everything is turned upside down by a problem you hadn’t known to create a plan B for, you realize you do, in fact, have a birth plan, and I have to say, a pandemic was not part of mine.

Now, back to the induction:

We arrived promptly at the hospital on April 1, pillow and bag in tow. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by security waiting to check our temperatures and asked us various health questions that I’d answered at several of my last appointments. No sir, I had not left the country at 41 weeks pregnant. I can barely get comfortable in my princess-and-the-pea pillow situation at home and the thought of sitting in an airplane makes my lower back hurt. Thankfully, he also saw the humor in asking me this.

The hospital itself was a ghost town, which was both strange and comforting all at the same time. We were directed to the L&D floor and when we stepped off of the elevator, we were the only ones there. The woman at the desk seemed to not know we were scheduled, which is always reassuring, and had us take a seat in the waiting area for about 20 minutes before we were escorted to a room.

While we were waiting to be brought back, one of the nurses noticed that my chart indicated I planned to deliver without medication and that I had requested the wing of the hospital that accommodated those deliveries (aka the nicer rooms with the bigger beds, birthing pools, and such). This was true. I did want to be there. It sounded great and I intended to labor without medication - mainly because of my intense fear of needles. (During our birthing class we watched  multiple vaginal deliveries and I didn’t bat an eye, but just the discussion of the process of an epidural caused my mouth to go dry and the room to spin. I wish I was joking.) I also knew that I have a very low pain tolerance and was open to an epidural if needed and if I could stomach it.

I told her that I was planning to labor in that wing, but because I was being induced and heard Pitocin made things more intense, I didn’t want to cause extra work for them should I need to switch and would stay on the main L&D floor.

I should have gone to the bigger room.

The nurse took us back to a room that I later learned was for triage until they had my actual room ready. It was a small room with a tiny bed and a chair for Michael to sit in. No windows, no TV, and barely enough room on each side of the bed for a person to walk by. It was. . . cozy.

We were there for six hours before they finally moved us to a normal room. In the first three hours, my belly and I were hooked up to the monitor, I had the IV port put in my hand, and we had three different people ask why I was in that room the moment they walked through the door. That was it. 

When a doctor finally came to check how far along I was (less than 1 cm), they started me on my first dose of Cytotec buccally (in between my lip and gums). Each round of Cytotec lasts around 3 hours and this first round had no effect on me. 

At the 6 hour mark I still hadn’t had one contraction, but they did finally have our room ready.

After settling into the new space at around midnight, the doctor mentioned she would like to try a Foley bulb to begin manually dilating me. I didn’t know much about the procedure other than it was very painful (which the doctor also emphasized), but didn’t want to use that method of intervention unless absolutely necessary, so I declined and she got me going on my second round of Cytotec, this time vaginally, and I finally started to have contractions.

I ended up having three rounds of Cytotec total (1 buccally, 2 vaginally), but even after six hours of steady contractions, I had not progressed at all. The doctor, who had been pushing for a Foley bulb with each check, again suggested the intervention, and I agreed. We needed to do something to get things moving.

Around 7am, a new doctor came in to talk me through the procedure. She was gentler with my feelings and seemed to better understand my fear. After another explanation of what the Foley tube was and how it worked, she began while Michael held my hand and encouraged me through the process.

It was awful.

It was honestly the most painful part of the delivery for me, and (spoiler alert) I pushed a child out of me. I cried the whole time and when it was over, they found that something had gone wrong. The bulb wasn’t where it needed to be and they were going to have to do it all over again. 

So, I cried some more.

 Thankfully, the doctor had seen how awful the experience had been for me, and since I was still not dilated or effaced 14 hours in, and our baby had been super chill through it all, she had me order breakfast and take a break before she had to insert the Foley bulb again.

It was near 10am when she came back, stripped my membranes (not pleasant), and inserted a new Foley. The procedure was still painful, but did not feel as traumatic, which I attribute to having better context of what to expect and a full belly.

I continued to contract and the Foley Bulb fell out at around 2pm which meant I was about 4cm dilated (finally).

At this point, it had been about 20 hours since I’d been admitted and I was having around 3 contractions every 10 minutes. Baby’s heart rate had been wonderful since we arrived and while I was feeling strong, I was also exhausted. My nurse had been checking in with me regarding pain levels, and I told her I was at a steady 6-7. My contractions were honestly not that bad. The pain was similar to menstrual cramps I’d experienced before, but while on my period there was a longer time of relief between the intense cramping. 

The nurse had also begun bringing up the option of an epidural, which again, I was not opposed to, but still very fearful of. She ended up having a conversation with M while I was in the restroom and he better articulated my fear of needles, which helped her to better understand where I was coming from. She explained what she was noticing in regards to my exhaustion and that our next step of Pitocin was only going to add to it all.

I knew this. Pitocin and its intense effects had been on my mind too. I was also very aware of the constant contractions, their effect on my energy levels, and that I had gotten little to no sleep so far. I also knew I wasn’t even halfway dilated which meant there was a lot of time left. So, I decided to hear about the epidural again and after some sweet coaching with that nurse and M, we called the anesthesiologist and requested the epidural.

Michael wasn’t allowed to stay in the room with me (even after trying to persuade them otherwise), but I did have another sweet nurse, who’d just begun her shift, there to hold my hand. The anesthesiologist was incredibly nice and walked me through every step of the process. The initial numbing shots stung a bit, and trying to stay still while contracting was challenging, but I made it through.

And it was glorious. As was the sleep I was finally able to get.

The Pitocin started to speed up the process, and around 5pm my nurse checked me and said I was far enough along for the doctor to come and break my water. (I forget how many centimeters I was at that point.) Mike and I were so excited to hear that. After what seemed like the slowest labor ever, we were making moves and getting closer to meeting our baby.

We waited over 5 hours until a doctor finally came by to officially check my progression and break my water and during that time our new nurse (after another shift change) had barely spent time in the room. It was similar to the way we’d been treated at the beginning of the induction, but this time I had been laboring for over 24 hours. It was incredibly frustrating and both Michael and I were visibly upset about the delay and expressed our feelings with the doctor who didn’t seem to think there was a problem with making us wait so long either time since the baby was not in any distress.

I’m still trying to give the hospital the benefit of the doubt and hoping this treatment had to do with limited staffing via Covid-19. I understand that labor requires a lot of waiting around, but we were not informed properly and I don’t think there should have been such a long gap in having a doctor come to my room.

Frustrations aside, the doctor finally broke my water at around 10pm. There was meconium present which meant the baby had pooped in utero and would need some extra care when they arrived. Apparently this is fairly common, especially in babies that come past their due date, but it was still scary to me, and in my exhausted state I couldn’t help but wonder if things would have been different had we not been left unchecked for so long. (This was totally the exhaustion and fear talking and probably not the case, but the thought still crossed my mind.)

Thankfully, at about 11pm the doctor checked me again and let us know it was time to start pushing. For some reason, my body did not respond to this news very well. I all of a sudden had crazy chills and shakes (which is apparently normal and has to do with hormone changes during delivery) and I threw up (which I guess is also normal). 

Once I was more calm, the nurse let me know what this next step would look like and got me into pushing position. Michael and I asked if she thought we’d have the baby that night (April 2) or the following morning (April 3) and she was optimistic, but pretty convinced we were not having this baby that night.

Challenge accepted.

The nurse and Michael each had a leg in hand while she calmly counted to ten for each push. My asthma made it harder to actively push during the full count. I consistently hit 7 or 8 and had to stop to catch my breath. But y’all, I was determined to get that child out of the womb and into my arms.

I don’t remember how many times I pushed, but after around 30 minutes (which included a “break” for the rush of hospital personnel to get there) our baby was born and Michael announced, both proudly and surprised, that it was a boy.

 After 30 hours, we finally met our sweet babe:

Matthew Arrupe. 
Born April 2, 2020 at 11:39pm. 
8lbs, 11oz, 20 inches long, and a bundle of pure joy.

Peace,
Sarah

(Our newborn photo session was canceled due to Covid, but we did have a lovely 2 month one with Juliana Kaderbek, which is where most of the photos in this post are from.)

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23 Weeks Pregnant - Trying to Embrace Change

I had Mike take these pictures of me last week in efforts to better document this growing babe of ours. Those 5ish photos previously shared on Instagram are just about the only ones I've had taken during these 23 (well now about 24) weeks of pregnancy.

Overall, my pregnancy has been relatively easy. I've had all the "normal" symptoms at all the "typical" times and thankfully they have been very mild. Some morning sickness the first trimester, but never any vomiting. Some heartburn the past few weeks, but rarely bad enough to grab the antacids.

I've been incredibly lucky.

Poncho | Sweater | Leggings | Shoes | Earrings

What has been the hardest part, is something I've struggled with since I was little: body-image.

Changes to my body while pregnant were obviously to be expected, but I don't think I realized how quickly old wounds and warped mindsets would return as soon as things began to look and feel different.

It's been a wild ride.

But as I'm adjusting and getting over the shock of those initial negative feelings, I'm finding myself wishing I had been documenting this process from the beginning.

There are about 20 weeks of this pregnancy that I all but refused to document and I can never have that time back or look through images that articulate how amazing my body and the changes it had made to grow a human are.

And with that in mind, and also knowing how much blogging (aka forcibly sharing photos of myself) in the past helped with my self-esteem (as weird as that might seem), I plan to start sharing outfit posts again.

I'm not yet sure how frequently. And let's be real, the wardrobe has been drastically reduced as the bump has grown. But forcing myself in front of the camera, instead of my preferred placement behind it, helps me to see the difference between a photo of me being bad and the way I look being bad.

(I don't know if that makes sense to anyone but me, but I also don't know that it has to.)

All of this is not to say that I snapped my fingers and am suddenly feeling amazing about how I look 5 months pregnant. Or that I don't have bouts of fear knowing that there's still about 16 weeks of changes and growth to go.

It's something I am wrestling with daily and something I have an amazing community of friends and prayer warriors helping to carry me through. (You ladies know who you are <3 )

But I don't want to look back at this experience and be upset that I let fear and negativity have the upper hand. I cannot wait to hold this sweet little babe of ours, but I don't want to wish away this time either.

There's a balance waiting to be found and I'm hopeful that with some intentionality, I can come close to finding it.

I suppose we'll see.

(On a lighter note, having M means I don't necessarily have to be that weird girl posing for photos with her tripod. . . ah, marriage.)

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If you've made it to the end of this post, thanks for sticking with me. I will forever be grateful for this little corner of the internet where I can share my heart, whether there's someone on the other end reading or not.

(Though sometimes I would prefer not lol. Being vulnerable is hard.)

Peace,
Sarah

PS here's a blooper for posterity's sake

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The Proposal

Y'all, I get married this month.

No matter how many times I say it, or type it, or think it, it just doesn’t seem real!

Between our engagement last June, planning a wedding across states, a move home to Ohio (way sooner than anticipated) and a new job, life has been a little crazy. There has been so much going on, and weirdly enough, now that we are in the home stretch I think I am finally starting to catch my breath. Maybe all of the to-do’s or done? Or maybe I’m forgetting something on the list? Either way, there is a welcome change of pace happening right now, and I am not going to fight it.

Now that I am starting to slow my roll and have a moment to think, I wanted to write down Michael and my engagement story. Partly to share with you, but also to have it documented before I forget all of the details.

So let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we? It will be short and sweet and it will answer the often asked question about the duck costume ;)

The Proposal

My mom, sister, and nephew flew to Connecticut for a mini vacation to visit me and celebrate my mom’s 50^th. Michael and I had already discussed engagement, I knew he had the ring, I knew he had asked my parents’ permission, and I knew he was going to ask that summer. What I did not, was when it would happen.

I suspected he would ask while my family was in town. In fact, I was pretty certain of it and had my nails prepped and ready just in case. (If you couldn’t tell from the above paragraph, I don’t like being surprised lol.)

Days came and went, as did seemingly opportune moments and picturesque scenes. The last day of their trip was the only day I was sure it would not be: my mom’s birthday. It was pretty much the only day during the entire summer that I assumed I didn’t need to be at the ready.

I’m sure you’re all super shocked to read that I was wrong.

June 26, 2018

I really don’t remember what we did for the first part of the day on June 26^th. I remember messaging my friend, Michelle, for the name of the Italian restaurant she recommended a while back. (I would later find out that Michael also messaged her about the restaurant and made his own reservations thinking I had forgotten. He collected the information before I did and did a great job playing dumb when I said I had gotten the name of it. Michelle also played along and practiced some serious restraint by not showing up to see the proposal happen. I told her I would not have put two and two together - and based on how the rest of the evening went, I stand by my statement that I would have been oblivious.)

I also remember wanting to wear jeans to dinner and my sister insisting I put in a little more effort for mom’s birthday. She also offered to do my hair and makeup which should have been a big clue, but like I said, I was positive it wasn’t happening that day. I remember being slightly suspicious when after I was ready she forced me to take off my watch, but by the time we were at dinner, I had already forgotten.

Dinner

When we arrived at Arezzo's (highly recommend if you’re near Westport, CT), and after a little confusion regarding the double reservation (again, I had no clue), we were seated outside in the beautiful weather. We ordered a bottle of white wine for the table and decided on our meals. (I don’t remember what everyone chose, but I had the gnocchi and it was amazing.)

After we finished dinner, my sister announced she had to go change Mason. He was 16 months old, so this was normal.

What was not normal, was when she came back to the table with him dressed in a duck costume. You might be thinking, “Surely you knew something was up at this point,” and my answer would be, “nope!” My thought process basically went, “Oh, he must have had a blowout. Weird that all you had was this Halloween costume in your bag…”

… and then I saw the ring box in my tiny nephew’s hands. (I’m actually tearing up thinking about this now.)

Michael took my hand and started saying the sweetest things in front of my mom and sister. At one point he took the ring from Mason and, as you can imagine, the babe did not like that. To compromise, he took out the ring and gave back the box and continued his speech, which at that point had caught the attention of neighboring tables (crying babies tend to do that lol).

M finished his sweet words, got down on one knee, and asked me to marry him. I, of course, said “yes!” and everyone around us clapped and clinked their glasses as he slid the ring on my finger and we shared our first kiss as an engaged couple. The restaurant brought us champagne and our dessert and we finished our meal on cloud 9 with multiple “congratulations” from kind strangers who’d witnessed our special moment.

Even as I type this out, it still feel like a dream. As cliché as it sounds, we are truly blessed.

The Duck Costume

The most frequent question we get when we tell people the story or show them the photos is about the duck costume. If I’m being honest, I didn’t understand the significance either until Michael explained it.

The first year and a half of our relationship was spent long distance and somewhere along the way, for a reason neither of us remember, we started sending pictures of ducks we saw in the wild to each other. It was an odd but cute way to let the other know that we were thinking them even when we couldn’t be together. It just became a thing.

Once M moved to Connecticut, the need to send pictures of ducks didn’t exist anymore, so we hadn’t sent any in months – hens why I completely forgot about it.

Apparently when he was talking about the proposal with my sister, his original plan was for him to dress up as a duck, to which she politely suggested to have the baby wear the costume instead…

And for that, Bethany, I will forever be grateful.

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We are so overjoyed to begin this next chapter of our lives and are so grateful for all of your kind words and prayers. They mean the world <3 

Peace,
Sarah

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Reflections After a Month Back in Ohio

I've been back in Ohio just over a month and it still feels unreal. Maybe it will take being here longer than a summer vacation timeline, but my mind hasn't quite grasped the fact that this is home.

I'm home.

Sure, there is more settling in to do. M and I are working on various projects in his (soon to be our) house whenever we have free time. I'm enjoying living with my college roommate once again and all of the joy being near old friends has brought.

My new job is exciting and filled with so much potential. Some days seem slower than others, but there's been tangible growth even in this short amount of time and I can't wait to see how the Spirit moves.

In the same breath of feeling at home and reconnecting with this community, I miss Connecticut. I miss my friends there. I miss working in a space with more than one other person and clearly knowing the steps I needed to take to be successful in that role. I miss my little apartment and my cat, who is keeping M company until I move in this summer.

It's this weird tension that I constantly find myself in - enjoying what I have, longing for what was, and excitedly anticipating what is yet to come. All the feelings. All the emotions. And all the gratitude for the grace of abundance I can't help but see in it all.

I took some photos of my apartment before I moved out. I have learned that I am not the person who can turn a space into a home instantly, but rather I add to it slowly and steadily until it feels right. I'd finally made it to that point in CT and now I get to begin again in OH. In some ways it's frustrating to have to start over, but in another sense it's exciting.

There's newness and possibility and I am resting in that space, in my new life here, dreaming with God about all the blessings to come.

Peace,
Sarah

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Braces and Imago Dei

For those of you who haven't noticed as I've slowly allowed it to be seen on social media, I got braces.

Like actual I'm-an-awkward-middle-schooler braces.

For some reason when the dentist told me they would be clear braces, I assumed like an Invisalign type deal, but alas, they were not. And I didn't realize it until they were on.

And then I cried. A lot.

I don't know if it was the shock of seeing something completely unexpected, the pain of the braces themselves, or my lack of self-esteem that did it, but I was a wreck.

My smile has always been something I am sensitive about. I have a severe overbite (that can only be fixed by breaking my jaw, yikes!) and odd gaps and crowding that I think make the overbite even more pronounced. That combined with other insecurities about my physical appearance have made wedding planning and even just thinking about all eyes on me / all the pictures  h a r d .

Once M and I were talking marriage, I knew that I would want to at least try to correct my teeth for our wedding because of how insecure they make me. We got engaged and the anxiety surround my teeth got real.

M was supportive, though he insisted he thought my smile was perfect, but I don't think I took that encouragement and love seriously until he "yelled" at me about it a day or so after the braces were put on. (I put yell into quotations because I don't think my insanely kind fiance has ever actually yelled at, or even near me, but this was pretty close.)

We were driving to a school event and I was in a horrid, self-pitying mood complaining about how I looked and he tried to assure me he thought I was beautiful. In typical Sarah fashion I said something along the lines of a sarcastic "sure" and he had had it.

In the most angered tone I have ever heard from him, Michael let me know how upset he was that I didn't believe him when he told me I was beautiful and how frustrating it was when I brushed of his sincere compliments (which I have a horrible habit of doing). He was hurt by my lack of confidence - in myself and in him.

His words and love hit me hard. They still do.

And while he is clearly not God, I couldn't help but think of how much more hurt and frustrated my loving Creator is by this self-hatred and constant self-scrutiny.

(Photo by Matt Erickson)

I was created in the image and likeness of God. We all were. (Yes, that means you too.)

And with that amazing, miraculous gift, comes a responsibility to recognize it! That doesn't mean that I'll never fall into slumps like this autumn. That doesn't mean it's not ok to want to better myself, even in the physical sense. But what it does mean is that I am loved beyond measure and need to remember that, even in tough moments of self doubt.

In the Advent bundle this year, Blessed is She included a gorgeous magnificat candle and imago Dei wristlet. TBH, the candle was the only reason I bought the bundle (they weren't available individually yet). I knew I could find a friend who'd like the extra devotional, but didn't know what I would do with the wristlet. It was cute, but I didn't really have a use for it.

(Candle found HERE)

But then I remembered that I needed to start carrying a toothbrush more regularly (yay braces) and wouldn't you know it, the wristlet marked with words speaking to my inherit value and dignity was just the right size and just the right reminder.

(Wristlet found HERE)

You are loved friend - unconditionally, irrevocably and ineffably. I pray you (and I) can remember that always, especially at times when it's most difficult.

Peace,
Sarah

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Thankful

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays of the year. There is something incredibly beautiful about gathering as friends and family to share moments of gratitude, big and small.

This year I am grateful to have my mom visiting me in California. I haven't celebrated a Thanksgiving with family since 2011, so her presence will be such a blessing. Our plans aren't completely sorted out yet (thank you giant research paper), but there will definitely be mass and dinner with friends.

If you read my blog somewhat regularly, you know that I like to start each week with a thankful heart by recording 5 Weekly Graces. Remembering to be grateful helps me to stay focused on the beauty in my life that might otherwise get pushed to the side with the hustle and bustle and stress of the everyday norm.

My new friend Nina (from Hugs and Lattes) has challenged me to be mindful of what I am grateful for this year by sharing a post with a #Thankful Heart. And since I have seen countless blogs that I follow participate in the Circle Link-Up of gratitude for November, I thought I would light two candles with one flame and link up with both!

Time - It is super easy to get bogged down and stressed in not having enough time to get from a-z or to do a certain task. I am definitely guilty of focusing on the time that I don't have to get something done instead of thinking about the time I do have and the wonderful ways that I use it. So, this year, I am thankful for time. Time with friends, time to learn, time to live.

Hospitality - This year I have been blessed with more opportunity to travel than I could ever dream! I am beyond grateful to visited incredible places like South Korea, Spain, Ecuador, Poland and Italy, but mostly I am thankful for the people who I visited and met along the way. The hospitality I have received not only from friends, but from perfect strangers gives me hope in our world and hope for the future.

Advent(ures) - The liturgical season of Advent is one of my favorites and it begins on Sunday! This year, I am aiming to be more intentional in my preparation and prayer as we await the coming of Jesus. (There might be a post or two regarding this. I haven't decided yet :P )

Nature - Ever since I was little, I have always found the presence of God most easily while surrounded by nature. And though Berkeley doesn't really have a fall (and certainly has not winter), I still really enjoy walking around the neighborhood and admiring the ever-present flowers and other neat foliage (hello succulents!) that we do have.

Kairos - Woah, she's throwing in some Latin. Truth be told, I have never gone on a Kairos retreat (#publicschool) but I love the notion of there being a moment in which you choose to act. I am very grateful for all of those kairos moments in my life that have led me to a deeper relationship with God. It's beautiful to look back on those moments and see which choices of action led me to where I am and to witness how God was involved in all of those moments - whether I recognized it at the time or not.

Faith - As my faith grew in undergrad, so did my understanding of social justice and the connection between the two. This fusion of faith and social justice is intrinsic in my being. I cannot separate the two and I cannot separate myself from them. I'm incredibly grateful for a strong sense of faith and commitment to working for justice. It has filled me with joy and purpose and I cannot wait to see how the Creator uses me to help the world.

University - I am thankful for the privilege to have attended two beautiful universities. With only 1% of the world given the opportunity to go to college, I try to remind myself of this privilege regularly so that I don't take it for granted. Both undergrad and graduate school have surrounded me with incredible professors, role models and friends that have helped shape me into the woman I am today. I can't even begin to articulate the gratitude I hold for JCU and JST.

Liturgy - There's no E in Thankful, so I am going to tie in my love for the Eucharist in liturgy, which makes sense. Both the Liturgy of the Word and Liturgy of the Eucharist bring peace and comfort to my soul. I'm extremely grateful to have the constant opportunity to be filled with Christ and to be held by grace. For, "I can endure anything between two Eucharists." - Dorothy Day

And of course, I am incredibly thankful for YOU! Thanks so much for taking time out of your day to share in my life and ramblings. It means the world.

Peace,
Sarah

*** Also linking up with Simple Moments Stick for the Faith and Fellowship Blog Hop :)

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Soul Searching

You're in for another long one folks, so please bare with me...

When I began this blog, I was looking for a creative outlet. A space where I could talk about life, maybe post a recipe or two, and also share a bit of my personal style. I wanted a space that would motivate me to do something beyond just studying and a space to write more than academic papers.

And that, thankfully, is what Simply Sarah became. By the end of last semester, I found myself cooking more adventurous things, watching my spending when it came to my clothing obsession, and even documenting bits and pieces of my adventures in Europe this summer.

But if I am being honest, I feel like there is a piece of me that isn't shared as readily on this page simply because it doesn't have anything to do with style or recipes - my faith and spirituality. And I think that is why my blog has felt so lacking for me lately.

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Sometimes You Just Need a Change

Confession: I am horrible at hair maintenance.

I only have my hair done about once a year - twice max. In fact, the last time I had a haircut was last September (thanks for keeping track, Facebook!). So, as you can imagine, I was definitely due for a trim.

I have another hair-related-confession... I never schedule an appointment ahead of time.

Yes, I am that girl salons hate who calls day-of asking if there is space in the schedule. I wish I wasn't, but I am. I typically toy around with the idea of getting it cut for a month or so and there's always a day where I know I have to take the plunge. I have to get it cut then, or I will put it off for another month and the cycle will continue.

(Does anyone else share my horrible hair appointment habits or am I the only one?)

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Reflections On My Ecuador Trip

Before I begin, I wanted to let you all know that unlike my other travel posts on the blog, this one is going to be only text, so if you usually visit to skim through photos (#guilty), I apologize in advance. 

Last week I had the privilege to spend 10 days accompanying a group of 12 students and another staff member on an immersion trip to Ecuador. You may be wondering, what is an immersion trip? Basically, an immersion trip is an experience in which the participants travel to a location (either domestic or abroad) and immerse themselves in the culture and community they are visiting. A well-done immersion does not intend to simply enter a community to fix a problem, build houses, etc. but rather enters in a community to listen and learn. For my students, these trips are beautiful opportunities to step out of their college bubble and be exposed to realities other than their own. These trips remind them that no matter what career path they choose, they effect the world. 

We all do. 

There's plenty more that I could say and explain, but I'll spare you. (Unless you want to know more, in which case I could passionately go on for a very long time.)

The trip was absolutely incredible! We spent our time living in a beautiful community where we were warmly greeted by everyone we encountered all week. We spent a good portion of the time sitting and listening to the wise stories of our neighbors who graciously answered any and all questions we had about their community and Ecuador as a whole. Their abundance of hospitality, love and generosity in the midst of such deep economic poverty was truly inspirational.

On two mornings, our group visited a foundation that houses and cares for those living with Hansen’s disease (more commonly known as leprosy). The director of the foundation is a wonderful woman whose copious amount of love for everyone is palpable. She and the rest of the foundation strive to ensure that each of the participants (who are often looked upon as outcasts) are treated with the kindness and dignity all people deserve.

While at this organization, I had the privilege to engage in a conversation with a gentleman who lived there and it was one of the biggest highlights of my trip. Since I speak very little Spanish and he doesn’t speak any English, we had quite the language barrier. Yet, even with limited verbal understanding, I had an absolutely incredible exchange of communication with this man who shared so much patience and kindness with me as I fumbled through the few Spanish words and phrases I do know. That conversation and the immersion experience as a whole is something that I know will remain in my heart.

This is just a peak into my brief time in Ecuador. I am purposefully leaving out names of people and places, simply out of respect for them and the community. It is for that same reason that this post lacks any pictures.

The trip, my students, and the wonderful people I encountered were also great reminders of a desire in myself to remain present to those around me. Once again, I find myself caught in the familiar tension of balancing a love of clothing and style while recognizing I own way more than I need and far more than many have access to. 

This is not a new conflict for me. It is one I have wrestled with for many years. What is new, is my blog. As I continue to reflect and think about what having a blog means when juxtaposed with this reality I can't help to acknowledge that something may need to shift. I'm not sure exactly what or how much yet, but you know me, I will keep you posted.

Thanks for reading.

Peace,
Sarah

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