Becoming a Mother is...

Warning before you read: sleep deprivation is real, y'all. My thoughts are golden, but they make not be arranged cohesively.

Sometimes being a first time mom sucks. It just does. It's not that I don't love my baby - she's the cutest thing I look at all day (besides my husband). It's not that I don't enjoy being home and being productive. It's just that being a first time mom is lonely. It's hard. It's mind-numbing at times. Eat, awake, sleep. Repeat. My life is lived in 3 hour increments.

You come to a point where you can't give any more. You don't know if you can really go on because who can keep giving when you're empty? You give your full attention and time to your baby, then your husband has a bad day, then your baby cries at an unusual time or you don't know what's going on with her. Once you figure it out, there's something else to give your attention to. What's this new thing that's going on? It's continual adaptation. It's continual selflessness and laying down EVERYthing you ever expected about this new stage in life. It is giving more than I even knew I could give.

I know it gets better. Everyone says that, and honestly, I'm almost 4 weeks into this deal and I can see how this week is SO MUCH better than the first week. But I feel like I'm crawling - crawling instead of walking and progressing well. I know it's slow, and I'll miss these days, but right now I don't. I'm stuck in between wanting it to be 4, 6, 10 months ahead but also knowing somedays are pretty easy compared to what may come. Stuck between wanting the days when she'll interact with me and knowing I'll also miss the days I could carry my baby with one arm.

I think it's okay for me to have bad days; days where I don't want to do this anymore, where I come to the end of my reserve. Those are the days I learn just how far I can reach and what I am made of.

Yesterday I was crying in the kitchen because I realized I am the only one that can love Avery like I do. That statement was comforting but also brought a lot of weight with it. Of course, I've always wanted to be a mom in a very loose sense, but a lot of times our picture of what that looks like is a little skewed. Acknowledging that I'm Avery's mother is a huge deal. There's a lot of responsibility but also joy in that statement. I get to experience the highs and lows, and each make the other that much more tolerable.

This blog post was my go-to yesterday. I read it at least 20 times and cried each time. If you're a first time mom or about to be, please read it. It's so spot on and encouraging:

"I know how hard those beginning months of motherhood are. Keep in mind as you are there that you are doing God's work. The difficulty of it all can really turn you to the Lord like little else. It is a growing time for you spiritually. You will come out more kind, empathetic, loving, patient, selfless, and much, much more. 

Hang in there. You will look back soon and find certain aspects of what it was to be a first time mom quite desirable. You will long for time to just be at home with no where else to be. You will fondly remember those quiet hours at home with just you and your babe. As in any stage of life, try to focus on the good aspects before you. There are always good and bad to each situation and walk of life. Focus on the good of what it is and you will make it through happier and more content. "

How I Lost 25 Lbs in One Day

AKA Avery's Birth Story :)

Before I was pregnant, I always wondered why moms posted their birth stories or shared them, as if it was a "thing" that was normal to share. I though it was odd that you'd want to share something so intimate but also gross. What's the deal?

But now I get it. It's a badge of honor, a way of saying, "this is how you came into the world," and something to remember for years to come. It's a unique and precious time, the moments before you meet your child.

On June 1, I rushed from work to my OB appointment, hoping to get out in time to make it to yoga class. I never made it to yoga - in fact, I was instructed to walk straight over to the hospital and check myself in for observation. I had preeclampsia, and thus began my 4 weeks of waiting on the couch. Towards the end, my OB mentioned he'd like to make it to 38 weeks in order to allay any complications from pre-term labor. So, we set a date of Friday, June 26 for induction.

The night before, when Brent got off work, we decided we should go on a date. At this point, we only  knew a few things about being parents: you will be sleep deprived and you will never go on a date again. Or maybe once/month. (This is funny to me now). So we went out to eat. Then we bought a new car. (Long story, but glad we did because the next week found out our old car had a broken axle and couldn't drive!)

So on the morning on June 26, we show up to the hospital to have a baby. It was so surreal. You know it's coming, but you don't know exactly what's coming. Once I registered and got to our room, I changed into a hospital gown and they hooked up an IV with saline. My OB came in an hour later, broke my water, and started the pitocin at 8:30 am (I was at 2 cm coming in). Let me tell you, breaking your water feels like you are peeing all over yourself. Except your in a bed so you just sit in it. It's gross. I got up a few times to pee, and they would change the sheets, but still, gross. Every time I moved in bed, I "peed" again. Yuck. Can't imagine what that would be like happening while I was at work! Eek.

I didn't really start to feel much until 10:30, when I'd have small twinges like I needed to go pee. (Again with the bathroom analogies). The contractions felt like someone was sitting on my bladder. Not having experienced a lot of pain in this area before, it was new to my body and mind. Over the next few hours, they got closer together and more intense. My OB checked on me again around noon and upped the pitocin because I "wasn't making a scrunchy face yet." In other words, they weren't bad enough. But soon after that, they became crazy. I started closing my eyes all the time. I couldn't talk in between. I moved to the birthing ball, and had Brent press on my lower back whenever I had a contraction.

By 4:00, I was SO OVER it. Contractions are like waves, they KEEP COMING. There are no breaks and there are no breathers. They don't stop. I have a high pain tolerance, but as I was reminded, a low mental endurance. So at 4:00 when he checked and I was only at 4 cm, I cried for the epidural. There was no way I would labor for hours and hours only to get 1 more cm.

Best decision ever.

After they put it in and it started working, we took a nap. And it was awesome. I was so much more happy and able to enjoy the process. Around 7:30 pm, I began to feel "pressure" like I had to pee, but it was NOWHERE near the pain before. I told the nurse and she said she would page my OB to come check me. I also started shaking at this point, uncontrollably, and the nurse said that was normal - it was the adrenaline I was going to need soon! My OB checked me at 8:00 and yelled "she's complete!" and then the ruckus started. Carts and trays were wheeled in, orders called out, people shuffling in the room. I had no idea what to expect! The pressure was getting stronger and then I felt my bones start to have pressure on them too. She was coming!

After about 20 minutes of pushing (which really just feels like you're trying to poop), Avery Joy Bassett was born at 8:24 pm. And seriously, my life has never been the same. Once she came out, I remember my OB laying her on my chest, all covered in goo and crying. My first thought was, "what is this?! That was in me?!" Some mothers have an instant connection with their baby, I was just freaked out about the whole thing! They whisked her off after a few minutes to the warmer and were trying to get her to cry more to get the amniotic fluid out of her lungs, meanwhile I'm not really sure what's going on - my OB is trying to show me my placenta (who cares?), then stitches me up, I start crying because it's all so overwhelming, and finally after several minutes they bring her back, a little cleaner and calmer. Honestly, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to expect, but it was all so surreal I couldn't react clearly. Looking back it was a relatively easy labor, but nothing could have prepared me for what was going to happen when she came!

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change anything. I'm glad I labored as long as I did, and I'm glad I got the epidural. It was all worth it, and I couldn't have asked for a better story!

On Becoming Mom

There are so many questions in these (literally) last few days before our baby girl joins us.

Will I have time enjoy NOT being pregnant anymore? Or will I just be tired? 

Won't she know her nursery isn't fully decorated yet? Surely newborns have aesthetic senses, right?

Will she like me? I mean, I feel like I'm pretty cool, but will she think that too?

But the most important question I'm asking myself is:

How will I know what the hell I'm doing?!

I've been on bed rest since June 1, and I've taken the time - since I have it - to read a multitude of baby books. I actually started before June 1, but was more motivated once on bed rest to pass the time with discovering the opposing ends of the spectrum that baby sleep and eating schedules encompass. I read about how your baby should feed every 3 hours, or whenever they want. They should never cry it out, but only when it works. I concluded what this mom concluded: nothing. You just figure it out.

I'm very organized, systematic girl, so the idea of a schedule is awesome. We know what to expect! We can always come back to it! But I also recognize I have no clue what this girl is going to do. She may be completely opposite of me, in which we'll just get through the younger years and then go through some organizational training later :) Just kidding. Maybe.

But really, I'm past the point of fear or worrying. I don't have time to think of all the "stuff" we still need or the tasks that need to be completed around the house. (Would I feel better if the house was clean before baby came home? Sure. But she won't know the difference and if my family cares at all, they'll clean it for me.) I'm just ready to meet this lady. Ready to not be pregnant and only have 2 positions I can sleep in. Ready to work out again and feel strong. And most importantly, ready to begin the adventure of motherhood.

Here we go!

The Most Boring Hard Work I've Ever Done

Let me just start by saying that I know other mamas have it worse than me. As I've perused the online world of bedrest resources, it's actually amazing some women don't literally go crazy. I've seen as soon as 15 weeks on bedrest. 15 weeks! You're barely showing at that point! I know I'm at 35 weeks, and only have 2 to go, so it won't be a long road for me, but it still is tough. And, who ever said one person's experience is invalidated only because someone else experienced it longer?

Back to the basics. Last Monday, I showed up to work like normal, did my job like normal, felt completely fine, maybe worried too much that I wouldn't have time after yoga to shower and let my hair completely dry before our maternity photo shoot that evening. I left slightly early to make it to my OB appt, hoping he wouldn't be running late so I could make it to yoga in time.

And then suddenly, my plans were wiped off the board. Go directly across the way to the hospital and check in. No, there won't be any maternity pictures tonight. No, you won't be going back to work for a long time. As of now, I've been diagnosed with moderate preeclampsia, and will most likely be on bedrest until 37 weeks when they'll induce, supposing nothing happens before then, like I swell up like a balloon or my kidneys start spilling protein like a waterfall in the Amazon. It obviously happened very suddenly (at least my perception of the symptoms), and it's taken me awhile to realize I won't be returning to "normal life" for several months.

While I am thankful I have great doctors who are being very cautious and kind, great family and friends who have visited or called while I've been in the hospital and since I've come home, I really just want to tell you how much bedrest sucks. It's annoying, it's boring, it's mind-numbing, it's very very hard. It's the most boring hard work I've ever done.

Being a very active person and having a job in which I am trying to convince others to move MORE is the complete antithesis to my life right now. Like completely opposite and in no way makes sense to me. Maybe if I was 14 and lazy would I enjoy a prescription to lay on the couch all day. But I'm not. I'm an exercise physiologist, and I know what happens when you lay in bed all day. I know what happens when you only walk twice a day for about 10 minutes total, and how long it takes for you to do your daily activities with ease, let alone walk on a treadmill. I have seen first hand this week just how much muscle mass you can lose in 5 days on bedrest and how weak you become. This is super annoying as I was trying my best to workout 5 days a week as long as I could in this pregnancy, mostly because I knew I wanted to be strong afterwards.

I am literally wasting away, all in the name of keeping me healthy. I realize this post might come off as whiney, but it's where I'm at. I've got no insight or wisdom at this point, I'm really just trying to adjust. I want to be strong, and I guess I'm realizing sometimes that doesn't have to be my identity.

It's also much worse being at home. There's so much to do! I would love to organize the garage, set up the baby's room, go shopping for furniture, etc. so the current battle is mentally letting go of having the house in order. No nesting for me! I do have people who are helping, but nothing can replace you and how you operate. 

Today, though, I realized that I am solely focused on baby's arrival, staying healthy, and making sure she is healthy. When would I ever normally get that privilege? If I wasn't on bed rest I would be fussing around, focusing on a lot of different things. But I'm now focused on one; at least I'm trying. :)

Pregnancy & Body Image

I don't know many girls or women who don't have issues surrounding their body image. It could be as simple as wishing something was different to all-out hatred of one's body. We stand in front of the mirror every morning, our eyes immediately going to parts you don't like, then to the parts we do, making sure they'll make up for whatever we see as imperfect, kind of like a positive/negative balance. Then we also look at other women - whether they washed their hair or not, the wrinkles in their clothes, how much hairspray and makeup they use, their choice of footwear, etc. We could be trying to distract ourselves from our own bodies or maybe wanting to feel superior to others. I've noticed it doesn't take much - we're all taught to observe and draw conclusions, but once we take those conclusions to form solid opinions of other women is where it gets dangerous. Focusing on who a person really is is a hard task! To look past what we see and get to know the person is incredibly difficult, if not time consuming, but also very worth it.

When I was, let's say, a budding teenager, if you catch my drift, I was in the throws of junior high, suddenly placed into an environment where the brand of my jeans (wide-leg Generation X) and the color of my shoes (light brown Simple shoes) was a status symbol. There was no hope for "being yourself." Why be yourself when you can create a persona with how you dress and act? It was confusing and probably not the best way to learn who I really was, but it happened and having now healed from most of those wounds, I can say I made it. One thing has stuck with me, though, only because I couldn't realize it until now.

I always hoped I would get pregnant someday so I could have an excuse to be fat.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I thought that. I desperately wanted a flat stomach, because, well that's what everyone said all girls my age should look like. It had nothing to do with the fact that I was skinny as a rail, a year-round athlete once in high school, and had the metabolism of, well, a teenager. You had to have the stomach, and I didn't. I found various ways of hiding or minimizing it, and life went on. But I always wanted to not worry how my stomach looked in tops or dresses.

Well, a surprising thing happened when I started showing my pregnancy: I learned to love my body for what it was. Yes, there was a part of me that enjoyed wearing whatever tops or dresses I wanted without worrying, but it was more than that. I realized in putting on a piece of clothing that was tighter and showed my pregnant belly, I forgot about how I looked. I was just simply pregnant. Early on, when regular clothes didn't fit but my belly was still small, I was worried if people would know that I'm pregnant or just think I'm overweight, which is a huge deal for me in my work.

But then I thought, "Who cares?!"

And that was the most freeing thought I've had since vowing to get pregnant so I could be fat.

About 6 weeks ago, one of my doctors put me on a steady taper of prednisone due to some inflammation and lab results. I always love and loathe prednisone: it makes you feel amazing but also makes you retain water, specifically in your face and upper back. I've taken prednisone off and on for about 12 years, so I always have to go through a sort of process when I start taking it. Will it make my face look fat again? I hope not this time! And ya know what? This time it did. My face is fat. But you know what else?

Who cares?!

I'm learning that loving myself means shaking off the weight that other's opinions have of me. It means being myself, unabashedly, and not worrying about what others are thinking. Just being me. I know I exercise and try to eat well. I'm healthy, and I don't need my appearance to validate that fact. I am who I am and hope you can appreciate that. I also hope I can learn to appreciate that about others, too! It's a two way street that I'm so thankful to walk now, but also once I'm not pregnant anymore.

Why I Won't Tell You Happy Birthday on Facebook

Let's be honest, when was the last time you received a piece of personal mail? Not a "handwritten" note from your insurance agent, or even a package from Amazon Prime, but an actual, personal note, letter, or gift? It's been awhile, huh?

I sort-of-fondly remember writing thank you notes after each birthday and Christmas to all the family and friends who gave gifts or came to my celebration. I'm not sure if it was the fact that I begrudged it so much growing up, but for some reason it's automatic for me to do so now. To not write a personal thank you note (on paper, in my handwriting, with a stamp) seemed like leaving the gift without any closure. Did I enjoy it? What am I using the money/gift for? Am I appreciative of it?

These days, I rarely write a note just to say hi. It seems that a text or email will do. Yes, it's more convenient and saves paper, but what are we losing when we gain our time back? Are we really communicating that the person is special, loved, and worthy of the time it takes to sit down and write a note?

My paternal grandmother (and grandfather) tried the whole computer thing. Last I checked, it was covered in a sheet, on a card table, in the corner of the dining room. I'm pretty sure they use it solely for Solitaire and to check the Salina, KS Obituaries online (with a shortcut on the desktop). Instead of sending emails, writing Facebook posts, or texting, they write letters and call as their main form of communication. Now, nothing's wrong with Facebook, it's just that you lose the personal touch when your words are reduced from handwriting to typeface. There's so much personality in my grandmother's handwriting - I save all her letters and love trying to "decode" certain words, knowing she took time to write it, and as she did, thought carefully about her choice of words.

(Even as I'm typing this, I'm wondering how different of a post it would be if I had to handwrite it. Sometimes, my thoughts come to too quickly to write them manually, but then it forces me to choose the words carefully, so maybe it is better?)

You're probably still wondering why I won't say Happy Birthday! to you on FB. Here's why:

I like receiving personal mail. Especially birthday cards.

It's funny to me that, for my 30th birthday last year, a good friend organized a "card shower" and sent out an email encouraging others to send me a card and gave my address. How many physical addresses do you know? Do you have them written down? (Another pause for irony: my address book is online). I appreciated it deeply, but it was funny that she had to "organize" the card sending when it used to be normal.

But the point is this: if I haven't spoken to you in several years, and I only know it's your special day because FB tells me, why should I tell you Happy Birthday? If I don't really have a relationship with you, does it make sense that the only time you hear from me is to give you good wishes on your birthday? It seems so shallow to me - the birthday thing but sometimes Facebook in general - because it allows me to keep tabs on my "friends" without really engaging them in relationship or REALLY hear how they're doing. I say "happy birthday!" but don't really take the time to catch up or engage you, and that feels awkward and shallow.

One of my goals this year is to be better at sending cards, not just birthday cards. I've made a Shutterfly calendar with all my friend's and family's birthdays (with a big picture of their face), to help me remember. If we're friends and I am currently in relationship with you, I want to celebrate you! It's not that I don't want to celebrate past acquaintances, but I just don't feel I have the place in their lives to meaningfully do so. I want to be intentional and present in all my friendships, and sending personal mail is one of the ways I intend to do that.

The Joyful Mess of Marriage

This is not a "my marriage is perfect, let me tell you 10 things I learned that can help you, too" kind of post. It's also not a "wow, marriage is so wonderful and blissful and I hope everyone gets to be married for a year like me!" post. It's just me honoring the fact that it's been a year.

One whole year!

I'm resisting the fact that I should be at a "certain level" of intimacy, knowledge, and happiness in my marriage. I've always heard the first year is very important, but honestly, I think all years are. It's not like you suddenly "get it" when you hit Year One. It still takes work and crying and talking and laughing to figure the mess out. I hope Brent and I are doing all those things for the rest of our lives, and that we never stop pursuing each other.

Wait, marriage can be a mess? Well, it's not like a regular friendship, where the level of intimacy and loyalty goes only so high. If your friend does something that hurts you, or maybe you wish they'd done or said it a little differently, you might "confront" them about it, or at least mention it. But in marriage, if you don't say something, it's like a car that is veering off the road. You only notice the veering gradually, but eventually you move into other lanes and bam! hit the median. If you correct the car with little turns to the right and left, you will stay in your lane. Same with marriage - it's the little turns here and there that keep you on track. It's hard because I'd rather pretend everything is ok. But I also deep down can't stand it when I keep things in, and we've tried to create a safe place  and process for when we "need to talk." Sometimes you feel messy because you aren't perfect, and sometimes admitting your not perfect, to yourself and even to your spouse, takes grace.

Ahhh, but marriage is also joyful, too! In the past year, I've experienced the most deep and fulfilling intimacy with another human being I ever thought possible. I never knew I could open my heart up so much and find it accepted and loved even more by a person. I never knew I could cry and snot on someone's shoulder and they wouldn't bat an eye!

In the past year, I've gone through two surgeries and multiple health issues, we've set up our condo and found our rhythm of lifestyle and rest, we've waded through questions of infertility and wondered if the Lord would have us get pregnant, (He did!), we've been on several adventures I never knew existed, and I've found the most peace and security in a person I've ever known. My marriage makes me smile because I have friend. I have someone to do life with, a partner, a comrade. Life doesn't get easier when you're married, it just gets easier to deal with having a friend by your side.

What's even more deep is that this friend is committed, not just your roommate for the next year. They are committed for your life! To see you grow, to fight for the best for you, and to help you along when you're struggling. I find so much joy in having a cheerleader next to me, and need the reminder that I am valued and worth it often.

Recently we attended the funeral of Brent's grandfather, and being the emotionally sensitive person I am, I got the sense that although his grandma was relieved he was done with his suffering, there was still sadness. She would reach over for his hand, but not find it. She may wake up each morning for the next several years and feel an emptiness and lack. From what I know of the family, they loved each other well. Such companionship and love is what I aim for -w here at the end of our lives, whoever goes first, we can say that there were no regrets. I don't wish I loved him more. I want to say that I loved my husband well, and pass that legacy on to my own grandchildren.

So the first year of marriage for me was SO good and SO growing. I've tasted enough that I'm willing to keep going, push through the hard things, and experience joy on the other side. It was well worth the wait - God knew what He was doing and still does. While I know somewhat of what this next year will hold (baby, house, new job, etc), I'm excited to see what adventure God has in mind for us & what legacy of love we get to build.