So far for me, motherhood AND life have been a lot of sitting in the mud. It's not clean, pretty, or organized. It's not polished, professional, or smooth. It's MESSY.
We are all a mess. ALL OF US. Some of us cover it up more than others, but don't be fooled by the pretty Instagram post of all the children smiling, the toys put away, and the clean, white walls and cabinets in someone else's kitchen. Pinterest is not a standard that can EVER be achieved without sacrificing some other piece of the puzzle.
Every Sunday evening, our group of friends take turns hosting dinner for the rest of us. The host prepares the food, and cleans up afterwards. There are approximately 17 adults and 16 kids if we all show up! Just imagine pure chaos. That's what it's like. Toys and food crumbs everywhere, chairs and food plates strewn about. There isn't a concerted effort to put away any toys afterwards, and while it's sometimes frustrating, it's taught me a lot of grace for hosting. I think there is a time for helping to clean up a mess you made, but with so many kids and specific places to put the toys, I think this is not it. (Can you imagine me standing over 16 kids directing them? I have trouble doing that with just one and she's my child!) So, hosting DR is a big deal, but even less so if you just let it go. It's going to be a mess, but nothing that an hour or so of organizing, cleaning, and taking out the trash will fix. And it's WORTH IT. The whole point is community and allowing a touch point for the adults and play time for the children. It started when the founding members were in college, and mostly going to the same church. Now that we've grown and moved around, this touchpoint is sometimes the only real conversation we have all week. It doesn't replace deep connection and prayer, but it does provide a space to be seen and heard, and sometimes, called out. I've received (and sent) texts afterwards like "are you ok? you seemed kind of off" multiple times.
Dinner Rotation has given me the gift of letting go. If my kids want to do an activity that will possibly make a mess, I hesitate. Is the joy of the activity going to be shadowed by the amount of clean up? And that's a wrestling point for me. I love to be clean and organized. But over the years of hosting people in my house, both large and small in numbers, have taught me to just let it go. It will be worth it. Making a mess and having fun are the stuff memories are made of, aren't they?
Nothing allows me to realize the mud of motherhood and life are actually not that bad than having people over. I'm slowly learning that hosting and opening my home are the best ways to extend grace and love - to others for sure, but also to myself.
Monday, July 1, 2019
Friday, February 22, 2019
I Am a Better Mom Because I Work
Most days I am 100% confident of my, our, decision to "work outside the home." Obviously the culture around working mothers has changed drastically in the last 70 years, so even knowing how to phrase this statement is difficult - how do you communicate that you are fully on board with the "new" shift in culture, while also respecting the traditional view and values? As I've navigated these mothering waters for almost 4 years, I've learned there's not a consensus on any of the terminology. We try, we receive reactions (which are constructed by our own fears and assumptions), and we change. And eventually a terminology settles. But nevertheless, we have found something that works wonderfully for our family. I spent a lot, ahem, of money on my degrees with full intention of using them and my giftings to help others. It never did really occur to me that not working was a good fit. I always saw myself as a working mom.
I've been listening to a podcast called The Longest Shortest Time for several years, and they did a 4-part series on working mothers back in 2017. It was a huge eye-opener for me at the time, because I didn't realize how deeply the struggle goes in trying to work full-time and also be a mother, both for myself and others. It also gave me some validation in frustrations that I was feeling in trying to "balance it all" (don't worry; it's not real - no one is balancing it all). To hear other moms put words to it was so liberating and validating. While listening to the 4 podcast episodes, I was indignant and angry, other times super thankful to have the environment and support that I do. The series is excellent - even if you aren't a working mom - and covers such a wide variety of situations and most importantly, gives steps going forward.
Around the same time that the series came out, my own mother announced that she was retiring after almost 40 years working for the public library in the city I grew up in. As a gesture of appreciation, myself and my two brothers bought her a 1950's librarian textbook, which ironically needed some archivist love on the book jacket (which I'm sure she took care of). We each wrote her a letter for the occasion, and tucked it inside the book.
As I was wrapping the book, my throat got tight, my chest warm, and my eyes began to moisten. I realized the small gift we were giving to my mom was a token of the huge gift she had given me. Growing up in the library, I spent many an after-school and evening perusing the books and magazines, only because I had to be there and had nothing else to do. Mom needed to cover a shift for one of her employees? C'mon kids, lets go hangout at the library! There were so many things I took for granted at the time: access to the world's information (before the internet), how to approach and be around people who didn't look or act like me from a very early age, and most of all how to be bored and find wonder amongst the rows and rows of adventure. I also learned a love of reading, which has carried me through until today, where I constantly have more books on my nightstand than I could ever read!
Most of all, I realized that because she worked, I am who I am today. She gave us an incredible gift of showing us how to love and serve others, while also loving and serving her family. I got to see the mess that it was - she never did all of those perfectly - none of us do - but that was the beauty of it: seeing the struggle and seeing the resolution. My mom expressed several times that she wished she could spend more time with us at home, and that carried with me into adulthood, wondering if I would feel the same with my own children. But as a working mom now, I realize that while I may not know what Avery or Rhett will remember from their childhoods in relation to me working, they're going to be okay. I'm not abandoning them to let someone else raise them, I'm not a bad mother for wanting space and time to myself, and if anything, I have realized I am a much BETTER mother when I do work. If my goal is to be the best mom possible, I have to keep that in mind. My hope is that Avery and Rhett learn exactly what I did: it's ok to struggle. It's ok to make mistakes, to choose other things, and to take time for yourself. Of course, they could learn that with me taking care of them full time at home, but this way fits.
I am so thankful for a job that I love (and am decently good at!), coworkers who are like family, and a beautiful family to come home to. I count being a wife and mother two of my highest callings in life, and I'm glad Avery and Rhett will grow up with that piece of their story. And when I retire, I would love to hear what they thought of it! How did that shape them? How are they who they are because of the decision we made? Ah, the adventure of parenting!
I've been listening to a podcast called The Longest Shortest Time for several years, and they did a 4-part series on working mothers back in 2017. It was a huge eye-opener for me at the time, because I didn't realize how deeply the struggle goes in trying to work full-time and also be a mother, both for myself and others. It also gave me some validation in frustrations that I was feeling in trying to "balance it all" (don't worry; it's not real - no one is balancing it all). To hear other moms put words to it was so liberating and validating. While listening to the 4 podcast episodes, I was indignant and angry, other times super thankful to have the environment and support that I do. The series is excellent - even if you aren't a working mom - and covers such a wide variety of situations and most importantly, gives steps going forward.
Around the same time that the series came out, my own mother announced that she was retiring after almost 40 years working for the public library in the city I grew up in. As a gesture of appreciation, myself and my two brothers bought her a 1950's librarian textbook, which ironically needed some archivist love on the book jacket (which I'm sure she took care of). We each wrote her a letter for the occasion, and tucked it inside the book.
As I was wrapping the book, my throat got tight, my chest warm, and my eyes began to moisten. I realized the small gift we were giving to my mom was a token of the huge gift she had given me. Growing up in the library, I spent many an after-school and evening perusing the books and magazines, only because I had to be there and had nothing else to do. Mom needed to cover a shift for one of her employees? C'mon kids, lets go hangout at the library! There were so many things I took for granted at the time: access to the world's information (before the internet), how to approach and be around people who didn't look or act like me from a very early age, and most of all how to be bored and find wonder amongst the rows and rows of adventure. I also learned a love of reading, which has carried me through until today, where I constantly have more books on my nightstand than I could ever read!
Most of all, I realized that because she worked, I am who I am today. She gave us an incredible gift of showing us how to love and serve others, while also loving and serving her family. I got to see the mess that it was - she never did all of those perfectly - none of us do - but that was the beauty of it: seeing the struggle and seeing the resolution. My mom expressed several times that she wished she could spend more time with us at home, and that carried with me into adulthood, wondering if I would feel the same with my own children. But as a working mom now, I realize that while I may not know what Avery or Rhett will remember from their childhoods in relation to me working, they're going to be okay. I'm not abandoning them to let someone else raise them, I'm not a bad mother for wanting space and time to myself, and if anything, I have realized I am a much BETTER mother when I do work. If my goal is to be the best mom possible, I have to keep that in mind. My hope is that Avery and Rhett learn exactly what I did: it's ok to struggle. It's ok to make mistakes, to choose other things, and to take time for yourself. Of course, they could learn that with me taking care of them full time at home, but this way fits.
I am so thankful for a job that I love (and am decently good at!), coworkers who are like family, and a beautiful family to come home to. I count being a wife and mother two of my highest callings in life, and I'm glad Avery and Rhett will grow up with that piece of their story. And when I retire, I would love to hear what they thought of it! How did that shape them? How are they who they are because of the decision we made? Ah, the adventure of parenting!
Sunday, December 2, 2018
I Live in Luxury
I live in luxury. I am so blessed that most days, I am unaware of what I possess and who I am. I go about most of my days longing for something more, when what is around me is more than enough.
I am secure. If I ever, ever need help, I have the Creator of the Universe within earshot of my voice, no matter how feeble or doubtful it is. What's even better is that the Creator listens, knows me more than I ever could, and answers me with such love and kindness. I am never left ashamed or embarrassed for asking. He is the kindest Creator. Even when I ask for what seems impossible, the Creator has the power and desire to make it possible. He actually specializes in what we call the "impossible," which is all just normal to Him. He longs to show His love to us by breaking through our thick skulls and broadening our view of who He is. This Creator literally can create anything out of nothing; just look around you at the trees and grass and flowers. He literally made the intricate anatomy of the seeds, prescribed their growth, and designed a process for them to sustain themselves. He orchestrates PLANETS. He designed the STARS. And he cares about each flower in the field.
So why do I doubt? Why does my gaze fall on despair and not trust the truth in front of me?
Gratefulness. Thankfulness. Shifting my perspective from what is hard to what is GOOD. Actually making a conscious choice to focus on the blessing, not the curse. Choosing to see the good around me and rejoicing. Allowing my thought patterns to be founded in the Creator and how He thinks about me. That is how I climb out of disillusionment. THAT is how I have joy no matter the circumstances.
I am secure. If I ever, ever need help, I have the Creator of the Universe within earshot of my voice, no matter how feeble or doubtful it is. What's even better is that the Creator listens, knows me more than I ever could, and answers me with such love and kindness. I am never left ashamed or embarrassed for asking. He is the kindest Creator. Even when I ask for what seems impossible, the Creator has the power and desire to make it possible. He actually specializes in what we call the "impossible," which is all just normal to Him. He longs to show His love to us by breaking through our thick skulls and broadening our view of who He is. This Creator literally can create anything out of nothing; just look around you at the trees and grass and flowers. He literally made the intricate anatomy of the seeds, prescribed their growth, and designed a process for them to sustain themselves. He orchestrates PLANETS. He designed the STARS. And he cares about each flower in the field.
So why do I doubt? Why does my gaze fall on despair and not trust the truth in front of me?
Gratefulness. Thankfulness. Shifting my perspective from what is hard to what is GOOD. Actually making a conscious choice to focus on the blessing, not the curse. Choosing to see the good around me and rejoicing. Allowing my thought patterns to be founded in the Creator and how He thinks about me. That is how I climb out of disillusionment. THAT is how I have joy no matter the circumstances.
Tuesday, May 29, 2018
He's In The Waiting
"And now, O Lord, for who do I wait? My hope is in you."
-Psalm 39:7
As you know from the previous post, we've been waiting a while for a huge miracle and received it! Well, after the reality of that breakthrough sank in, I thought, how fun! We don't have to wait anymore!
Wrong.
It takes approximately 9 months for a baby to reach full gestation. NINE MONTHS. We had already waited over 1.5 years, so what's a few more months?
But then I began to look around my house and realized this was just going to be a full year of waiting. With the will-we-get-pregnant-or-not question out of the way, I was able to see other things that we had put on hold while we waited. Construction began on the addition to our house (which ironically we began planning for around the same time as we started trying to get pregnant), and it (still) is an seemingly endless process of waiting. They dropped the dumpster off in our driveway back in February, we cleared out the garage and rearranged our closets and guest room to accommodate the storage, but then nothing for a few months. A structural review issue. Need to submit permits again to the city. Wait some more. Then finally! In mid-April, they tore the ceiling out of our garage and floor out of the attic and began to prep for framing. Like, literally one day I came home and it was all different. But still more waiting! There's no apparent timeline for completion, and things are moving along, but still I wait until it's DONE.
I can see the progress as plain as day - it's right outside my bedroom door! I realize this is a gift; oftentimes when we are waiting, the real anxiety and impatience comes because we can't see what's going on behind the scenes (and there is most always something going on behind the scenes! See 2 Kings 6). The only hope we can hold onto is the result - or the idea of the result we have in our head - how we want it to turn out.
But even with the progress right in front of me, I'm still impatient. I'm a planner by nature, so you know that I already have to-do lists for the very moment the room is done. This furniture goes here, buy Avery a new bed, move crib to baby's room, start buying baby's furniture and decorating, etc., all leading up to the baby's due date. Maybe it's the "nesting" part of pregnancy, but honestly I just want to be settled! After 1.5 years of waiting for what our next season might be - questions hanging in the balance, the roller coaster of trust and belief - it feels good to have something concrete to hold onto. For so long we didn't even know IF God was going to expand our family, so now that we have the "go," I'm going!
Recently at church, we sang a song that was so dear to my heart during our period of waiting (and honestly still is). It was surreal, all-encompassing, full-circle experience to sing a song that you once verbally professed as "I hope this happens" but now can sing it as "this is truth."
Take courage my heart
Stay steadfast my soul
He's in the waiting
He's in the waiting
Hold onto your hope
As your triumph unfolds
He's never failing
He's never failing
Sing praise my soul
Find strength in joy
Let His Words lead you on
Do not forget His great faithfulness
He'll finish all He's begun
As the worship team and congregation sang, my throat closed up, tears streamed down my face, and I began what I call the ugly cry of connection, when my heart and God's collide. Hopefully no one was actually watching me or they might think I needed some medical attention. I was able to offer this song back to God as a thank you for his faithfulness, for the all the times I sung it cautiously, but now could sing it with confidence. What a gift!
The truth is, He IS in the waiting. There was so much we learned as a couple and as a family in that time, as our community surrounded us and prayed for us, as I saw multiple friends announce their pregnancies but learned how to respond with grace, and as we walked the road of belief and trust in the impossible. While it was extremely difficult, it was also extremely sweet. Waiting requires a lot of activity - namely, continually and actively giving over the thing you're holding onto, and releasing it to the God who created the stars and the galaxies above. I'm so grateful for that specific season of waiting, and honestly excited for this next season of waiting, as painful as it seems right now.
My hope and eyes are not fixed on that moment, that final sweet moment when I get to hold my son in my arms (here come the tears!), but on God. I'm encouraged by everyone in the Bible who had to wait as well: Abraham to see the promises that God spoke, Noah for the waters to recede (even after the sun came out!), the Israelites to be freed from Egypt, all those who were sick to be healed by Jesus, and the Jews who were waiting for their Messiah to come. As I read over these stories, I see that God give us promises to hold onto, and sometimes we get caught up in the result, but He's really more interested in the process. He wants to see our hearts cleave to His, and that process and change is worth whatever wait we are asked to endure.
Monday, May 14, 2018
The Miracle We Have Been Waiting For
"God is not man that he should lie, or a son of man, that he should change his mind. He has said, and will he not do it? Or has he spoken, and will he not fulfill it?" -Numbers 23;19
"Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you..." -Mark 5:19
I read the these two verses recently and they prompted me that it was time. Time to tell the story, the testimony, the miracle, and joy in our hearts and spirits. It's also conveniently timed with me entering my second trimester, which means I feel all sorts of better!
To begin, you need to know the impossibility in which this miracle takes place. When I was 18, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease (Wegener's), and the treatment at the time was a course of low-dose chemo that I was warned could cause infertility. Being young, single, and very sick, I obliged, and I got better. Over the years, I went in and out of remission, but with each flare up, would use different drugs to keep my immune system calm. About six months before I started dating my now husband, I was diagnosed as being "peri-menopausal," meaning I hadn't had a period for over 6 months, but they typically diagnose menopause as no period for a year. My ovaries had no eggs left and were shutting down, they said. That day was really weird - after I heard the news, I went home and laid in bed, expecting some sort of grief to wash over me. But it didn't. I even had a friend pray for me, and she felt like it wasn't a diagnosis I was supposed to receive. It all felt very foreign and not apart of me.
Going into marriage, my now husband and I knew we wanted children right away, so my OB recommended we visit with an infertility specialist, given my history. The specialist basically gave us two options; we could spend lots of money on treatments or we could try on our own. With faith the God could do the impossible, we chose to try on our own. Miraculously, six months into our marriage we found out we were expecting a baby! It was so surreal - I actually had a hard time receiving the gift of conception because my faith wasn't very strong - I wasn't really sure He would do it! I knew He could, but I'm not sure I believed He would. On June 26, 2105, we welcomed Avery Joy Bassett into the world. Every single day, I look at her and know she is a miracle!
Around Avery's first birthday, we began talking about trying for baby #2. Knowing the odds against us but also how quickly we got pregnant with Avery, we dove head first into the process. After 4-5 months of trying on our own, I made an appointment with my OB. He tried a few medications for several months, but ultimately sent us back to the fertility specialist. This time, the specialist was shocked and in disbelief we conceived on our own, but also had the same advice this time around: you can try some expensive treatments, or you can try on your own. He even said, "I don't see how this happened. But if you want to try again, prove me wrong." We chose, again, to try on our own.
At this point, we had been trying to conceive for about 9 months, and the roller coaster of emotions and anxiety about the future was weighing on us. We had close friends announce they were pregnant and give birth in that time period, and it was a hard road to walk. I realized we had been running head first down a road we never asked God about. So we turned to Him, and found that He not only is a miracle worker, but He also reveals himself in the process of waiting. So we leaned into the waiting, and as we did, learned more than we could ever imagine about how big and powerful God is.
During the summer, I read infertility testimonies online to boost my faith and had friends pray over me and receive words like "your next child will be from your womb," and "Avery squared ... there will be more children." I listened and latched onto songs like Yes and Amen (Housefires), More (Red Rocks Worship), and Take Courage (Bethel). I poured myself into scripture and looked up all the fertility-related promises. I experienced amazing amounts of breakthrough in other areas of my life (food, self control, and emotional freedom and forgiveness). I picked up my pencil and paper again and began to draw what my heart was feeling - alone, sitting in a waiting room, watching friends walk out of the door with babies while I just sat there. I even got to share the journey I was on during a women's brunch at my church, which was a huge faith-builditng moment for me!
But then nothing happened. By the time December rolled around, I was getting discouraged. God, I shared with 100+ women this journey of infertility - are you just going to leave me now?! What a lame story to end with nothing! But God never leaves us. He never lets our stories disappear; He not only completes them, but He finishes them better than we ever thought possible! One day in January, I was sitting reading John 11, the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. When I read the words that Jesus spoke ("Lazarus, come out!"), I started immediately bawling. I had no idea what was going on, but looking back now, I can see that God was doing something in my spirt and the spiritual realm to awaken dead things in my life and body!
I began to have regular periods again, which was a shock, but also faith building. Something was working! Ha! In February of this year, a friend of our church's, Joe Ewen, preached on Sunday morning. His text was from Isaiah 50 ("Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended... every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low... and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed..."). I knew this word was for me and claimed it as such! I also received some beautiful words from Joe and others who prayed over me: it will be a season of plundering in an orchard - taking back that which was lost, a picture of me running through a field and embracing my Father with joy, and a picture of my heart being free and able to breathe again. I came home that Sunday grateful for the revelation, but also still not sure what it all meant! As we prayed about it, my husband got a sense that God was asking us to stand up and leave the waiting room. It felt hard, but also I was so willing at this point to go wherever He was leading, kind of like how God essentially told Moses "go where I send you. When you get there, I'll tell you." I'd said YES to Him before, and never regretted it. So we did; we committed the future of our family to the Lord and said yes. I honestly was in a place of complete surrender. I was open to anything and began thinking about adoption as a possibility. I hadn't done much research, but began to build expectancy for what God had next for us.
On the morning of February 27, I awoke with the song You Came (Lazarus) (Bethel) in my head. I even wrote in my journal, "Lord, I don't know what this looks like. It sounds exciting, so do it!" That afternoon, I got home from work early. I was two days late on my period, and so on a whim decided to take a test "just because" I wanted to know what was going on so I could track it. After the 3 minutes was up, I glanced a the test strip and froze. Two. Solid. Lines. Positive.
I probably sat there for at least 5 minutes, not moving. I got up and paced back and forth. I took another test. Positive. I called my OB and made an appointment, then sat on the couch and bawled my eyes out, heaving and ugly crying all over the place. IT HAPPENED! HE CAME! I KNEW THAT HE WOULD COME!
I foraged and finally found the "Big Sister" shirt I had reserved for Avery to wear for such an occasion (it was buried beneath tubs of clothes!), picked her up from school, and put the shirt on her. I told her she was going to be a big sister, but I'm not sure she really got it. I couldn't wait until my husband got home! When he did finally walk in the door, he was in disbelief, but also so excited! What joy we shared! It was brief, however, because I had tickets to see Jen Hatmaker and Nichole Nordeman that night and needed to leave 5 minutes after he arrived. So it was kind of a "Hi, I'm pregnant after 18 months of trying, bye!" sort of deal! But as soon as the program was over, I rushed home and we celebrated and praised God.
I'm now 17 weeks along, and baby is doing fine! Shortly after finding out we were pregnant, I had several weeks of nausea and fatigue, a few sinus infections, and had to start a round of prednisone due to the autoimmune disease. But God is my protector and He has created this little baby BOY in my body; He will complete the story and bring all glory to Him.
As I share with others the joyous news, especially those who have walked this journey with us, I'm overwhelmed EACH time by the faithfulness of God. It's so unfathomable. It's so grand and beyond what we see. I'm committed to telling this story all my days: I want to encourage and remind others just how faithful He is and above all, that HE IS GOOD. So so good!
"I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord." - Psalm 40:1-3
Saturday, December 30, 2017
The Art of Receiving
What did you get for Christmas? Was it what you were hoping for? What you put on your list? Or was it something that you thought was out of left field and is still sitting in its original packaging, waiting until you decide if you're going to donate it or actually use it?
This year, as Christmas crept closer, I noticed an interesting thought that kept pushing its way forward in my mind: if people just give me what I want, then I'll be happy. All you have to do is look at the Christmas list I sent out BEFORE Thanksgiving, giving you plenty of time to procure the appropriate items. These, and only these items are the only guaranteed way to put a genuine smile on my face on Christmas day.
Oof. It sounds even more ridiculous when I type it out! How did I begin to think like this? I used to be so appreciative of any gift I received, and all of a sudden I'm demanding specifics to ensure my happiness. As I thought deeper, I remembered all the times I received a gift that fell way short of my expectations (two Mason jars, last Christmas - yes, that was the whole gift!). I remembered the disappointment, the awkwardness in trying to sound grateful, the worry of what I was going to do with the item. In order to prevent such event from happening again, I did what a lot of us do when we are hurt - I made some rules. The rules were: only buy from my list. (Of course, this was all in my head - I would never tell anyone that to their face! Ha!) But I made sure my list was long enough to feel inclusive of different ideas, but not too long to appear needy.
I've been married for almost 4 years, and early on in our marriage I realized that my husband and I had different expectations for gifts. He is super unique and has super unique interests, so things got complicated in trying to pinpoint the perfect gift. I, however, generally appreciate any gift, but especially those that are thoughtful - those that show how deep the giver knows me. These might be things I've secretly wanted, or the giver thought I would enjoy, and they hit the mark. Conversely, if I got a gift of say, mint-flavored anything, I would feel really misunderstood. If they really knew me, they would know I hate mint! Why did they give this to me?! This present is awful! I was able to recover fairly well on the outside, but inside I was so disappointed. Obviously, they didn't know me. And one of my greatest desires is to be deeply known.
I don't think I'm that different than others, however. We all desire to be deeply known. But we also are busy. It's hard to make time to get to know someone to the level we all really want to. Even my own spouse I'm still getting to know, and we spend the most time together. So when it comes time for gifting, we guess. We take hints here and there, and maybe our mind lights up as we are shopping or we spot a particular item that reminds us of the person. We think, "oh, they'll love that!" But really its just a guess.
The other side of giving is the joy we have, as the giver, when the recipient receives their gift well. You know what I'm talking about - the anticipation of giving a gift is almost too much sometimes! We just want to see the joy on their face when they open it up! Some years I'm actually more excited to see others open their gifts from me than I am to open my own!
But back to my story. After I realized my "stinkin' thinkin'" was not going to set me up well, I did a 180 and decided I was going to be grateful for any gift I received. I would smile, say thank you, and relish in my heart how grateful I really was to receive something I didn't deserve. Because really, what is Christmas about? GIVING. God gave us His only Son. Did I do anything for that gift? Nope. But it's just what I needed.
So what if, instead of making lists and rules and expecting specific things, we all were just grateful to have people in our lives who spend time thinking about us, spend money on a gift, and spend more time wrapping and arranging a time for us to open it (oftentimes including preparing food and hosting)? Stuff is nice, but it's really the people that surround us that will enliven our joy. At the end of the day, we all pack suitcases and travel and grocery shop and stay up late making cookies so that we can spend time with people, not so we can receive gifts.
I may never know for certain how much people have enjoyed my gifts over the years, but I do know that the real point is for the joy of giving to continue. I want to know the person is grateful for the time and effort I put into the gift, and whether they use it or hate it is up to them. The real gift we can give each other is the gift of gratefulness. And you don't even have to fake it! No matter what you are given, receive it well. Say thank you. Be grateful. And see the joy continue.
This year, as Christmas crept closer, I noticed an interesting thought that kept pushing its way forward in my mind: if people just give me what I want, then I'll be happy. All you have to do is look at the Christmas list I sent out BEFORE Thanksgiving, giving you plenty of time to procure the appropriate items. These, and only these items are the only guaranteed way to put a genuine smile on my face on Christmas day.
Oof. It sounds even more ridiculous when I type it out! How did I begin to think like this? I used to be so appreciative of any gift I received, and all of a sudden I'm demanding specifics to ensure my happiness. As I thought deeper, I remembered all the times I received a gift that fell way short of my expectations (two Mason jars, last Christmas - yes, that was the whole gift!). I remembered the disappointment, the awkwardness in trying to sound grateful, the worry of what I was going to do with the item. In order to prevent such event from happening again, I did what a lot of us do when we are hurt - I made some rules. The rules were: only buy from my list. (Of course, this was all in my head - I would never tell anyone that to their face! Ha!) But I made sure my list was long enough to feel inclusive of different ideas, but not too long to appear needy.
I've been married for almost 4 years, and early on in our marriage I realized that my husband and I had different expectations for gifts. He is super unique and has super unique interests, so things got complicated in trying to pinpoint the perfect gift. I, however, generally appreciate any gift, but especially those that are thoughtful - those that show how deep the giver knows me. These might be things I've secretly wanted, or the giver thought I would enjoy, and they hit the mark. Conversely, if I got a gift of say, mint-flavored anything, I would feel really misunderstood. If they really knew me, they would know I hate mint! Why did they give this to me?! This present is awful! I was able to recover fairly well on the outside, but inside I was so disappointed. Obviously, they didn't know me. And one of my greatest desires is to be deeply known.
I don't think I'm that different than others, however. We all desire to be deeply known. But we also are busy. It's hard to make time to get to know someone to the level we all really want to. Even my own spouse I'm still getting to know, and we spend the most time together. So when it comes time for gifting, we guess. We take hints here and there, and maybe our mind lights up as we are shopping or we spot a particular item that reminds us of the person. We think, "oh, they'll love that!" But really its just a guess.
The other side of giving is the joy we have, as the giver, when the recipient receives their gift well. You know what I'm talking about - the anticipation of giving a gift is almost too much sometimes! We just want to see the joy on their face when they open it up! Some years I'm actually more excited to see others open their gifts from me than I am to open my own!
But back to my story. After I realized my "stinkin' thinkin'" was not going to set me up well, I did a 180 and decided I was going to be grateful for any gift I received. I would smile, say thank you, and relish in my heart how grateful I really was to receive something I didn't deserve. Because really, what is Christmas about? GIVING. God gave us His only Son. Did I do anything for that gift? Nope. But it's just what I needed.
So what if, instead of making lists and rules and expecting specific things, we all were just grateful to have people in our lives who spend time thinking about us, spend money on a gift, and spend more time wrapping and arranging a time for us to open it (oftentimes including preparing food and hosting)? Stuff is nice, but it's really the people that surround us that will enliven our joy. At the end of the day, we all pack suitcases and travel and grocery shop and stay up late making cookies so that we can spend time with people, not so we can receive gifts.
I may never know for certain how much people have enjoyed my gifts over the years, but I do know that the real point is for the joy of giving to continue. I want to know the person is grateful for the time and effort I put into the gift, and whether they use it or hate it is up to them. The real gift we can give each other is the gift of gratefulness. And you don't even have to fake it! No matter what you are given, receive it well. Say thank you. Be grateful. And see the joy continue.
Thursday, August 17, 2017
To My 25-Year Old Self
Welcome to Austin!
What an exciting adventure awaits you! You may not be able to see it now, but this will be a season of leaving home, growing up, and healing your heart. There will be times when it will be really hard, like when you aren't sure if you'll have enough money to cover your bills, or when you get really sick and don't have health insurance yet. Don't worry. Don't panic. The Lord has you in His hands. He is never going to leave you! He has such great things for you - and you'll come out of it all more compassionate and whole. The pain will eventually stop.
I know you're going to resist what God is going to do, but you should say YES. He wants you to be healed and His heart towards you is so full! You're going to learn a lot about your identity, and a lot about lies you've believed about yourself. Just submit to the process. It's going to be hard, but you'll be surrounded by a supportive community of girlfriends/roommates and church. You're going to actually look and feel completely different when all is done!
Did I mention you're going to have FUN?! Austin is the best place to live, there is so much to do! When Megan invites you to play sand volleyball, say yes! You're going to meet the best people through that activity. (They're actually going to become your church family, so pay attention!) And take advantage of all the unique things Austin has to offer - swimming holes, parks, restaurants, free movie nights, etc. Explore it all and enjoy it!
And don't fret about when you're going to get married. The Lord knows your heart's desires. And he knows what needs to happen in your heart for it to grow and be healed before you receive someone else's love.
When you lose your job, again, don't fret. The Lord has you. He will take care of you, but more than that, He is working something so much deeper and more real than you know. Keep applying places - eventually you'll find a job at Starbucks that will teach you more about people and relationships than you ever could read from a book.
And then the breakthrough! Oh, how glorious and exciting it will be! Working in Cardiac Rehab again, engaged, and heart full. Enjoy that time of newness and possibility!
I don't know if I can say this enough, but don't fret about whether you'll get pregnant and bear your own child. Just give it over to the Lord, He knows and has thought about your children before the foundations of the world. He also can heal and bring life, in any circumstance.
Watch out for the first 8 weeks after your daughter is born. Those are a doozy. But it gets better! And you'll finally stand on your own two feet again.
Above all, maintain your community. They will catch you when you fall, and carry you when you can't walk anymore. God shows His love through your friends. Keep them! They may be a little cooky and different, but they're good.
God has a really great adventure for you. Hold on, it's going to be a wild ride.
Reba
What an exciting adventure awaits you! You may not be able to see it now, but this will be a season of leaving home, growing up, and healing your heart. There will be times when it will be really hard, like when you aren't sure if you'll have enough money to cover your bills, or when you get really sick and don't have health insurance yet. Don't worry. Don't panic. The Lord has you in His hands. He is never going to leave you! He has such great things for you - and you'll come out of it all more compassionate and whole. The pain will eventually stop.
I know you're going to resist what God is going to do, but you should say YES. He wants you to be healed and His heart towards you is so full! You're going to learn a lot about your identity, and a lot about lies you've believed about yourself. Just submit to the process. It's going to be hard, but you'll be surrounded by a supportive community of girlfriends/roommates and church. You're going to actually look and feel completely different when all is done!
Did I mention you're going to have FUN?! Austin is the best place to live, there is so much to do! When Megan invites you to play sand volleyball, say yes! You're going to meet the best people through that activity. (They're actually going to become your church family, so pay attention!) And take advantage of all the unique things Austin has to offer - swimming holes, parks, restaurants, free movie nights, etc. Explore it all and enjoy it!
And don't fret about when you're going to get married. The Lord knows your heart's desires. And he knows what needs to happen in your heart for it to grow and be healed before you receive someone else's love.
When you lose your job, again, don't fret. The Lord has you. He will take care of you, but more than that, He is working something so much deeper and more real than you know. Keep applying places - eventually you'll find a job at Starbucks that will teach you more about people and relationships than you ever could read from a book.
And then the breakthrough! Oh, how glorious and exciting it will be! Working in Cardiac Rehab again, engaged, and heart full. Enjoy that time of newness and possibility!
I don't know if I can say this enough, but don't fret about whether you'll get pregnant and bear your own child. Just give it over to the Lord, He knows and has thought about your children before the foundations of the world. He also can heal and bring life, in any circumstance.
Watch out for the first 8 weeks after your daughter is born. Those are a doozy. But it gets better! And you'll finally stand on your own two feet again.
Above all, maintain your community. They will catch you when you fall, and carry you when you can't walk anymore. God shows His love through your friends. Keep them! They may be a little cooky and different, but they're good.
God has a really great adventure for you. Hold on, it's going to be a wild ride.
Reba
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Post-pregnancy and Body Image
I posted several months ago about my experiences with body image in pregnancy and how I loved the body I was in. I came across this Scary Mommy post ("The Luxury of Not Giving a Damn" - read it!) on my FB feed recently, and it struck a chord really strongly in the midst of a lot of changes. I realized there was more to this mommy thing than just figuring out a baby - it's also figuring out yourself.
Every since grad school, I have known that time is a cruel metabolism killer. The older you get, the slower your metabolism and the harder it is to lose weight and change your body. The older you get, the more your body has trouble doing normal things, too, so the fact that we all get fat and fall apart as we get older is not new (being very general here). But learning this as a young, relatively in shape person is a lot different than actually experiencing it as an adult where it starts to become reality. Sure, I counsel people everyday on how to eat well, exercise, reach their weight loss goals, but that's always been their problem. I've never had to deal with it myself and am realizing now the amount of compassion needed to really tackle the underlying issues of body image and weight.
Pregnancy was great because I could be "fat" without being self-conscious that I should look some other way. Once Avery was born, I quickly, and I mean really quickly, lost the baby weight. I did some form of nursing for first 6 weeks, and that combined with not eating or sleeping much helped to keep my weight steady. I fit into old stuff! People said how great I looked! I felt odd about their compliments because (1) I didn't do anything except have a baby, and (2) I knew that some women wish they looked that great post-partum but how do you say thanks with saying I don't know how I did it? It's just genes maybe?
Once I stopped nursing, however, I experienced a flare-up of the autoimmune disease I was diagnosed with at age 18. My doctors had told me this might happen, but it still sucks. My left eye/sinus started hurting, we tried some medications, they didn't work, we decided I needed to do IV infusions, but in the meantime (read = 1 month, the approval process takes forEVER because it's super expensive), I wasn't getting any better. My nurse then suggested what I knew was coming but was hoping to avoid: prednisone.
There are few things in life I can honestly say I have a love/hate relationship with, and prednisone is one of those.
Prednisone is a steroid. Not pump-your-muscles steroid, but another kind made in your adrenal glands. It makes me fat. It causes me to gain water weight. My face gets big and my shoulders and upper body gain weight. It increases your appetite so all you want to eat is CARBS CARBS CARBS and all the things all the time. It also gives you crazy energy, which turns out is a really helpful thing when you have a 4 month old who's congested and needs a paci re-insertion every 2-3 hours. And I did start to feel better. But I hated how I looked. In fact, I still kind of do.
One day I was putting on my scrubs for work, the same ones I work before busting out the maternity scrubs, and I just felt so uncomfortable. The pants were too tight in places they hadn't been before, and I constantly was adjusting them during the day. I didn't want to go out and buy more because that would be admitting I was fat. I work in a fitness facility and I can't be fat telling other people not to be. So, after much debating, I decided I needed to start working out again, and the time that would occur would be 4:00 am each morning.
Working out is one of my things. I love it. It's therapeutic for me. It helps me focus, destress, and re-orient my day. It also makes me feel REALLY GOOD which is what I needed. And thanks to the prednisone, I had the energy to go to bed at 9 pm, wake up at 4, exercise, and make it to work on time by 6:45, all while taking care of my baby somewhere in there.
I'm not perfect. I don't even know how long it will take to lose this extra weight with working out, weaning off the prednisone by middle of December, and trying to eat healthier. When I came across this line in the Scary Mommy article, I copied and pasted it into my reminders app.
I need to remember this. I need to know that yes, the goal is to be a healthy weight and feel good, but ultimately I need freedom from comparison and looking at other moms. I need freedom from other PEOPLE looking at me and feeling the need to comment whether I look great or keep to themselves that that's what a new mom's body must look like after having a baby. I need the freedom to not worry if others are drawing conclusions about my character because of what my postpartum body looks like. I need the freedom to BE MYSELF, wear the clothes I want to wear, and know that my body is pretty dang amazing.
I had a baby, and I don't care what you think my body should or does look like. It's mine, it did some amazing things, and I hope you find the freedom to love yourself the way I'm learning to. If each of us women starts to love ourselves more and not judge other moms silently, we all just might be a little more kind and happy and understanding and not waste time comparing. We are mothers - we don't have time for that!
Every since grad school, I have known that time is a cruel metabolism killer. The older you get, the slower your metabolism and the harder it is to lose weight and change your body. The older you get, the more your body has trouble doing normal things, too, so the fact that we all get fat and fall apart as we get older is not new (being very general here). But learning this as a young, relatively in shape person is a lot different than actually experiencing it as an adult where it starts to become reality. Sure, I counsel people everyday on how to eat well, exercise, reach their weight loss goals, but that's always been their problem. I've never had to deal with it myself and am realizing now the amount of compassion needed to really tackle the underlying issues of body image and weight.
Pregnancy was great because I could be "fat" without being self-conscious that I should look some other way. Once Avery was born, I quickly, and I mean really quickly, lost the baby weight. I did some form of nursing for first 6 weeks, and that combined with not eating or sleeping much helped to keep my weight steady. I fit into old stuff! People said how great I looked! I felt odd about their compliments because (1) I didn't do anything except have a baby, and (2) I knew that some women wish they looked that great post-partum but how do you say thanks with saying I don't know how I did it? It's just genes maybe?
Once I stopped nursing, however, I experienced a flare-up of the autoimmune disease I was diagnosed with at age 18. My doctors had told me this might happen, but it still sucks. My left eye/sinus started hurting, we tried some medications, they didn't work, we decided I needed to do IV infusions, but in the meantime (read = 1 month, the approval process takes forEVER because it's super expensive), I wasn't getting any better. My nurse then suggested what I knew was coming but was hoping to avoid: prednisone.
There are few things in life I can honestly say I have a love/hate relationship with, and prednisone is one of those.
Prednisone is a steroid. Not pump-your-muscles steroid, but another kind made in your adrenal glands. It makes me fat. It causes me to gain water weight. My face gets big and my shoulders and upper body gain weight. It increases your appetite so all you want to eat is CARBS CARBS CARBS and all the things all the time. It also gives you crazy energy, which turns out is a really helpful thing when you have a 4 month old who's congested and needs a paci re-insertion every 2-3 hours. And I did start to feel better. But I hated how I looked. In fact, I still kind of do.
One day I was putting on my scrubs for work, the same ones I work before busting out the maternity scrubs, and I just felt so uncomfortable. The pants were too tight in places they hadn't been before, and I constantly was adjusting them during the day. I didn't want to go out and buy more because that would be admitting I was fat. I work in a fitness facility and I can't be fat telling other people not to be. So, after much debating, I decided I needed to start working out again, and the time that would occur would be 4:00 am each morning.
Working out is one of my things. I love it. It's therapeutic for me. It helps me focus, destress, and re-orient my day. It also makes me feel REALLY GOOD which is what I needed. And thanks to the prednisone, I had the energy to go to bed at 9 pm, wake up at 4, exercise, and make it to work on time by 6:45, all while taking care of my baby somewhere in there.
I'm not perfect. I don't even know how long it will take to lose this extra weight with working out, weaning off the prednisone by middle of December, and trying to eat healthier. When I came across this line in the Scary Mommy article, I copied and pasted it into my reminders app.
It’s a gift not to give a damn how my body and face compares to others.
I need to remember this. I need to know that yes, the goal is to be a healthy weight and feel good, but ultimately I need freedom from comparison and looking at other moms. I need freedom from other PEOPLE looking at me and feeling the need to comment whether I look great or keep to themselves that that's what a new mom's body must look like after having a baby. I need the freedom to not worry if others are drawing conclusions about my character because of what my postpartum body looks like. I need the freedom to BE MYSELF, wear the clothes I want to wear, and know that my body is pretty dang amazing.
I had a baby, and I don't care what you think my body should or does look like. It's mine, it did some amazing things, and I hope you find the freedom to love yourself the way I'm learning to. If each of us women starts to love ourselves more and not judge other moms silently, we all just might be a little more kind and happy and understanding and not waste time comparing. We are mothers - we don't have time for that!
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Nursing Avery, Part II
The Breaking Point
So we were going to try EBF for the week, and I was somewhat anxious about whether it would really work, cautiously excited it might actually be the breakthrough we were praying for. That week was SO hard. I was stressed out from family visiting out of town and Brent being at work and me at home by myself trying to entertain and take care of my newborn who I didn't know much about. Avery picked up on the stress and developed some bad gas which made her super fussy. She didn't sleep too well, either. I began cutting things out of my diet to see if it helped, which it didn't. I noticed one morning that I wasn't engorged like I usually was in the morning, but passed it off as my supply just regulating. By the time family left, it was time to go to another weighed feeding.
The Friday that she turned 5 weeks old was the worst day. She wouldn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time from 2 am on, and I was beside myself in how to get her to sleep - I tried everything we had done so far - swing, momaroo, shushing, but nothing worked and she was crying bloody murder. I fed her, then put her in the sling so she could at least be calm. She did sleep, and I ended up calling the pediatrician and explaining she just wasn't actually normally. I already was planning on doing a weighed feeding that day, and after making the appt had a realization that I would have a plan or at least answers by the end of the day. I was ready to put the week behind me and take a step forward.
I had a friend meet me at the weighed feeding, and once I got there, I just knew she wasn't going to be taking in as much. Talking to my friend really helped put all that was happening in perspective - she also encouraged me by saying that no matter what happened, I had tried EVERYTHING and done everything to make this work. There would be no shame in switching to another feeding method.
When we weighed her after 30 minutes, she had taken in only 0.8 oz, but more importantly only gained 4 oz since the week before, which wasn't enough. It was time to go to the pedi appt, and on my way over, I realized the plan was going to change. There needed to be something different. The pedi couldn't point to anything specific, but did stress she needed to gain more weight. On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, which was one of the first times that day I had peace. Peace physically because she was sleeping, but peace emotionally because I knew what we had to do.
When I got home, I fed her a bottle of half pumped breast milk and half formula, then she took a nap. After that nap, she was HAPPY. She didn't fuss during the feeding. She had a good playtime. She was back to normal. When Brent got home I told him I needed a break from EBF and was going to do the bottle thing for the weekend then reassess. The weekend was glorious - she slept well, ate well, and peace was restored after a hellish week. I extended the bottle feeding through the next week and was amazed at how well Avery was doing. Little things I noticed, too - like the blocked tear duct she had since birth was cleared up. She also would put herself to sleep once we laid her in the crib, whereas before we had to shush her to sleep in between cries. It was like I had a NEW baby. I couldn't ignore the fact that the bottles were doing wonders for her AND me.
I kept up pumping several times a day, but eventually it got to be difficult, especially when she wouldn't go down for a nap. It also was becoming much less efficient - I had to pump longer and longer to get the same amount. I eventually weaned myself from pumping and as of last weekend, Avery is now exclusively formula fed. I've never felt better about any parenting decision I've ever made.
During the week of bliss, I came across this blog and series of posts from a mother who EBF her first, but then had the same difficulties I did with her second - wasn't efficient, switched to pumping, but eventually went to formula. I cried the entire time I read her posts. After reading them, I knew formula was the best option. It was the healthiest for ME emotionally and physically, and it was the healthiest for AVERY emotionally and physically. I could've pushed through and gone crazy all for the sake of EBF, but in the end I knew I couldn't go on. It was done.
I particularly liked this quote from one of her posts:
"Some people who nurse want to nurse because they absolutely love having their baby right there any time they want for however long they want. Some people who nurse don't actually like nursing, but they want the benefits of breastmilk for their baby. Some other people only nurse because it costs zero money. Some people who nurse love it for all the reasons and wish they could nurse forever.
Some people who pump just aren't into the idea of breastfeeding. Some people who pump would rather have the option of other people feeding the baby. Yes, they're tied to the pump - but they'd rather be tied to that than the baby. Some people who pump tried every blasted thing possible to get their baby to nurse, but the baby just couldn't get the swing of it.
Some people who use formula had an extremely hard time with their milk supply/nursing/etc., and always worrying about their baby's weight gain wasn't worth it. Some people who use formula just genuinely prefer the convenience of anybody anywhere feeding their baby. Some people who use formula never wanted to breastfeed in the first place.
This list of reasons is not exhaustive and could go on. Bottom line: we're all different and we're all OKAY. "
The next week I went to postnatal yoga class with a friend, where moms do yoga along with interacting with their babies - kind of a fun mom's group. Some babies were asleep and some were playing - and some were hungry. Several moms would at times nurse their little ones, and I thought to myself, "that's great!" It was then that I realized I had NO GUILT and shame about my choice to formula feed. I was happy for those who could nurse, and content with my decision to feed my baby as I felt was best. Simple as that. It was a great moment.
We've been bottle feeding for awhile now, and while it still has it's challenges (like when to switch to a different size nipple, do these bottles work well?, how do I get her to not choke?) it is tons better than the struggle that was EBF. When I think about our future children and whether or not I will try nursing again, I don't know that answer. I know that babies are different, and I also know by the time the next one comes, I may be in a different place where I could try nursing again. All I really know is that this process has made more compassionate, understanding, and tolerant of the struggles moms go through in making decisions for their babies. It's not just limited to feeding - it's everything. The amount of decisions we mothers make in a day is astonishing. It's tiring! And I completely understand the need to be kind to one another in talking about our babies and how we are raising them. I hope in my conversations with other mothers that I can tone down the judgment and pride and tune up the focus on their well-being as a mom. We're all struggling with knowing if we're doing the right thing, anyways, why do we need someone else to point out we might not be? Be nice, and those around you will be too.
So we were going to try EBF for the week, and I was somewhat anxious about whether it would really work, cautiously excited it might actually be the breakthrough we were praying for. That week was SO hard. I was stressed out from family visiting out of town and Brent being at work and me at home by myself trying to entertain and take care of my newborn who I didn't know much about. Avery picked up on the stress and developed some bad gas which made her super fussy. She didn't sleep too well, either. I began cutting things out of my diet to see if it helped, which it didn't. I noticed one morning that I wasn't engorged like I usually was in the morning, but passed it off as my supply just regulating. By the time family left, it was time to go to another weighed feeding.
The Friday that she turned 5 weeks old was the worst day. She wouldn't sleep for more than 45 minutes at a time from 2 am on, and I was beside myself in how to get her to sleep - I tried everything we had done so far - swing, momaroo, shushing, but nothing worked and she was crying bloody murder. I fed her, then put her in the sling so she could at least be calm. She did sleep, and I ended up calling the pediatrician and explaining she just wasn't actually normally. I already was planning on doing a weighed feeding that day, and after making the appt had a realization that I would have a plan or at least answers by the end of the day. I was ready to put the week behind me and take a step forward.
I had a friend meet me at the weighed feeding, and once I got there, I just knew she wasn't going to be taking in as much. Talking to my friend really helped put all that was happening in perspective - she also encouraged me by saying that no matter what happened, I had tried EVERYTHING and done everything to make this work. There would be no shame in switching to another feeding method.
When we weighed her after 30 minutes, she had taken in only 0.8 oz, but more importantly only gained 4 oz since the week before, which wasn't enough. It was time to go to the pedi appt, and on my way over, I realized the plan was going to change. There needed to be something different. The pedi couldn't point to anything specific, but did stress she needed to gain more weight. On the way home, she fell asleep in the car, which was one of the first times that day I had peace. Peace physically because she was sleeping, but peace emotionally because I knew what we had to do.
When I got home, I fed her a bottle of half pumped breast milk and half formula, then she took a nap. After that nap, she was HAPPY. She didn't fuss during the feeding. She had a good playtime. She was back to normal. When Brent got home I told him I needed a break from EBF and was going to do the bottle thing for the weekend then reassess. The weekend was glorious - she slept well, ate well, and peace was restored after a hellish week. I extended the bottle feeding through the next week and was amazed at how well Avery was doing. Little things I noticed, too - like the blocked tear duct she had since birth was cleared up. She also would put herself to sleep once we laid her in the crib, whereas before we had to shush her to sleep in between cries. It was like I had a NEW baby. I couldn't ignore the fact that the bottles were doing wonders for her AND me.
I kept up pumping several times a day, but eventually it got to be difficult, especially when she wouldn't go down for a nap. It also was becoming much less efficient - I had to pump longer and longer to get the same amount. I eventually weaned myself from pumping and as of last weekend, Avery is now exclusively formula fed. I've never felt better about any parenting decision I've ever made.
During the week of bliss, I came across this blog and series of posts from a mother who EBF her first, but then had the same difficulties I did with her second - wasn't efficient, switched to pumping, but eventually went to formula. I cried the entire time I read her posts. After reading them, I knew formula was the best option. It was the healthiest for ME emotionally and physically, and it was the healthiest for AVERY emotionally and physically. I could've pushed through and gone crazy all for the sake of EBF, but in the end I knew I couldn't go on. It was done.
I particularly liked this quote from one of her posts:
"Some people who nurse want to nurse because they absolutely love having their baby right there any time they want for however long they want. Some people who nurse don't actually like nursing, but they want the benefits of breastmilk for their baby. Some other people only nurse because it costs zero money. Some people who nurse love it for all the reasons and wish they could nurse forever.
The next week I went to postnatal yoga class with a friend, where moms do yoga along with interacting with their babies - kind of a fun mom's group. Some babies were asleep and some were playing - and some were hungry. Several moms would at times nurse their little ones, and I thought to myself, "that's great!" It was then that I realized I had NO GUILT and shame about my choice to formula feed. I was happy for those who could nurse, and content with my decision to feed my baby as I felt was best. Simple as that. It was a great moment.
We've been bottle feeding for awhile now, and while it still has it's challenges (like when to switch to a different size nipple, do these bottles work well?, how do I get her to not choke?) it is tons better than the struggle that was EBF. When I think about our future children and whether or not I will try nursing again, I don't know that answer. I know that babies are different, and I also know by the time the next one comes, I may be in a different place where I could try nursing again. All I really know is that this process has made more compassionate, understanding, and tolerant of the struggles moms go through in making decisions for their babies. It's not just limited to feeding - it's everything. The amount of decisions we mothers make in a day is astonishing. It's tiring! And I completely understand the need to be kind to one another in talking about our babies and how we are raising them. I hope in my conversations with other mothers that I can tone down the judgment and pride and tune up the focus on their well-being as a mom. We're all struggling with knowing if we're doing the right thing, anyways, why do we need someone else to point out we might not be? Be nice, and those around you will be too.
Nursing Avery, Part I
The Problem
This is my journey. Whether you don't know much about breastfeeding or have struggled yourself with it or even been successful, please read. I was ignorant of the BIG DEAL it is to feed your baby; and now that I have one, I totally understand the stress of having a newborn has the least to do with sleep deprivation.
Avery Joy was born at 6 lbs 2 oz, a tiny little baby that only took 20 minutes of pushing to welcome into the world. At first, I was pleased she was so small and I didn't have much pain or extended healing afterwards. Now that I can look back, I kind of wish she was a little bigger! You'll see why soon. After she was cleaned off and they let her chill on the center of my chest, she started to bob her head to the left side. The nurse noticed and said, "she might be ready to eat!" Oh yay! I thought. I just pushed a human alien out of my body and now comes the part where she bites back on to my body in the weirdest and most foreign way possible? Let's see what this is all about.
Her little mouth made its way over and she tried a few times to grab onto my flesh. Apparently, I have flat nipples. Could be due to the fact that I was on an IV for 12+ hours, had an epidural and pitocin, but I think there was a little genetics involved, too. That combined with her tiny mouth, it didn't go so well. The nurse brought a nipple shield to see if that would help; not much improvement. I don't think she technically "latched" but we tried for about 10 minutes and then decided she was good and we could always try later.
We stayed in the hospital for about 48 hours after her birth. The first night was a daze - I was so freaked out about this thing that I was supposed to love, but had no idea how to take care of, and Brent slept the whole night! The nurse was helpful and told me to wake her every 2-3 hours to nurse. Each time, I called her in so she could help me with latching. Avery was so sleepy, too, that it took forever to get her awake and keep her awake. Added to that was the frustration that she never really was latching correctly. Again the nurse tried using a nipple shield but Avery didn't seem to like it. The nurse said she would request a lactation consultant to come by in the morning.
The next day I was still bewildered and out of my element. The lactation consultant didn't come by until the evening, and by then I was super frustrated and worried. It all seemed on my end - she couldn't latch because I had flat nipples. The LC was somewhat helpful, but I could tell she had been working all day and wanted to go home, wanted me to be a quick last patient. The second night's nurse was the worst - she was a great nurse per se, but she came in several times to remind me to feed Avery, and very urgently - "she's lost too much weight and you need to feed her!" I was doing the best I knew how! It was really frustrating. The last day we were in the hospital, I started crying. I just wanted to be a good mom! I wanted to do a good job! I understood she needed to gain weight but what else was I supposed to do? Fortunately, a kind and younger LC came in that afternoon - and by the grace of God, I think could tell I had been crying and was frustrated. She was super nice and helpful, and we pumped some colostrum, just enough to feed it to Avery through a syringe. I felt better knowing Avery had at least eaten something, so we opted to go home that evening.
Our first pedi appointment was the next morning, and it was the first time we met the doctor who would be taking care of our daughter. I remember being so nervous - what if she cried while at the appointment? Was I supposed to know immediately what to do? The pedi said she needed to gain more weight, and since my milk hadn't come in, we should supplement after each nursing with 2 oz formula. (First of all, that's a huge amount for a 4 day old! And secondly, we had no formula, so they kindly gave us some samples of ready to drink formula). We got home from the appointment, and it was time to nurse. As I was about to have her latch, I felt something wet on my stomach. I looked down and there was a milky substance coming out of my boob! My milk had come in! That was exciting. That afternoon, after she was done nursing (and asleep by this point), we tried to give her some formula. She spit it up, so we decided not to do the supplementing, mostly because my milk had come in.
That first week was rough. Her nursing sessions sometimes lasted up to an hour! I couldn't believe this was the way it worked. I was so tired. But I pressed on. We visited with a LC at a clinic and she gave some helpful advice, again with a nipple shield. She said Avery was tiny and she would get stronger and better as she grew, but couldn't promise me that would actually happen. My tiny baby just wasn't strong enough, and that was hard to hear. The clinic was located inside a specialty maternity store, and she told us you could come and weigh your baby for free anytime and also do a weighed feeding if you wanted to. We decided to come back a week later to see if she was gaining weight appropriately.
(I feel like I should also interject that I was going crazy and my hormones were all over and I had no idea what I was doing or how we got here or why was it really this hard? That makes the feeding part more stressful when you dread each feeding session!)
The next Tuesday (she was 10 days old), we did a weighed feeding and found out that she only took in 0.7 oz in 30 minutes of nursing. I was devastated. The week before at the LC appt, she had taken in 1.2 in the same amount of time. Luckily the LC was around at the time we were there, and she suggested nursing for 30 minutes and then supplementing with 1 oz formula while I pumped to get my supply up. Brent was still home from work for a few more days, so with all the moving parts we came home with a new plan. Although it was tiring, we got used to it. I wondered how long we had to do it though - was all this mess worth it if someday she would be more efficient? We did another weighed feeding that week and still the same - 0.7 oz in 30 minutes. Brent encouraged me to keep going, and I did but was so exhausted, emotionally and physically.
I talked with a lot of my friends and got all their tips for increasing my supply - power pumping, fenugreek, blessed thistle, pineapple juice, mother's milk tea 3x/day, steel cut oats for breakfast. I threw myself into it and was determined to try everything. On her 4 week birthday, we did another weighed feeding and she took in 1.7 oz in 20 minutes. I was so excited! She was getting more efficient and I was going to be able to feed her! We decided to try exclusively nursing for the next week and then reweigh. Little did we know that week would be the hardest of this journey so far.
This is my journey. Whether you don't know much about breastfeeding or have struggled yourself with it or even been successful, please read. I was ignorant of the BIG DEAL it is to feed your baby; and now that I have one, I totally understand the stress of having a newborn has the least to do with sleep deprivation.
Avery Joy was born at 6 lbs 2 oz, a tiny little baby that only took 20 minutes of pushing to welcome into the world. At first, I was pleased she was so small and I didn't have much pain or extended healing afterwards. Now that I can look back, I kind of wish she was a little bigger! You'll see why soon. After she was cleaned off and they let her chill on the center of my chest, she started to bob her head to the left side. The nurse noticed and said, "she might be ready to eat!" Oh yay! I thought. I just pushed a human alien out of my body and now comes the part where she bites back on to my body in the weirdest and most foreign way possible? Let's see what this is all about.
Her little mouth made its way over and she tried a few times to grab onto my flesh. Apparently, I have flat nipples. Could be due to the fact that I was on an IV for 12+ hours, had an epidural and pitocin, but I think there was a little genetics involved, too. That combined with her tiny mouth, it didn't go so well. The nurse brought a nipple shield to see if that would help; not much improvement. I don't think she technically "latched" but we tried for about 10 minutes and then decided she was good and we could always try later.
We stayed in the hospital for about 48 hours after her birth. The first night was a daze - I was so freaked out about this thing that I was supposed to love, but had no idea how to take care of, and Brent slept the whole night! The nurse was helpful and told me to wake her every 2-3 hours to nurse. Each time, I called her in so she could help me with latching. Avery was so sleepy, too, that it took forever to get her awake and keep her awake. Added to that was the frustration that she never really was latching correctly. Again the nurse tried using a nipple shield but Avery didn't seem to like it. The nurse said she would request a lactation consultant to come by in the morning.
The next day I was still bewildered and out of my element. The lactation consultant didn't come by until the evening, and by then I was super frustrated and worried. It all seemed on my end - she couldn't latch because I had flat nipples. The LC was somewhat helpful, but I could tell she had been working all day and wanted to go home, wanted me to be a quick last patient. The second night's nurse was the worst - she was a great nurse per se, but she came in several times to remind me to feed Avery, and very urgently - "she's lost too much weight and you need to feed her!" I was doing the best I knew how! It was really frustrating. The last day we were in the hospital, I started crying. I just wanted to be a good mom! I wanted to do a good job! I understood she needed to gain weight but what else was I supposed to do? Fortunately, a kind and younger LC came in that afternoon - and by the grace of God, I think could tell I had been crying and was frustrated. She was super nice and helpful, and we pumped some colostrum, just enough to feed it to Avery through a syringe. I felt better knowing Avery had at least eaten something, so we opted to go home that evening.
Our first pedi appointment was the next morning, and it was the first time we met the doctor who would be taking care of our daughter. I remember being so nervous - what if she cried while at the appointment? Was I supposed to know immediately what to do? The pedi said she needed to gain more weight, and since my milk hadn't come in, we should supplement after each nursing with 2 oz formula. (First of all, that's a huge amount for a 4 day old! And secondly, we had no formula, so they kindly gave us some samples of ready to drink formula). We got home from the appointment, and it was time to nurse. As I was about to have her latch, I felt something wet on my stomach. I looked down and there was a milky substance coming out of my boob! My milk had come in! That was exciting. That afternoon, after she was done nursing (and asleep by this point), we tried to give her some formula. She spit it up, so we decided not to do the supplementing, mostly because my milk had come in.
That first week was rough. Her nursing sessions sometimes lasted up to an hour! I couldn't believe this was the way it worked. I was so tired. But I pressed on. We visited with a LC at a clinic and she gave some helpful advice, again with a nipple shield. She said Avery was tiny and she would get stronger and better as she grew, but couldn't promise me that would actually happen. My tiny baby just wasn't strong enough, and that was hard to hear. The clinic was located inside a specialty maternity store, and she told us you could come and weigh your baby for free anytime and also do a weighed feeding if you wanted to. We decided to come back a week later to see if she was gaining weight appropriately.
(I feel like I should also interject that I was going crazy and my hormones were all over and I had no idea what I was doing or how we got here or why was it really this hard? That makes the feeding part more stressful when you dread each feeding session!)
The next Tuesday (she was 10 days old), we did a weighed feeding and found out that she only took in 0.7 oz in 30 minutes of nursing. I was devastated. The week before at the LC appt, she had taken in 1.2 in the same amount of time. Luckily the LC was around at the time we were there, and she suggested nursing for 30 minutes and then supplementing with 1 oz formula while I pumped to get my supply up. Brent was still home from work for a few more days, so with all the moving parts we came home with a new plan. Although it was tiring, we got used to it. I wondered how long we had to do it though - was all this mess worth it if someday she would be more efficient? We did another weighed feeding that week and still the same - 0.7 oz in 30 minutes. Brent encouraged me to keep going, and I did but was so exhausted, emotionally and physically.
I talked with a lot of my friends and got all their tips for increasing my supply - power pumping, fenugreek, blessed thistle, pineapple juice, mother's milk tea 3x/day, steel cut oats for breakfast. I threw myself into it and was determined to try everything. On her 4 week birthday, we did another weighed feeding and she took in 1.7 oz in 20 minutes. I was so excited! She was getting more efficient and I was going to be able to feed her! We decided to try exclusively nursing for the next week and then reweigh. Little did we know that week would be the hardest of this journey so far.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Uncomfortable-ness
If you ever want to jump outside your comfort zone and be completely disillusioned and disoriented some days, then you should have a baby.
If you ever want to keep your schedule, have a routine, and know exactly what to expect, then you shouldn't have a baby.
I was having a rough day yesterday. Sometimes the bad days are because the baby is having a bad day and either fussy, won't sleep, won't eat, or simply just being a baby by changing up everything she does. (Like refusing to go to sleep one day and then falling asleep the moment I lay her down the next day. What?!) Sometimes the bad days are because mom is emotional and struggling with her expectations of what mom/newborn life is like and needing to cry and let go of the ideal that she is holding so dearly.
Yesterday was one of those days.
We have a bedtime routine for Avery, and it includes getting a bottle around 6:00 and then going to sleep right after. Lately she hasn't been to fond of going to sleep then, and it could be for ten thousand reasons I will never know, so we end up either rocking her to sleep or having her sleep in the sling on me, which isn't ideal but hey, she's sleeping. I consider sleeping the first priority, then if you fall asleep on your own the next, then sleeping in your crib. I'll take what I can get. Anyways, yesterday was one of those nights when she didn't want to sleep and I was having trouble with my expectation of a nice evening with my husband vs. getting the cranky baby to sleep. After we finally got her to go down, I was laying on the couch in frustration and said aloud, "I just don't like being uncomfortable!"
What makes me uncomfortable? Not knowing what to expect. Not having a plan or a schedule or a reasonable idea of what will happen. I used to consider myself pretty flexible, but lately, I've realized I really need to work on that. Babies are babies. She's not always going to do these things, and eventually I will forget that sleeping was a problem and will be focused on the next thing, like how on earth to dress my baby for daycare because she's always just hung out with me in semi-naked in a diaper or swaddled. Big things ahead!
I'm slowly learning how to take each day for what it is - a gift. And I'm also learning to look at Avery that way - as a gift. There was a time that our fertility doctor said, "So let's get you in touch with our egg donation team and go from there." We politely declined, and the Lord blessed us with not only a healthy baby, but a healthy mom! It truly is a gift that we have healthy daughter and I'm doing well.
Taking each day for what it is helps me also to see what the Lord is doing in my heart. If I focus on the past or future, I lose what the present is trying to teach me: patience and grace. Sometimes she will behave in a way I can't "fix" or help, and sometimes she will surprise me by exceeding what I thought she could do. Each moment with her is precious, each day is an adventure, and I am learning that she will never be 7 weeks 4 days old again. This is the only time that will happen.
Eventually it will get better, and I hope that I still remember what a precious time it was, and not that is was hard all the time. I want to come out of this with a grateful heart and a balanced perspective on her newborn phase. She'll only be this tiny and unpredictable for so long.
If you ever want to keep your schedule, have a routine, and know exactly what to expect, then you shouldn't have a baby.
I was having a rough day yesterday. Sometimes the bad days are because the baby is having a bad day and either fussy, won't sleep, won't eat, or simply just being a baby by changing up everything she does. (Like refusing to go to sleep one day and then falling asleep the moment I lay her down the next day. What?!) Sometimes the bad days are because mom is emotional and struggling with her expectations of what mom/newborn life is like and needing to cry and let go of the ideal that she is holding so dearly.
Yesterday was one of those days.
We have a bedtime routine for Avery, and it includes getting a bottle around 6:00 and then going to sleep right after. Lately she hasn't been to fond of going to sleep then, and it could be for ten thousand reasons I will never know, so we end up either rocking her to sleep or having her sleep in the sling on me, which isn't ideal but hey, she's sleeping. I consider sleeping the first priority, then if you fall asleep on your own the next, then sleeping in your crib. I'll take what I can get. Anyways, yesterday was one of those nights when she didn't want to sleep and I was having trouble with my expectation of a nice evening with my husband vs. getting the cranky baby to sleep. After we finally got her to go down, I was laying on the couch in frustration and said aloud, "I just don't like being uncomfortable!"
What makes me uncomfortable? Not knowing what to expect. Not having a plan or a schedule or a reasonable idea of what will happen. I used to consider myself pretty flexible, but lately, I've realized I really need to work on that. Babies are babies. She's not always going to do these things, and eventually I will forget that sleeping was a problem and will be focused on the next thing, like how on earth to dress my baby for daycare because she's always just hung out with me in semi-naked in a diaper or swaddled. Big things ahead!
I'm slowly learning how to take each day for what it is - a gift. And I'm also learning to look at Avery that way - as a gift. There was a time that our fertility doctor said, "So let's get you in touch with our egg donation team and go from there." We politely declined, and the Lord blessed us with not only a healthy baby, but a healthy mom! It truly is a gift that we have healthy daughter and I'm doing well.
Taking each day for what it is helps me also to see what the Lord is doing in my heart. If I focus on the past or future, I lose what the present is trying to teach me: patience and grace. Sometimes she will behave in a way I can't "fix" or help, and sometimes she will surprise me by exceeding what I thought she could do. Each moment with her is precious, each day is an adventure, and I am learning that she will never be 7 weeks 4 days old again. This is the only time that will happen.
Eventually it will get better, and I hope that I still remember what a precious time it was, and not that is was hard all the time. I want to come out of this with a grateful heart and a balanced perspective on her newborn phase. She'll only be this tiny and unpredictable for so long.
Monday, August 10, 2015
Mother Knows Best
Six weeks, y'all.
We made it six weeks!
The first week that Avery was home with us, I had another first-time mom friend come by to visit. She answered all my crazy, hormonally-driven and anxious questions, with tears from me. She also said, "I've told other moms this - just make it to six weeks. You can do crazy for six weeks."
Now, at not even one week old, the prospect of making it one more week sounded awful let alone 5 more weeks. But here we are, and we have made it. So what's the deal with six weeks?
I would say the biggest difference is that I'm "used to" having Avery around. I'm used to the routine - feed, play, nap every 3 hours, used to our method of feeding her (more on that later), can kind of understand her temperament and know when she's being unusually fussy - but not always why. We have become accustomed to staying home most nights and really only venturing out with Avery to church, small group, and appointments. We run errands alone on the weekends with the other one staying at home with her. We are not necessarily fully used to it, but it is definitely easier than it was the first week. We have found our lifestyle groove and while there's still things to work out, we get it now.
But as with all things parenting, the only constant is that things will always be changing!
I only have two more weeks of maternity leave left, and Avery will start daycare when she is a mere 2 months old. In some ways, I'm excited to get back to work that I love, have break from taking care of an infant all day (can be boring, can be exhausting), and starting our routine with both parents working and Avery at daycare. But I'm also bummed because I know I'll miss her and she's so young and small, I'll worry about her all the time. It will be hard to know it will take a few weeks to adjust to being in a brightly-lit room all day and trying to nap without a swaddle (eek!).
But I also want more time to get to know her. As of now, she puts herself to sleep within 15-20 min of me laying her in the crib. I love watching her fall asleep because I learn so much about how she soothes herself, her movements, which undoubtedly helps me at 2 am to know if she's awake or just passing from one REM cycle to the next. I also know that once they grow out of the newborn stage at 3 months, they begin to do a WHOLE lot more. I love playing with Avery and watching her interact more and more with the world - and learn new sounds besides crying!
I love researching and reading and I can probably say I've read most of the books on babies. It has helped me some - but what I really will miss is developing my mother's instinct. I know I will still be working on this for some time, but I really wish I could be there for all the moments she does something different and I have to react and make a decision on how to help her best. I want to make those mistakes, cry, and learn from them. My journey to motherhood has been mostly the Lord breaking me of being so by-the-book and learning to be flexible and go with the flow. And while I know I'll still be doing that in the times I have with her, I am missing out on a chunk of her life.
I'm pretty confident I will enjoy being a working mom. But I'm beginning to see why it's hard, why it's a sacrifice, and why America needs better maternity leave policies (ugh, don't get me started!). I just hope the next two weeks go slow enough to enjoy them but fast enough that they don't drag on.
And in another six weeks, I'll be looking forward to the next milestone: babyhood.
We made it six weeks!
The first week that Avery was home with us, I had another first-time mom friend come by to visit. She answered all my crazy, hormonally-driven and anxious questions, with tears from me. She also said, "I've told other moms this - just make it to six weeks. You can do crazy for six weeks."
Now, at not even one week old, the prospect of making it one more week sounded awful let alone 5 more weeks. But here we are, and we have made it. So what's the deal with six weeks?
I would say the biggest difference is that I'm "used to" having Avery around. I'm used to the routine - feed, play, nap every 3 hours, used to our method of feeding her (more on that later), can kind of understand her temperament and know when she's being unusually fussy - but not always why. We have become accustomed to staying home most nights and really only venturing out with Avery to church, small group, and appointments. We run errands alone on the weekends with the other one staying at home with her. We are not necessarily fully used to it, but it is definitely easier than it was the first week. We have found our lifestyle groove and while there's still things to work out, we get it now.
But as with all things parenting, the only constant is that things will always be changing!
I only have two more weeks of maternity leave left, and Avery will start daycare when she is a mere 2 months old. In some ways, I'm excited to get back to work that I love, have break from taking care of an infant all day (can be boring, can be exhausting), and starting our routine with both parents working and Avery at daycare. But I'm also bummed because I know I'll miss her and she's so young and small, I'll worry about her all the time. It will be hard to know it will take a few weeks to adjust to being in a brightly-lit room all day and trying to nap without a swaddle (eek!).
But I also want more time to get to know her. As of now, she puts herself to sleep within 15-20 min of me laying her in the crib. I love watching her fall asleep because I learn so much about how she soothes herself, her movements, which undoubtedly helps me at 2 am to know if she's awake or just passing from one REM cycle to the next. I also know that once they grow out of the newborn stage at 3 months, they begin to do a WHOLE lot more. I love playing with Avery and watching her interact more and more with the world - and learn new sounds besides crying!
I love researching and reading and I can probably say I've read most of the books on babies. It has helped me some - but what I really will miss is developing my mother's instinct. I know I will still be working on this for some time, but I really wish I could be there for all the moments she does something different and I have to react and make a decision on how to help her best. I want to make those mistakes, cry, and learn from them. My journey to motherhood has been mostly the Lord breaking me of being so by-the-book and learning to be flexible and go with the flow. And while I know I'll still be doing that in the times I have with her, I am missing out on a chunk of her life.
I'm pretty confident I will enjoy being a working mom. But I'm beginning to see why it's hard, why it's a sacrifice, and why America needs better maternity leave policies (ugh, don't get me started!). I just hope the next two weeks go slow enough to enjoy them but fast enough that they don't drag on.
And in another six weeks, I'll be looking forward to the next milestone: babyhood.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
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:
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. "
Thursday, July 16, 2015
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!
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!
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
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!
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!
Saturday, June 6, 2015
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.
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. :)
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
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.
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.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
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.
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.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
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.
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.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
The Fog of Transition
Whenever I don't feel like myself, I ask what's wrong. Why am I acting this way? What lies am I believing that keep me from living the way I really want to? Do I just need a nap? Sometimes the fix is quick - I realize right away what isn't settling well in my soul, and I'm able to correct it. But sometimes, the answer eludes me. Sometimes, it takes weeks to unravel and confront.
{Btw, as I'm awkwardly typing this with a bandaid on the tip of my right middle finger, I kindly remind you to check the trash can for discarded razor blades before you reach your hand in to help empty it. It will help your typing tremendously. End PSA.}
Before the beginning of the year, we began looking around for houses. It's been a process mostly because we are learning what we want, need, and ultimately how our lifestyle is going to look. We put an offer in on a house, but to make a long story short, the owners have no clue what they want so we sat waiting for 6 weeks while they figured it out. We are still looking and wondering. We are expecting our first baby GIRL in July, and even thinking about all that entails can get exhausting. Will we be ready with all the stuff we need? Will we be ready to be parents? Will we move in to our new house before baby comes? Am I ready to be sleep deprived? And if that's not enough, Brent is exploring other job opportunities in Austin, which has been an ongoing process since last August.
I admit that I am in a big life transition. We haven't physically moved anywhere yet, and the events that will bring about transition are all in the future, which means I'm "pre-transition," I suppose. But my mind has been totally fixated on the upcoming changes, it's almost as if I'm there. When the beginning of the year started, I began preparing for those changes, because honestly, the job and house could happen at any moment. I began making decorating wish lists and imagining what it would be like for Brent to have a different work schedule - how would that change our relationship? My schedule?
I was so focused on the future I forgot to live in the present. I was so focused on what I was going to be that I forgot who I was today.
Several times since then, I've thought I wasn't being myself. At the end of the day, I would wonder, "what did you actually do today?" Life was a blur. I felt almost like I was depressed - didn't really have passion or care about much, yet unable to really understand why. I knew I had previously received a lot of joy from my job, my friends, and my life. But it just all seemed blah.
My journey out of this fog, as I call it, was not quick. It was gradual. It began at a women's retreat put on by my church. I was assisting in the planning and was in charge of free time, so I didn't look at it like a participant. Being there for a few minutes, however, made me realize God had much more for me than to just help out. After that weekend, I realized that I was in a transition (which, if you're in one and don't know it, identifying that fact is really important!), and that I had forgotten who I was. At that point, however, I couldn't go much further. My emotional capacity was spent just realizing that! Over the course of the next 2 weeks, I would listen to a worship song, a sermon, or catch a phrase a friend would say and I would realize something more. The big change happened when I listened to Paul Manwaring's sermon from Bethel from 12/14/14. He literally called me out of the fog I was in and told me to be myself. He asked such an important question - what is the "I AM" in you? What part of God has He placed in you that only you can fulfill?
Slowly I began writing down my passions. I looked back in my journal and realized PEOPLE. They were my passion. Seeing them change, seeing them freed! And the next night I got to verbalize this out loud to my small group, and somehow I was out of the fog. I began to live out who I was before, and it felt SO good! I began to see the present as all I could live in, and began giving the future up to God. How freeing! I could live for today and not worry about tomorrow!
I'm so thankful for the present. It's so beautiful because once a moment passes, it won't happen again. This encourages me to be intentional about how I live, what I say, and where my focus is. While I'm not perfect, I'm thankful I have a God who centers me and allows me to refocus with grace and no judgment. And guess what? I'm even more excited about the future now that I'm living in the present.
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