Awhile back I blogged about how I see life in snapshots. Sometimes I am playing with the boys and its as if a camera goes off and the image is forever imprinted on my mind. I am thankful for those "snapshot" memories. Thankful that they are mostly all good. But it hit me the other day how judgmental people can be and how so often their judgements and opinions are based upon a moment in time...a snapshot of someone else's life. I guess I have always known this to be true, but it wasn't until I became a parent that it became so personal.
There was the time Landon was 3 years old and I was 7 months pregnant with Noah and my usually well behaved toddler decided to take off running through the children's clothing section of Younkers with his arms out. If you have ever been to Younkers you know that they have clothing from the floor up to adult eye level. So if a toddler were to run with his arms out (like mine did), his hands would hit the clothes at such an angle that they would literally fly up into the air as though the tasmanian devil were whirling under them. Since he ran from the front of the childrens section to the back and I was 7 months pregnant and unable to dodge the clothing racks to catch him quick enough, he literally left a trail of destruction behind him from the front to the back of the store. When I finally caught him at the back of the store I felt an anger I had rarely experienced before. The store clerk was standing smugly behind the desk giving me the dirtiest look. It was as if her eyes said, "You have no control of your child...failure, failure, failure!" And that look and that judgement is what fueled my anger. It wasn't what he did (although it was ridiculously naughty). It was that my insecurity was ripped wide open by the judgement of some woman whom I had never even spoken to. She simply got a snapshot of my life...and made a judgment.
Then there was the time that the UPS man dropped off a package and Everett was in the garage playing. THE GARAGE. When the UPS guy knocked, I didn't come to the door. I was pregnant and...let me just be frank...in the bathroom, unable to come to the door. Well this man decided that it was his civic duty to go discuss with my neighbors how neglectful of a parent I was for letting my child play in the garage unattended. Thankfully, one of those neighbors is one of my best friends and she stood up for me (the other one has wildly different parenting ideas than I do and fully agreed with the UPS man). But this man only saw snapshots. Snippets. He had no idea why I didn't come to the door. Perhaps he assumed I was taking a nap...or eating bon bons. But we all know what we do when we assume...right? (Hint: think about the spelling of the word).
And lastly...and this is the best example...recently, I took the boys to church by myself. Silas was asleep in the carseat, Noah and Landon beside me in the pew. The message was really good and I was very much into it. I have no idea how long I stared at our pastor before looking at the boys. It was a while because every parent knows that if your kids are being good and entertaining themselves, and you look at them...it ruins it every time. And they were being SO quiet...and not fighting...and it was just lovely. Until I looked at Landon. LANDON. My by the book...doesn't break rules or push the envelope kid. My kid who thinks way too much about what people think about him. Yes, I looked at that boy. He had taken a great big Jabba the Hut sticker out of Noah's sticker book and rolled it so that it looked like a joint. Not even a cigarette, but a joint...it was even slightly green (remember, Jabba). AND HE WAS SMOKING IT. In church. I looked at him and he took it out of his mouth (between his fingers like a real smoker) and gave me this awesome look that said, "Want one mom?" My mind raced, my face flushed...I didn't even know what to do. And then I remembered that I had conveniently chosen the seat in front of the 100 year old man who was a patriarch at the church...and he had a perfect view of Landon...of my kid who was pretending to smoke IN CHURCH. Probably one of the most conservative men in the church. Yep...he saw the whole thing, probably before I did. Snapshot.
Next time we are tempted to judge another mother for her parenting, or a kid for their ridiculous behavior, I encourage us to remember that we are seeing a snapshot. And judgements based on snapshots are not usually valid or correct. Contrary to what that store clerk said to me with her eyes...I am not a failure. And while that UPS driver believes I am a neglectful parent, I can assure you that I am not. And while it appears my oldest child has a fetish with smoking...I can pretty much stake my life on the fact that a real cigarette won't ever touch his lips (now Noah is a different story). What I am getting at is that we have to earn the right to speak into other people's lives. My mom can tell me I am doing something wrong in parenting my kids because she watches me and knows me and has earned that right. So have some of my friends. And my sisters. But so help me if that UPS driver were to report me to CPS based on that snapshot. That snippet of my life that he saw. But how many times have I judged? How many times have I written someone off in my mind rather than offered my hand to help? We judge, usually because it makes us feel better about the way we are choosing to do things. But I don't want to be that person. I want to be the person at the grocery store who smiles with knowing eyes at the mom whose child is screaming in the cart. Today at the restaurant my sister and I ate lunch, an older woman came up to our table. I was sure she was going to tell me my toddler was being too loud. He was playing with a toy snake at the table and his boy noises were a bit on the loud side and I kept trying to tell him to play quieter. But that woman...she didn't scold me or him. She told me how beautiful he was and how much she enjoyed watching him. I want to be like that woman. I want to extend grace. I want to leave a snapshot behind that stays with the people I come into contact with...and I want that snapshot to ease their burden and be like a balm to their soul.
Life is like a series of snapshots. What story are our pictures telling?
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Monday, September 16, 2013
Changing Seasons
Isn't it like that with our lives too? I often reference my college years as "the best years of my life." But that was the last season of my life before this ten year parenting era I am currently in. And it represented everything that I don't have now...complete freedom, time and energy to explore and learn and play with my friends all of the time, and a support system next door, and down the hall, and everywhere. My newly married season was so short I don't even remember it (thank you surprise pregnancy). And now I look back at having just one child with a sweet longing. Longing to go back to the simplicity of those days. But I forget how lonely I was back then. Thats the cool thing about the human brain...we tend to remember the good and forget the bad.
I have lived through enough transitional phases that I can feel them coming and going. And I have learned to try to embrace them for whatever they are because I know that whatever the season is...it will change. And most likely, I will long for that time back. One day I will be older and my kids will be on their own...I will browse Target guiltlessly for more than 3.5 minutes and I won't have to drive my shopping cart like a race car. I will go out to eat with my friends and we won't have to meet at Chuck E Cheese. My house will stay clean for more than 1.8 seconds. I won't have to cook every night for 6 people, or cut up fruit every single stinking day. I won't have to start a train of thought only to be interrupted 400 times in 2 seconds and completely forget what I was thinking about, let alone have a real conversation with anyone. My "guest bathroom"(aka the boys bathroom) won't always have a faint smell of urine to it (despite my multiple times a day effort), and sickness and fatigue won't constantly follow me and mine everywhere we go. One day. But on that day, when it comes, I am guessing I will miss, even long for, the days when my kids sat at the kitchen table and threw (I mean played) play doh. The day will come that I will sit on my neatly arranged couch and stare longingly at the floor remembering how each and every day, the couch cushions were strewn on that floor representing some action packed game the boys came up with. I doubt I will ever miss stepping on legos. But I will miss the imaginations that built ships and airplanes.
I am exhausted. I have one more week of maternity leave. I am already teaching my Cedarville class, and between that and life, I literally feel like each day is a marathon. It works until it doesn't. Then I get stressed and irritable and short. Then I feel like a failure. Then I think my kids hate me. Then someone posts a link on vaccines and I second guess and doubt myself and wish I had 2000 more hours to research all of the questions in my head, and I wish I could learn to grow my own food and make my own bread. Then someone else mentions how their 2 year old knows the entire alphabet and can count backwards from 100, and I wonder where I went wrong. Then someone else tells me about their hot yoga classes and the 579 mile marathon they trained for and I wonder how they squeezed that kind of time out of our allotted 24 hours in a day. And just when I am about to go crazy wondering how everyone else does "it," I realize that I do "it" too, and I start to settle back down into my normal...what works for us.
I can see it all changing...the seasons passing. Landon is inching ever so close to his tenth birthday. The conversations I have with that kid blow my mind. And demand so much emotional energy. And Noah is on his heals. I see it. I feel it. He IS a changing season. And Everett needs me to play garbage trucks and get down the play doh and take apart the vacuum for him. And then there is Silas. And I want to bottle him up. Because he is changing before my very eyes. And I get upset sometimes because I can't just sit and soak him up. I try to be purposeful about it and steal as many moments as I can...but the truth is, I want more time. And as much as I want this crazy, exhausting season of my life to ease into something a bit less demanding, I don't. Because one day I will look back with longing and wish for this very season. And it will be gone. Just like college is gone. I will never forget when Landon was 4, he pointed to a picture of himself as a baby and asked me, "Where has that baby gone?" The baby had grown into a preschooler, leaving only a trail of beautiful memories behind.
Every single choice, every day costs something. We choose one thing and let another go. I think that is why so many of us second guess so much. Doubting ourselves and comparing our normal with everyone else's does nothing but add guilt to our already over-filled plates. So the marathon mama...she chooses that at the cost of something else. And the natural mama...she chooses that at the cost of something else. And the mama who has a clean house...it comes at a price. And the mom who is involved in every single area of her kid's life...it too comes at a price. So does working outside of the home...so does being a stay at home mom. At the end of the day, the question we must ask is if we can live with the price of our choices. Many of us criticize people who choose differently because it makes us feel justified in our choices. That is insecurity. Confidence is the courage to do your thing, your way, aware of the price but ok with it. Because the season is fleeting, always fleeting. I had a friend stop and talk to me in a store parking lot this summer for 45 minutes. Her ice cream melted in her car because she chose me. It cost her something. But it earned her something intangible. Little choices, big choices...they make up our lives by flavoring and sometimes determining our seasons. The winds of change are ever blowing. Our normal is the sum of our choices.
When I look back, I want to know that I was there for the big things, and noticed the small ones. That I tried to make happy memories (although many times to be honest the fun things have bittersweet mixed in...arguing children, melt downs, bad attitudes). But at the end of the day, no matter how many times my voice raised too many octaves or my words were poorly chosen, I want my children to know in their hearts that they were loved. And wanted. And cherished. But life is a balance and while I try to make choices that will stamp love on their little hearts, I also know that I cannot be everything to everyone, including my kids. So I cut myself some slack when I just can't do it all or when I fail miserably, and even when I sit in the back bedroom and cry because I never thought having a family would be this difficult. Then I wipe those tears away and go cut up some more fruit or change the 50th blow out diaper of the day...and try again...and again...and again. But at the end of the day, as much as I want to be for my kids, I can't do it all. And I thank God that I can continuously point their little hearts to Him, as the only source of perfect love. I am grateful I can ask for forgiveness and teach them to be humble. Its amazing all that I am learning about my own poor way of dealing with emotions as I am teaching them to properly sort through theirs. The other day I told Landon that if he kept perceiving a certain situation in the way that he was, that it would lead him to feel very sad and he would end up believing a lie. A short while later, he turned that around and said those same things to me...and he was absolutely right.
What am I getting at? The emotions you feel as a mom...the ones we never talk about. Yep...those. Your not alone. I feel them too. But just as summer is fading to fall, this season of our lives too shall pass. Sink into your normal today. As messy as it may be. Its ok to wish some of it away. Lets just be real...we really are not going to miss the pee smells in the bathroom or the legos digging holes into the bottoms of our feet. But get grounded in the beauty that is your season right now, find something and let it be your calm in the midst of the storm. Because they will stop saying those cute words, and they won't always need you, and for heaven's sake...one day they will cut their own fruit. You want to know you were present. Whether your season in life right now is good or bad, its your life, you need to be present. That is what I want to leave you with...be present. That means real...experiencing the highs and lows and all that lies in between. And if that terrifies you for any of a thousand reasons, then know you are not alone. If you can be present on the mountain tops, it will carry you through the valley. And if you are present in the valley, you will find the strength to hope and to travel to the mountain top. If you refuse to be present, you will miss it all. I will miss it all. And that would be a shame.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Fighting For...
The other day I was shopping for the perfect gift for this amazing girl I know that is headed off to college. She is moving into her dorm tomorrow, and this is the culmination of almost two years of her fighting for something different than she grew up in. Yearning for something more. Except she, unlike many people, had the courage to turn that yearning into action. She took all of the difficult steps to shed the dysfunction, the dead, the poison, and to seek and to search after life, love and for what she knew had to exist outside of the life she had known. I met this girl when she was 17. It happened to be at the darkest time of her life. I helped her start the ball rolling, walked with her through the darkness. At the same time, someone else also came into my life. Someone else who was hurting and alone. Someone I felt God had called me to show grace to...tangibly. So for a time, I did life with these young women.
So back to yesterday... I was in search of that perfect gift. And I found it. But in the process...I also stumbled upon this sign. And like most people who come to my town (tourists), I pulled my camera out and snapped a picture. Not because I am a tourist, but because these words are the fabric of who God made me to be. They are the motto by which I chose to live, for as far back as I can remember. These words are what drove me to get involved with these women in the first place. To take chances. To show grace. To offer hope. The one...has had her entire life change before her very eyes. It has been a grueling and difficult process...not easy by any means. But she starts her sophomore year of college at Calvin tomorrow and I could not be more proud of her. If you knew what this girl has overcome, you would feel the same. She made so many difficult decisions, overcame so many obstacles, and has come SO far. The story of redemption is just beginning, but her story is to the point that you can't wait to turn the next page to see what happens.
The other story did not end that way. It did not end well. At all. In fact, (using the words of the sign I saw yesterday), my risks were not "safe", and the care I offered hurt me a thousand times more than any help it gave her, and the dreams were not real, and my expectations for this girl which everyone told me were crazy...really were. What I thought I saw and hoped and offered came back to bite me full circle. Now when I read the words of that sign, all sorts of memories come crashing back like angry waves in a hurricane until I am knocked flat and the last thing I ever want to do, is live those words.
Since then, I have so often wondered what we ARE called to. I have believed my entire life that we are called to love tangibly, to give grace freely, to get our hands dirty, to give more than we think we have. But in small ways over the past two years, and then in a huge way a year ago, this belief became my demise. I am a therapist. I preach boundaries. And I have them. But with these people I literally felt God calling me to go further. To love radically. To get my hands dirty. And I did. And I risked a lot. One story is beautiful. The other a mess. And the mess was so damaging to my heart that it has largely caused me to back pedal away from the beautiful. For fear. That binding awful fear. So many times I have fallen prey to the idea that if we do what is right...what we are called to do...that everything will work out and the story will end beautifully. And when it doesn't, then what? The few people I was able to let in on the details had a miriad of responses. Most were the threads that wove together to help catch me as I fell. But a few said things I had heard other times in my life that are very damaging. Things like, "Well its such a mess, you must have heard wrong or you must have rushed ahead and done your own thing...this can't be God." These messages threw me back to my core beliefs on God. And you know what I found? I found that most often in the Bible, when God asked something of someone, it did NOT end well. In fact, many times the person ended up dead, or suffering in some way. Which in an earthly sense, we look upon and ask what kind of God rewards His people like that? But we fail to see beyond this life. We don't realize that the greatest grace ever extended to us...is heaven. So what we view as so awful (death), is in fact the very entrance gate we must walk through to get to the greatest victory.
But here is the thing. I still feel stupid. And weak. And vulnerable. And while I want to be true to the person God made me to be, I am so much thicker skinned. So much more cynical and jaded. So much less trusting. So much. And terrified of getting involved or getting my hands dirty with anyone else's life. I know the right response to all of this is to go forward, smarter. To be who God created me to be, but with better boundaries and more wisdom. But I haven't yet found the practical landing spot for that. I am at war within myself. I gave so much, and it could have cost me everything. In fact, my last time speaking to this person, I told her that I wished she "had stolen every dime in my bank account, because what she had taken from me was far, far more valuable." I knew that then...even in those early days.
A few months later I was pregnant. And lots happened the months before that, and even more the months after that. And I spent the last year feeling weak and vulnerable and insecure and depressed and utterly alone. And sick, both physically and at heart. At one point I remember laying alone in my room and feeling lost on so many levels. This was a year of deep loss....friendships, relationships, ideals, faith, and lots more that I can't share. And as labor neared, I viewed it as an opportunity to start something new. That if I could just have my physical health, perhaps the rest would start to fall into place. And here is where the natural labor thing fell. I know for many women it makes NO sense. Why would I ever put myself in a position to feel such pain when I could dull it? Why dip my toes into more hell, when I could avoid it? But I FOUGHT this entire pregnancy. I fought on so many levels. And I felt so weak by the end. For so long I had let people make me feel weak and I desperately needed to feel strong again. I wanted to FEEL and to fight back. So many people dull their emotions...its the American way...easy and fast fixes. I don't want to dull.To grow, we must feel. I don't want a bandaid. I want to heal. I am fine with the scars left behind, but I want new flesh to grow. I want something new.
And that something new started August 3, when I labored to bring my youngest son into this world. The labor was a picture to me of how I had been fighting for a long time. A couple of weeks ago, my sister stayed up ridiculously late one night to finish this amazing slide show (link to follow at bottom of post). She sent it to me and I loved every.single.second of it. I cried as I relived it all. But no one really knows all I was fighting for the past ten months, or those three hours in that hospital room. But I see it in these pictures. And it reminds me to keep fighting. I hesitated to share this with the world because it felt too personal. There is nothing inappropriate in the pictures...but the emotions captured are raw. However, it tells a beautiful story. Child birth...new life...is a redemptive story. We go through the worst pain to gain the best gift. And its so easy to get lost in the pain. While my redemptive story is still being written...my hope is that by sharing this slide show, you will see your own redemption story. The things you have fought so hard to let go of. The things you have fought so hard to keep. The memories that haunt you that you fight so hard against. The lost dreams, relationships, failures, and hurts that you fight against every day in the hopes that one day it will make some measure of sense. I hope you see that story. Your story...and that you find hope in the midst of it to lead you out of the darkness and into the Light.
Labor...a Redemptive Story
Courtesy of Brennigan Gilson-Burnett of BgPhotography
http://bgphotographystudios.com/
The other story did not end that way. It did not end well. At all. In fact, (using the words of the sign I saw yesterday), my risks were not "safe", and the care I offered hurt me a thousand times more than any help it gave her, and the dreams were not real, and my expectations for this girl which everyone told me were crazy...really were. What I thought I saw and hoped and offered came back to bite me full circle. Now when I read the words of that sign, all sorts of memories come crashing back like angry waves in a hurricane until I am knocked flat and the last thing I ever want to do, is live those words.
Since then, I have so often wondered what we ARE called to. I have believed my entire life that we are called to love tangibly, to give grace freely, to get our hands dirty, to give more than we think we have. But in small ways over the past two years, and then in a huge way a year ago, this belief became my demise. I am a therapist. I preach boundaries. And I have them. But with these people I literally felt God calling me to go further. To love radically. To get my hands dirty. And I did. And I risked a lot. One story is beautiful. The other a mess. And the mess was so damaging to my heart that it has largely caused me to back pedal away from the beautiful. For fear. That binding awful fear. So many times I have fallen prey to the idea that if we do what is right...what we are called to do...that everything will work out and the story will end beautifully. And when it doesn't, then what? The few people I was able to let in on the details had a miriad of responses. Most were the threads that wove together to help catch me as I fell. But a few said things I had heard other times in my life that are very damaging. Things like, "Well its such a mess, you must have heard wrong or you must have rushed ahead and done your own thing...this can't be God." These messages threw me back to my core beliefs on God. And you know what I found? I found that most often in the Bible, when God asked something of someone, it did NOT end well. In fact, many times the person ended up dead, or suffering in some way. Which in an earthly sense, we look upon and ask what kind of God rewards His people like that? But we fail to see beyond this life. We don't realize that the greatest grace ever extended to us...is heaven. So what we view as so awful (death), is in fact the very entrance gate we must walk through to get to the greatest victory.
But here is the thing. I still feel stupid. And weak. And vulnerable. And while I want to be true to the person God made me to be, I am so much thicker skinned. So much more cynical and jaded. So much less trusting. So much. And terrified of getting involved or getting my hands dirty with anyone else's life. I know the right response to all of this is to go forward, smarter. To be who God created me to be, but with better boundaries and more wisdom. But I haven't yet found the practical landing spot for that. I am at war within myself. I gave so much, and it could have cost me everything. In fact, my last time speaking to this person, I told her that I wished she "had stolen every dime in my bank account, because what she had taken from me was far, far more valuable." I knew that then...even in those early days.
A few months later I was pregnant. And lots happened the months before that, and even more the months after that. And I spent the last year feeling weak and vulnerable and insecure and depressed and utterly alone. And sick, both physically and at heart. At one point I remember laying alone in my room and feeling lost on so many levels. This was a year of deep loss....friendships, relationships, ideals, faith, and lots more that I can't share. And as labor neared, I viewed it as an opportunity to start something new. That if I could just have my physical health, perhaps the rest would start to fall into place. And here is where the natural labor thing fell. I know for many women it makes NO sense. Why would I ever put myself in a position to feel such pain when I could dull it? Why dip my toes into more hell, when I could avoid it? But I FOUGHT this entire pregnancy. I fought on so many levels. And I felt so weak by the end. For so long I had let people make me feel weak and I desperately needed to feel strong again. I wanted to FEEL and to fight back. So many people dull their emotions...its the American way...easy and fast fixes. I don't want to dull.To grow, we must feel. I don't want a bandaid. I want to heal. I am fine with the scars left behind, but I want new flesh to grow. I want something new.
And that something new started August 3, when I labored to bring my youngest son into this world. The labor was a picture to me of how I had been fighting for a long time. A couple of weeks ago, my sister stayed up ridiculously late one night to finish this amazing slide show (link to follow at bottom of post). She sent it to me and I loved every.single.second of it. I cried as I relived it all. But no one really knows all I was fighting for the past ten months, or those three hours in that hospital room. But I see it in these pictures. And it reminds me to keep fighting. I hesitated to share this with the world because it felt too personal. There is nothing inappropriate in the pictures...but the emotions captured are raw. However, it tells a beautiful story. Child birth...new life...is a redemptive story. We go through the worst pain to gain the best gift. And its so easy to get lost in the pain. While my redemptive story is still being written...my hope is that by sharing this slide show, you will see your own redemption story. The things you have fought so hard to let go of. The things you have fought so hard to keep. The memories that haunt you that you fight so hard against. The lost dreams, relationships, failures, and hurts that you fight against every day in the hopes that one day it will make some measure of sense. I hope you see that story. Your story...and that you find hope in the midst of it to lead you out of the darkness and into the Light.
Labor...a Redemptive Story
Courtesy of Brennigan Gilson-Burnett of BgPhotography
http://bgphotographystudios.com/
Monday, August 12, 2013
A Birth Story
Women in my circles love a good birth story. I think we all live vicariously through each other, remembering the times that we first met eyes with our own precious children. So I promised to write it out, and here it is. If your a guy, or aren't interested in this sort of thing, I encourage you to close this link right now and go play Words with Friends or something much less emotional and personal then the words I am about to put to paper (or screen) ;-)
My entire pregnancy was an exercise in releasing control. It always is to a great degree, as I am never weaker than when I am pregnant. And I hate to be weak. I hate to need, to have to ask, to not be able to keep up, but apparently God knows that because He has allowed me to learn the hard way four times now, that in our weakness we can be made strong. But this pregnancy was different. The ten months I carried this baby were different. Person after person, thing after thing, circumstance after circumstance was a continuos releasing. By the time the baby was full term I was holding very loosely to this final birth experience being what I wanted it to be. I wanted to do it naturally again. Not for any truly great, selfless reason other than I wanted to be in control. I felt so out of control of so many areas of my life, that this was one I could hold. And so many people had succeeded at making me feel weak (and I had let them) that this was my chance to prove to myself that I was strong. I know it doesn't make any logical sense...but psychologically and emotionally, it made sense to me. But as delivery neared, a few problems began to arise and it appeared that I was going to have to be medically induced. I hadn't had pitocin with Noah or Ev, but I did with Landon. And I remember it well. Pitocin puts labor on steroids and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it naturally if it did to me what it did with Landon. But again, I had learned to hold things loosely and mostly, I just wanted a healthy baby. So the induction was set for Friday Aug 2. Initially it was supposed to be a morning induction, then it got moved to an evening induction. I changed child care options around a bit and rearranged my expectations (when you are knowingly facing labor, a 12 hour change is no small thing). I spent the morning chasing my kids around and purposely tried to savor nap time. I read Everett his story and rocked him for an extra few moments knowing it was the last day he would be my baby. Then I went to Noah's room and tried to read with him, but the nausea crept up and he kept asking me if I was going to throw up on his bed, so eventually I just kissed him and let him go to sleep. I tried to sleep for an hour, but knowing what lay ahead I was too anxious and excited, so I just laid there. Another crazy control aspect that I know came from my psychological/emotional deficit, was for things to be in order at home. I could control that. I had steam cleaned the carpets and furniture, deep cleaned the bathrooms and our bedrooms. I had swept ceilings and wiped baseboards and cupboards. I knew a baby didn't care about any of that. But I did. It made me feel like I was doing something to prepare, something tangible. So fast forward to Friday Aug 2, when I was trying to take that nap, I remembered the van wasn't clean. So I pulled the steam cleaner out and steam cleaned our vehicle. I was on my hands and knees doing that for a couple hours. Then I ran Noah to a birthday party and my mom and Jon met the rest of us at a restaurant for dinner. The hospital called and told me my induction may be bumped, and that they would let me know by 7:30-8. Enter anxiety. I was so ready to give birth at this point. But the call never came. So I jumped in the shower by 8 and was ready to kiss my kiddos goodbye at quarter to 9.
Then we began that monumental trek to the hospital. I was quickly checked in and in a gown. When they did the initial check I had progressed to a 3, with some other progress, AND I was contracting on my own. I knew that, but the contractions didn't feel much different than I had been feeling all week. Anyway, since my body was doing something on its own, we decided to wait until Sat morning before doing anything medical to bring on labor. At 6am Saturday morning they checked me and I had progressed to a 5-6, all on my own. No need for pitocin, I was in active labor. Thank you, Lord. My doctor broke my water at 6am and by 7, the contractions were very intense and very regular. Jonathan and my sister Brenn were there with me the whole time. I remember at one point they were conversing and I was alternating between sitting on a ball and leaning on the bed, thinking my body may rip in two, when I couldn't take listening to them talk anymore and asked them to please (I am not sure I said please) stop talking. At any rate, the room went silent ;-). By 9, I was convinced I was dying. I was still in good control but was wearing down. I asked the nurse to check me and she said I was an 8, and entering transition. Sure enough, it started. That whole awful transition thing. And the baby was sunny side up, so she had me lay on my side (excruciating) during the contractions in an effort to get the baby to turn. It took 6 or 7 contractions but he flipped and it was most certainly time to push. This is the part I lost control at with Everett, because no one had ever prepared me for the feeling that happens when the baby crowns. Let me tell you now, in case you don't know: it is as though a pressure bomb goes off. It absolutely panicked me with Everett, and I lost a lot of my "control." This time, I knew what to expect but the agony was still ever present. When you are in that much pain all you can think is that if you push hard enough, it will all be over. You can make it end. So push I did. With all of me. And Everything. And it didn't take long. Three hours after breaking my water, I was holding my beautiful boy.
At our 20 week ultrasound I saw big, huge hands and feet, which tipped me off to this baby being a boy. And I had imagined him with hair the entire pregnancy. Most people I told that he would have hair laughed at me bc Everett is still practically bald at 2.5 years. But I knew this boy would have hair. And while I don't remember much that was said while I was pushing him out, I do remember the doctor saying she could see his hair. And I knew I was right. He was exactly as I imagined him. I gave one last push for all I was worth and she lifted my baby boy to my chest. He didn't cry at first, but I knew he was going to be ok. They eventually got him to cry a little on my chest and then took him to the warmer to look him over. The doctor got him riled up and crying and that helped to pink him up. He weighed in at 8 pounds, 7 ounces which was one ounce shy of his older brother (Ev was 8.8, but seemed MUCH bigger than Silas).
So in the end, I had my unmedicated, natural birth experience that I had very much wanted. Perhaps it was the steam cleaning on my hands and knees or maybe the raspberry leaf tea or evening primrose, or the extra 12 hours that I saw as a bad thing, but may have been the best thing. Or perhaps God just decided to give me this one. I am just grateful. Grateful it is over. Grateful to have a healthy baby. Grateful to eat food and have it taste good and not have to wonder what it will taste like after I eat it. Grateful to have my strength back. Grateful to shed the nausea that had become a way of life. Grateful to, at the very least, not feel physically weak any longer. In the days since having Silas, I can't help but stare at his every perfect feature and marvel at the miracle he is. That each baby who becomes a child who becomes an adult, is. The worth and value and intricate details that make each one of us precious miracles. The process of creating a life and sustaining it, and then birthing it into this world and watching as that life becomes independent of the mother testifies to God in undeniable ways. Knowing how my body changed to sustain life for my son, and then watching as my body shed those very things necessary for his life and he and I became independent of one another, and his own little body took over, is like witnessing a miracle.
I am just so grateful. Blessed. Four healthy sons. Silas is exactly who he was meant to be. Now we have the privelege of watching that unfold, that story be told. Welcome to the family, Silas Avery...you are so loved.
My entire pregnancy was an exercise in releasing control. It always is to a great degree, as I am never weaker than when I am pregnant. And I hate to be weak. I hate to need, to have to ask, to not be able to keep up, but apparently God knows that because He has allowed me to learn the hard way four times now, that in our weakness we can be made strong. But this pregnancy was different. The ten months I carried this baby were different. Person after person, thing after thing, circumstance after circumstance was a continuos releasing. By the time the baby was full term I was holding very loosely to this final birth experience being what I wanted it to be. I wanted to do it naturally again. Not for any truly great, selfless reason other than I wanted to be in control. I felt so out of control of so many areas of my life, that this was one I could hold. And so many people had succeeded at making me feel weak (and I had let them) that this was my chance to prove to myself that I was strong. I know it doesn't make any logical sense...but psychologically and emotionally, it made sense to me. But as delivery neared, a few problems began to arise and it appeared that I was going to have to be medically induced. I hadn't had pitocin with Noah or Ev, but I did with Landon. And I remember it well. Pitocin puts labor on steroids and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it naturally if it did to me what it did with Landon. But again, I had learned to hold things loosely and mostly, I just wanted a healthy baby. So the induction was set for Friday Aug 2. Initially it was supposed to be a morning induction, then it got moved to an evening induction. I changed child care options around a bit and rearranged my expectations (when you are knowingly facing labor, a 12 hour change is no small thing). I spent the morning chasing my kids around and purposely tried to savor nap time. I read Everett his story and rocked him for an extra few moments knowing it was the last day he would be my baby. Then I went to Noah's room and tried to read with him, but the nausea crept up and he kept asking me if I was going to throw up on his bed, so eventually I just kissed him and let him go to sleep. I tried to sleep for an hour, but knowing what lay ahead I was too anxious and excited, so I just laid there. Another crazy control aspect that I know came from my psychological/emotional deficit, was for things to be in order at home. I could control that. I had steam cleaned the carpets and furniture, deep cleaned the bathrooms and our bedrooms. I had swept ceilings and wiped baseboards and cupboards. I knew a baby didn't care about any of that. But I did. It made me feel like I was doing something to prepare, something tangible. So fast forward to Friday Aug 2, when I was trying to take that nap, I remembered the van wasn't clean. So I pulled the steam cleaner out and steam cleaned our vehicle. I was on my hands and knees doing that for a couple hours. Then I ran Noah to a birthday party and my mom and Jon met the rest of us at a restaurant for dinner. The hospital called and told me my induction may be bumped, and that they would let me know by 7:30-8. Enter anxiety. I was so ready to give birth at this point. But the call never came. So I jumped in the shower by 8 and was ready to kiss my kiddos goodbye at quarter to 9.
Then we began that monumental trek to the hospital. I was quickly checked in and in a gown. When they did the initial check I had progressed to a 3, with some other progress, AND I was contracting on my own. I knew that, but the contractions didn't feel much different than I had been feeling all week. Anyway, since my body was doing something on its own, we decided to wait until Sat morning before doing anything medical to bring on labor. At 6am Saturday morning they checked me and I had progressed to a 5-6, all on my own. No need for pitocin, I was in active labor. Thank you, Lord. My doctor broke my water at 6am and by 7, the contractions were very intense and very regular. Jonathan and my sister Brenn were there with me the whole time. I remember at one point they were conversing and I was alternating between sitting on a ball and leaning on the bed, thinking my body may rip in two, when I couldn't take listening to them talk anymore and asked them to please (I am not sure I said please) stop talking. At any rate, the room went silent ;-). By 9, I was convinced I was dying. I was still in good control but was wearing down. I asked the nurse to check me and she said I was an 8, and entering transition. Sure enough, it started. That whole awful transition thing. And the baby was sunny side up, so she had me lay on my side (excruciating) during the contractions in an effort to get the baby to turn. It took 6 or 7 contractions but he flipped and it was most certainly time to push. This is the part I lost control at with Everett, because no one had ever prepared me for the feeling that happens when the baby crowns. Let me tell you now, in case you don't know: it is as though a pressure bomb goes off. It absolutely panicked me with Everett, and I lost a lot of my "control." This time, I knew what to expect but the agony was still ever present. When you are in that much pain all you can think is that if you push hard enough, it will all be over. You can make it end. So push I did. With all of me. And Everything. And it didn't take long. Three hours after breaking my water, I was holding my beautiful boy.
At our 20 week ultrasound I saw big, huge hands and feet, which tipped me off to this baby being a boy. And I had imagined him with hair the entire pregnancy. Most people I told that he would have hair laughed at me bc Everett is still practically bald at 2.5 years. But I knew this boy would have hair. And while I don't remember much that was said while I was pushing him out, I do remember the doctor saying she could see his hair. And I knew I was right. He was exactly as I imagined him. I gave one last push for all I was worth and she lifted my baby boy to my chest. He didn't cry at first, but I knew he was going to be ok. They eventually got him to cry a little on my chest and then took him to the warmer to look him over. The doctor got him riled up and crying and that helped to pink him up. He weighed in at 8 pounds, 7 ounces which was one ounce shy of his older brother (Ev was 8.8, but seemed MUCH bigger than Silas).
So in the end, I had my unmedicated, natural birth experience that I had very much wanted. Perhaps it was the steam cleaning on my hands and knees or maybe the raspberry leaf tea or evening primrose, or the extra 12 hours that I saw as a bad thing, but may have been the best thing. Or perhaps God just decided to give me this one. I am just grateful. Grateful it is over. Grateful to have a healthy baby. Grateful to eat food and have it taste good and not have to wonder what it will taste like after I eat it. Grateful to have my strength back. Grateful to shed the nausea that had become a way of life. Grateful to, at the very least, not feel physically weak any longer. In the days since having Silas, I can't help but stare at his every perfect feature and marvel at the miracle he is. That each baby who becomes a child who becomes an adult, is. The worth and value and intricate details that make each one of us precious miracles. The process of creating a life and sustaining it, and then birthing it into this world and watching as that life becomes independent of the mother testifies to God in undeniable ways. Knowing how my body changed to sustain life for my son, and then watching as my body shed those very things necessary for his life and he and I became independent of one another, and his own little body took over, is like witnessing a miracle.
I am just so grateful. Blessed. Four healthy sons. Silas is exactly who he was meant to be. Now we have the privelege of watching that unfold, that story be told. Welcome to the family, Silas Avery...you are so loved.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Waiting with Pregnant Expectation
The past few days have been an exercise in waiting...with pregnant expectancy. Contractions that come and go have me thinking one minute that its time, only to be doubting myself the next. The days and weeks before you meet your baby are absolutely full of an array of emotions. I find myself vacilating between excitement and nervous anticipation (of labor). I lay here and see my belly rolling like waves on a sea, and I know that my baby is living and fully formed, ready to greet this place we call life. There are pictures to be taken, stories to be told, eyes to be met, tears to shed, smiles to glisten. And it could happen anytime. Anticipating a first child is an experience unlike any other. But so is anticipating future children...because you know the magic that is about to happen. You know the pain, you know the depths to which you are about to go to bring this child into the world. You know the smell of the beautiful newborn. You know the feeling the first time you meet his eyes. You know the feel of that tiny body scrunched up on yours, fully dependent on the one who carried him for nine months, only now in a more tangible way. You know. You know that infant so quickly changes into a smiling baby. And that baby into a crawling, walking, running toddler. And that toddler into a boy who like tractors and trains and says the silliest things. You know that boy turns into a middle schooler who still, on occasion flashes you that same look you saw in the delivery room, the first time your eyes met. You know. You know to treasure those moments. You know to let criticism roll of your back, and you know to trust your instincts. You know its ok to spend a little extra on that bottle of Dreft, and that its ok to open and close the drawer containing the baby clothes at least 400 times in the week preceding birth, just to drink in the smell of impending baby. You know the miracle about to happen.
And when it is your last...I have found...you want it to happen so badly. You cannot wait to greet those eyes, and to write those stories, to take those pictures, to live that life, to meet that baby. But part of you, a tiny part is almost afraid for it to happen. Because you know that once it happens, its fleeting. Its so magical that you want it to last forever. I already want to savor each and every moment with this new child. I have given all I had to bring him to this point, and once he is born, every moment is a step of independence on his part. And a process of letting go for me. I know that. I have been through this three times prior. And even the letting go, is a beautiful story, an amazing process of hope and fear, success and failure, a blending together of life and love and grace, the continued process of the creation of a life. We as parents have that amazing responsibility. Its not just the carrying of the baby...it is the raising of the child, the creation of the adult. God gives us a part in it all. Its sobering and scary, but beautiful and redemptive. Just like birth.
It is a crazy feeling to be on the cusp of meeting a person who is going to change your life and family forever. And to know it is coming...any moment. It is as though life is literally pregnant with expectation...every moment of every day. Watching my children anticipate this event is magical too. Their eyes light up. They are each preparing in their own ways, and while I know they each grasp a little of what is about to happen to them, I know the truth. That they are about to gain a friend for life. A sibling who will share their experiences and secrets, who will laugh with them and cry with them. I know the gift they are about to receive. I know the sacrifices it will cost them, but I also know the gift. Because I have siblings. And for all the bad we may have endured (JASON ;-) ), when I look back now I can see the incredible value of the fact that we had each other. That our histories are intertwined in a way that no one else can understand. That Brenn and I can commiserate because of our shared life, and that Kelly and I have a lifetime of memories and Jen taught me all I know about the important things in life from all of our basement bedroom discussions, and that Jason and I had each other when life was tumultous and uncertain. My children are about to gain a sibling. Its an incredible gift.
And so I wait. With pregnant anticipation. Six days or less and the story begins. A new story. And oh how we can use this new beginning with all of its ups and downs. I am pregnant with anticipation at the joy and wonder I know is a breath away. Literally, a first breath away.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
A Search for Redemption
Its July 23, 2013. It was close to this date last summer that the beginning of the end began. The signs that inevitably led me where I had no idea I would end up. The beginning of the end of a plot line that I had no idea I was taking part in. A story with an ending that didn't exist. Will never exist.
When I started this new blog I mentioned that I felt I would forever hate August because of the association it had with what happened. But that this baby was due in August. And that felt redemptive. And it is. And I have hope for that. Because so much has gone wrong since August. What I thought was the end, was really just the beginning of more. I remember running every evening last August and September to the tune of Tenth Avenue North's song, Worn.
I would try to pound out on the pavement what was haunting me throughout my day. Its July 23 of the following year...I am still looking for that redemption. Still waiting for life's circumstances to get better, not worse. Someone asked me today if the hardest things I have been through in my life make sense to me in the now. I am close enough to this person to be honest and I had to say that no, most of them, certainly everything from the the past 365 days have yet to be redeemed. I am so glad that I didn't know then what I know now. I wouldn't have wanted to know that life would make less sense now, a year later, than it did in the thick of it. That August was just the beginning of a whole series of unrelated and yet life altering events. There isn't one area of my life left untouched. I feel like this year was meant to crush me. To change me. To attack the core of who God made me to be. And it has, at times. And I have changed. But I don't know how it will end. The story is still being written.
I told my friend today that I am weak. She told me that I am strong because I am not hiding or dulling the pain. I don't feel strong. Its not just what happened, it is the emotional wreckage that has been left behind. The fact that these things were fashioned with pointed tips, specifically for my heart. The fact that try as I might to sift through it all, I can't find a place to land. I am not fully confident what the ramifications should be for my faith, my life, my calling, my relationships, my heart.
I know most of you who read this don't know what has happened, and very few know all that has transpired. I can't share most of it, for various reasons. Its not about the details anyway. I hate when people "vague post" and it is clear that they are really just hooking us making us wonder on so many levels what in the world happened. I promise I am not trying to do that. I ask that you don't ask me what happened. That you respect the fact that I will share what I can with whom I can, when I am ready.
I guess as I listen to Worn now, a year later, I am also reminded that we are not promised that all will be redeemed (make sense) this side of Heaven, nor that we can tie difficult things up with a neat little bow. I think Christians (humans) are so quick to look for meaning and "the lesson to be learned" that when we can't figure it out, or when we are unable to name the silver lining, we panic a bit. As though our trials are worth nothing. They are never worth nothing. But sometimes, sometimes, you just have to hunker down and cling. As I teach my Stress students, there are times that you don't have to keep swinging to stay in a match...you just have to stay upright. You just have to keep that tiny seed of hope so that you don't give up. And as tempted as I have been, I think I have learned that times like these are NOT the best time to give up on all you have always believed in, lived for, stood for. Those things may have been taken, I may have handed some over, but I am clinging to what is left for dear life. Choosing with my mind, when my heart fails me. Do I know that God will redeem all of this? Yes. But I am not certain it will be this side of Heaven.
Nine months ago I said that God redeemed the month of August by choosing that as the month of birth for our new baby. I think there is some measure of truth to that, but it doesn't take the flashbacks away. The questions still come. The tears still spring up. I am distracted by the waiting...the beautiful expectancy of a new life. That helps tremendously. But to think that this whole year (or really almost 2 if I go back to the start of the unravelling) will make sense is perhaps a bit unrealistic. I think perhaps the redemption comes in the laughter of my two year old, the sense of adventure I see in my almost 10 year olds eyes when he tries something new and exciting, and the endless zest for life that exudes from my 6 year old. The glimpse of a setting sun, the rising of a new one, the timely encouragement from a friend, the promises of Truth that I am choosing to believe in the face of trial.
So I face August with an aire of expectancy. The pregnant expectancy of the new life moving within me. But not with the expectancy that this month will be easy. Or the one to follow. I will take a day at a time. If I have learned anything this year, that is it. If nothing else, as this baby enters the world I will gain back my physical strength and I have a sense that hope will come with that. I will labor this child into the world, as a symbol of the fight I have for life, as it was meant to be. What that looks like, I am unsure. But I will fight. I will stand. I will hope.
When I started this new blog I mentioned that I felt I would forever hate August because of the association it had with what happened. But that this baby was due in August. And that felt redemptive. And it is. And I have hope for that. Because so much has gone wrong since August. What I thought was the end, was really just the beginning of more. I remember running every evening last August and September to the tune of Tenth Avenue North's song, Worn.
I would try to pound out on the pavement what was haunting me throughout my day. Its July 23 of the following year...I am still looking for that redemption. Still waiting for life's circumstances to get better, not worse. Someone asked me today if the hardest things I have been through in my life make sense to me in the now. I am close enough to this person to be honest and I had to say that no, most of them, certainly everything from the the past 365 days have yet to be redeemed. I am so glad that I didn't know then what I know now. I wouldn't have wanted to know that life would make less sense now, a year later, than it did in the thick of it. That August was just the beginning of a whole series of unrelated and yet life altering events. There isn't one area of my life left untouched. I feel like this year was meant to crush me. To change me. To attack the core of who God made me to be. And it has, at times. And I have changed. But I don't know how it will end. The story is still being written.
I told my friend today that I am weak. She told me that I am strong because I am not hiding or dulling the pain. I don't feel strong. Its not just what happened, it is the emotional wreckage that has been left behind. The fact that these things were fashioned with pointed tips, specifically for my heart. The fact that try as I might to sift through it all, I can't find a place to land. I am not fully confident what the ramifications should be for my faith, my life, my calling, my relationships, my heart.
I know most of you who read this don't know what has happened, and very few know all that has transpired. I can't share most of it, for various reasons. Its not about the details anyway. I hate when people "vague post" and it is clear that they are really just hooking us making us wonder on so many levels what in the world happened. I promise I am not trying to do that. I ask that you don't ask me what happened. That you respect the fact that I will share what I can with whom I can, when I am ready.
I guess as I listen to Worn now, a year later, I am also reminded that we are not promised that all will be redeemed (make sense) this side of Heaven, nor that we can tie difficult things up with a neat little bow. I think Christians (humans) are so quick to look for meaning and "the lesson to be learned" that when we can't figure it out, or when we are unable to name the silver lining, we panic a bit. As though our trials are worth nothing. They are never worth nothing. But sometimes, sometimes, you just have to hunker down and cling. As I teach my Stress students, there are times that you don't have to keep swinging to stay in a match...you just have to stay upright. You just have to keep that tiny seed of hope so that you don't give up. And as tempted as I have been, I think I have learned that times like these are NOT the best time to give up on all you have always believed in, lived for, stood for. Those things may have been taken, I may have handed some over, but I am clinging to what is left for dear life. Choosing with my mind, when my heart fails me. Do I know that God will redeem all of this? Yes. But I am not certain it will be this side of Heaven.
Nine months ago I said that God redeemed the month of August by choosing that as the month of birth for our new baby. I think there is some measure of truth to that, but it doesn't take the flashbacks away. The questions still come. The tears still spring up. I am distracted by the waiting...the beautiful expectancy of a new life. That helps tremendously. But to think that this whole year (or really almost 2 if I go back to the start of the unravelling) will make sense is perhaps a bit unrealistic. I think perhaps the redemption comes in the laughter of my two year old, the sense of adventure I see in my almost 10 year olds eyes when he tries something new and exciting, and the endless zest for life that exudes from my 6 year old. The glimpse of a setting sun, the rising of a new one, the timely encouragement from a friend, the promises of Truth that I am choosing to believe in the face of trial.
So I face August with an aire of expectancy. The pregnant expectancy of the new life moving within me. But not with the expectancy that this month will be easy. Or the one to follow. I will take a day at a time. If I have learned anything this year, that is it. If nothing else, as this baby enters the world I will gain back my physical strength and I have a sense that hope will come with that. I will labor this child into the world, as a symbol of the fight I have for life, as it was meant to be. What that looks like, I am unsure. But I will fight. I will stand. I will hope.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Perspective
Last night I had an awful dream. I dreamed that we were at a pool and Everett was a the bottom of the pool, struggling, but unable to get up. I jumped in immediately and swam down to get him. He was crying audibly in the water (not possible) but in my dream, it struck me how odd it was that he could cry under water. Anyway...I got him up and out and he was crying really hard and saying over and over, "Mama, save me?" Questioning me and longing for the right answer. And I kept telling him, "Yes, Mommy saved you. Mommy got you out, its ok!" I woke up and everything in me wanted to go get him out of his crib and just feel the warmth of his body and feel the rhythmic breathing of his little body. I literally ached for him. And then I thought of what it would be like if that happened and I didn't get there fast enough. It happens to millions of parents every year. And if it isn't drowning, its something else. Some tragedy that flies in unexpected...always unexpected...and changes every part of life as you know it.
So today was one of those days where I cherished moments instead of hurrying through them. The terrible mess of corn on the cob and baked beans and turkey burger crumbs strewn all over the kitchen didn't look like an hour long mess to clean up, but instead it looked like my kids ate well and enjoyed themselves. I savored watching Everett shove the corn in his mouth by the fist fulls. Even the poopy underpants...I can't say I savored cleaning them out... but I thanked God for the boy who could soil them. When I found Landon's "potion" concoction under the sink, instead of thinking of all the ways it could spill or cause a mess, I thanked God for the ten year old creative brain that concocted the science experiment. When I went to vacuum Landon and Noah's room and found it full of army men strewn about every flat surface...I felt a sense of contentment that my boys could create this play world in the safety of their own home, flexing the muscles of their creativity. When Noah dumped an entire bucket of leaves on my kitchen counter declaring that they were salmon that he caught "fishing off the deck"I left them there all day...telling him I would "cook them up" and "oh how good they would taste." These little "inconveniences" that we often bemoan as parents because they make our jobs that much more difficult are actually the gathering of beautiful memories. It is all in the perspective.
And oh how I have lost perspective lately. I am just done with pregnancy. Done. All I can see is that I have another day, another night (those are long too due to pregnancy insomnia), another week. I want to feel healthy, have energy, not fight constant nausea, not be a slave to food, be able to bend over, have mental and emotional energy for my existing children. I want my life back.
But that perspective thing. My body, although it hates pregnancy and causes me great problems with nausea and vomitting, has housed and nurtured and birthed (almost) 4 human beings. Four beautiful souls. And I am about to meet this one. I am on the cusp of receiving the fruit of my labor. I have lived every one of these ten months in agony, but it all becomes worth it in an instant. When I see that face. And meet those eyes. And feel the quick little breaths as that new baby sleeps on my chest. I would do it all a thousand times over for the children I have, and this one is no different.
Anyone who has a child knows how difficult it is. The relentless work, the bickering, the monotony, the snot and poop and puke that we clean up and clean up again. But in an instant, truly a fleeting second, my children can make it all worth it. A smile. An eyebrow raise. An extra cuddle. Watching them learn, create, imagine, make right decisions, be kind, care about another soul, love. They exhaust me, regularly. But they fill my life with everything that means the most to me. And I thank God that for this moment, I have three sleeping children in the safety of their beds and one in the safety of my womb, my uncomfortableness a daily reminder that the child is growing and healthy. Perspective. I will lose it again...possibly even tonight. But my quest is to keep it ever before me. To be thankful more and critical less. To enjoy more than complain. To love more than judge. And to seize the moments that make up the days...because this life is ever so short and none of us know anything beyond this very moment.
So today was one of those days where I cherished moments instead of hurrying through them. The terrible mess of corn on the cob and baked beans and turkey burger crumbs strewn all over the kitchen didn't look like an hour long mess to clean up, but instead it looked like my kids ate well and enjoyed themselves. I savored watching Everett shove the corn in his mouth by the fist fulls. Even the poopy underpants...I can't say I savored cleaning them out... but I thanked God for the boy who could soil them. When I found Landon's "potion" concoction under the sink, instead of thinking of all the ways it could spill or cause a mess, I thanked God for the ten year old creative brain that concocted the science experiment. When I went to vacuum Landon and Noah's room and found it full of army men strewn about every flat surface...I felt a sense of contentment that my boys could create this play world in the safety of their own home, flexing the muscles of their creativity. When Noah dumped an entire bucket of leaves on my kitchen counter declaring that they were salmon that he caught "fishing off the deck"I left them there all day...telling him I would "cook them up" and "oh how good they would taste." These little "inconveniences" that we often bemoan as parents because they make our jobs that much more difficult are actually the gathering of beautiful memories. It is all in the perspective.
And oh how I have lost perspective lately. I am just done with pregnancy. Done. All I can see is that I have another day, another night (those are long too due to pregnancy insomnia), another week. I want to feel healthy, have energy, not fight constant nausea, not be a slave to food, be able to bend over, have mental and emotional energy for my existing children. I want my life back.
But that perspective thing. My body, although it hates pregnancy and causes me great problems with nausea and vomitting, has housed and nurtured and birthed (almost) 4 human beings. Four beautiful souls. And I am about to meet this one. I am on the cusp of receiving the fruit of my labor. I have lived every one of these ten months in agony, but it all becomes worth it in an instant. When I see that face. And meet those eyes. And feel the quick little breaths as that new baby sleeps on my chest. I would do it all a thousand times over for the children I have, and this one is no different.
Anyone who has a child knows how difficult it is. The relentless work, the bickering, the monotony, the snot and poop and puke that we clean up and clean up again. But in an instant, truly a fleeting second, my children can make it all worth it. A smile. An eyebrow raise. An extra cuddle. Watching them learn, create, imagine, make right decisions, be kind, care about another soul, love. They exhaust me, regularly. But they fill my life with everything that means the most to me. And I thank God that for this moment, I have three sleeping children in the safety of their beds and one in the safety of my womb, my uncomfortableness a daily reminder that the child is growing and healthy. Perspective. I will lose it again...possibly even tonight. But my quest is to keep it ever before me. To be thankful more and critical less. To enjoy more than complain. To love more than judge. And to seize the moments that make up the days...because this life is ever so short and none of us know anything beyond this very moment.
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