God's Love and that Damn Pacifier

I'm so tired. It was just one night, but I'm so tired.

And that damn pacifier.

I'm sitting here at the coffee table, sipping on honeyed caffeine and looking across at my baby girl in a swing, praying she'll go back to sleep. I'm weeping. Head in my hands and feeling like a failure.

I stayed up with her for two hours last night, so tired and frustrated that she can't put herself back to sleep without her pacifier. Most nights there's no problem and she only wakes up once to eat. But some nights it's every 40 minutes for 3 hours or more, and I want to take a butcher knife to that damn pacifier. I want to hit myself every time she cries for it because I taught her to use it in the first place.

So she cries on and off for 2 hours while I "pick up/put down" and shush-pat til the room spins and I'm utterly exhausted on a chair next to her crib. No more pacifier, I tell myself. She will learn to stay asleep. No backing down this time.

The real kicker? Sometimes she'd be calm enough to pause for a few minutes and look up at me and smile. The nerve!

I hate that damn pacifier.

Finally she falls asleep and I return to our room and curl up in a ball. Again. Because I did this about 30 minutes prior, telling Jamie that "I can't do this any more." But I did.

When she woke at 5 am to eat I thought she'd go back to sleep, but no - she needed that damn pacifier. And this time I give it to her because I'm too tired to think. So much for her learning to stay asleep without it.

She wakes up at 7 am smiling and happy, because she's just that kind of person.

I, on the other hand, am  begrudgingly take her into our room to nurse her, and she takes one side and then promptly starts biting down. I pull her off several times and she smiles at me again, and I get more frustrated.

I turn my back to her, trying to find comfort in a fetal position. It doesn't work. I have a headache. I tell myself I'm over this.

And then I remember, as the Holy Spirit whispers to me: "This is how you are to Jesus sometimes. You bite and cry, and most of the time you don't understand why you're doing it. But it hurts him, just like she hurts you."

And that verse comes up in my head. Isaiah 49:15. "Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you."

Oh, the love of Jesus! The love of our God. How extremely humbling.

And I know Penny doesn't know what she's doing. She's just confused and frustrated and tired, just like her mama. And I love her so much.

But the Lord loves us both, even more than I can fathom. His love never fails. His mercies are new every morning. And His patience never ends. He's the perfect example for this weary child.

Are You Ready?

The question really comes out, “So are you soooo ready?” I hear it multiple times, almost every single day. And I’ve really started to question what people actually mean by that.

If they mean, “Aren’t you over it? Aren’t you in so much pain and discomfort that you just want this pregnancy to be over?” the answer is “No.” Not every pregnancy is the same, and I’ve found that most people who ask with this intent are usually the ones who have had a terribly uncomfortable pregnancy. But mine just hasn’t been that way, and I don’t think that’s something to apologize for. Granted, third trimester has been markedly different from my second trimester. Sleep is definitely more difficult to come by. There are the expected aches and pains from putting on more weight than I’m used to carrying. I could do without the Braxton Hicks contractions. And night sweats. And acid reflux sucks.

But outlook has great impact on attitude, and so does diet. I’ve stayed active, avoided sugars and processed foods (which has NOT been even remotely easy, but which I truly believe has a lot to do with how our bodies deal with pregnancy), sought out plant-based meals, drank a ton of water and have kept a positive outlook. After all, these aches and pains are my body’s reaction to life taking place inside of me. I wake up because my baby moves, which means she’s healthy. The weight gain is all for her benefit. BH contractions are the body’s way of warming up for the big day (and who starts a marathon without training and warming up first?). Acid reflux, while my least favorite, is usually caused by my baby’s movement (or an impending bowel movement – both great things). Still no clue as to how the night sweats help... but there must be a reason, right? Conditioning me for sleepless nights?

And I just don’t view pregnancy as an awful experience that has to be suffered through until that big day when you push a large orange (NOT a watermelon, as I used to believe) through a hole the size of ... a large orange (NOT a grape seed, as I also used to believe – we’re made to stretch, and stretch we do – but I digress). 

(*Disclaimer Time! There are always exceptions to the rule. Someone could have a great diet, stay active and keep a positive attitude and still have a really rough pregnancy that they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemy. If this is/was you, my greatest sympathies and support. You are a warrior.)

But am I ready?

Now if they mean, “Is the house in order? Is the car seat in? Are your bags packed? Do you have a phone tree in place? Have you picked a pediatrician? Did you type up your birth plan? Have you started the EDD paperwork?” The answer is also, “No.”

But to be honest, I just can’t get (let alone KEEP) the house clean enough since we’re constantly under construction and dust permeates every single room regardless of keeping the doors closed. Due to lack of sleep, while the urge to “nest” is extremely strong, I really don’t have the energy to clean anyway. I admire those who do and I am slightly jealous of those who can. But it’s just not my situation, and gosh darn it – that’s okay (but out of curiosity, does anyone have an air purifier or two we could borrow?).

While the car seat is technically in the car, we haven’t strapped it down yet. And to be honest, our main goal was to just get the thing out of our house so we had more living space and so it would stay cleaner than it probably would inside. (Side note – that thing is huge. I’m sure we’ll appreciate it when baby is older and bigger, but sheesh! Talk about a wide load! So much for only taking up the middle seat...)

The bags, I have to say, are packed. Probably over-packed. Gold star for me.

Phone tree? Uh, I didn’t even think of that. Won’t Facebook just tell everyone for me? Even if I don’t want it to? And how does one go about picking a pediatrician? I kind of want to be able to interview them and see who will provide the type of care and respect we want. But where is the time? Birth plan is typed but not printed, and EDD paperwork.... ug. Still on the list.

I chuckle as I write this. Who knew there were so many prerequisites to going into labor? No wonder so many women get induced – they’re just too stressed out with the list of “to-do’s” that they hold off and have to be forced to get the kid out! (Just kidding... sort of. There is actually evidence that a woman’s state of mind – stressing about little things, like having forgotten to empty the dishwasher, etc. – can actually delay and even prolong labor. Good times.)

And what’s the rush when my due date isn’t for another three weeks? Of course, due dates are somewhat arbitrary. It’s dependent on how long the woman ovulates, how fast the baby is growing, etc. So it shouldn’t surprise me that after my most recent appointment (and to confirm my intuition), the doctor thinks this baby most likely won’t be waiting three more weeks to show her pretty little face. My cervix has already thinned by 50%, I’m 1cm dilated, and the baby’s head is pretty far down (which she says is rare for first-timers?). So once Saturday rolls around I’ll be full term and she might come any time after that.

Oh crap.

Certainly brings new meaning (and urgency) to the question, “Are you ready?” She’s almost here. Are you ready to meet her? Are you ready to take care of her? Are you emotionally, physically, spiritually ready?

No. I’m scared. I’m flawed. I’m inexperienced...

But yes. Oh, how my heart cries out, yes! Yes, yes, YES!

I am sooooo ready. :)

Motherhood and Mortality

Not to bring you all into a severe depression, but one of the realities I've recently been faced with is the inevitability of mortality.

I first had a glimpse into death when my grandmother passed away at 102. She was constant in my life up to that point, and now I can't see or hear her any more. And ever since that awful shooting happened at that elementary school and all those children (and adults) lost their lives, I'm suddenly looking at my unborn daughter with a new set of eyes. It's a heavy though healthy awareness, understanding the truth and nearness of physical death. The truth is, while I know I'm in safe hands and trust my doctor and the hospital where I'll deliver, I know that ultimately my life and death, and the life and death of my baby girl, are in the hands of God. Both now and in the future. And He works in mysterious ways.

"Six weeks and counting," I tell people, and I'm not referring to liftoff. It's as if I've reached (and passed) my prime in pregnancy and am now facing the biggest physical challenge of my life, which I am. I've found myself worrying, wondering, "Can I do it (though I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me)?" And, "Can my body do it (though I have been given everything pertaining to life and godliness)?" The cord could be caught (but her heartbeat is normal...), I think she's transverse, meaning, laying sideways when she should be head down (though babies can turn up to the last minute). What if she's too big/small? Etc. etc.

The unknown can be nerve-racking. And continuously asking unanswerable questions can lead a person to madness. I know this.

That is why, with my church's recent dedication to memorizing the basic beliefs of our Christian faith, I've had to make a conscious effort to choose, every day, to trust God for my life and my child's. It's not easy, but it's the best option I have.

"I am not my own but belong, body and soul, both in life and in death, to God and to our Savior Jesus Christ."

That means I live for the Lord. And I want the Lord to use me even in my manner of dying.

Someone once said, "I am change in God's pocket. He can spend me however he wants." And it's true. I'm thankful He knows my name, set me in a family, surrounded me with love as well as hardship in order to show Himself capable and worthy. I'm thankful I can spend eternity with Him because of Jesus' sacrifice.

But I know that He is God and I am not. He never promised me that I would die at 102 like my grandma, peacefully in my sleep. He never promised me that I would always have the wonderful gifts He's given me (my husband, my family, friends, house... child...). He isn't "safe." And for Him to take any of those things from my life makes Him no less worthy or loving. It makes Him God. His ways are not my ways, and how He goes about bringing His ultimate plan to fruition is His business and His right. I laid down my pursuit of self-comfort and self-protection when I chose to follow Him.

James 4:13-15 says, "Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit' - yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.'"

Oh, how sharp the sting of loss can be! Especially the loss of security, which happens when we realize our days on this earth may be fewer than we first assumed. But how comforting to rest on His word - "I will never leave you nor forsake you." "He remains faithful even when I am faithless." He has counted every single little hair on my head...

And He knows my name. A true comfort in times when the unknown surrounds.

So I will do my best to not worry (for what can worrying add to my life?), to face the challenge with faith in the goodness of God and His plan, and to be sincerely cheerful even when surrounded by the unknown. Because God has made Himself known, and He is good. And He will always exist.

To quote a favorite passage in C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe:



"Is - is he a man?" asked Lucy.
"Aslan a man!" said Mr. Beaver sternly. "Certainly not. I tell you he is the King of the wood and the son of the great Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea. Don't you know who is the King of Beasts? Aslan is a lion, the Lion, the great Lion."
"Ooh," said Susan, "I thought he was a man. Is he - quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."
"That you will, dearie, and make no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver; "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."
"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.
"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the king I tell you."

Those who tell me, "Everything will be fine," are just trying to comfort me. But the truth is, no one knows what lies ahead. No one knows how they will die. And if we're following Jesus, we really don't know how we will live - for He is adventurous, mysterious. Unknown. Our best hope is to trust in His goodness and hold tightly to His mane.

My Husband is a Puffer Fish

Huge generalization: Men often only see the big picture and miss details about the present. Women often only see their immediate surroundings and get lost in the details, forgetting the bigger picture in favor of the here and now. With that said...

I just read an article on one of my favorite websites, Inhabitat, about breathtakingly beautiful under-water crop circles. These intricate patterns are, believe it or not, created by tiny puffer fish in order to attract female puffers. The more intricate the design, the more she is likely to lay her eggs in the central part of the design, supposedly created to shield eggs from ocean currents due to the ridges and valleys. She’s kind of the ultimate “nester” and he’s kind of the ultimate nest provider.

Well, I am definitely in the “nesting” stage of pregnancy, and while I know my baby will be just fine sleeping in a drawer, I’m getting more and more excited at the prospect of living upstairs (in a real bedroom) and giving our baby a place of her own (as nice as my socks are). And Jamie, the industrious puffer fish that he is, is busy hammering away creating a beautiful, safe retreat far from the downstairs laundry room, mounds of clothes, our massive desk and boxes piled ceiling to floor.

But I have to confess, it’s kind of hard for me to keep the end result in my mind. I’m an extremely visual person, so picturing our extravagantly tiled shower and marble vanity, hardwood floors throughout the bedrooms, an illuminated closet and a Narnia-themed nursery (most of this design is Jamie’s idea) is a bit of a challenge when there’s dust everywhere, sharp construction tools hiding the stained carpets, and plastic covering any existing accoutrement. I wonder if the female pucker fish gets just as impatient when she’s swimming around searching for the perfect spot for her eggs. All the guy puffers are tirelessly swishing dust this way and that, creating incredibly beautiful geometric mosaics in the sand and KNOWING the final look will be a masterpiece, but how is it noticeable when the only thing the ladies are able to see is cloudy water? Why do we (or should I only speak for myself?) have such a hard time seeing the end result or just being patient when all I want to do is decorate? 

Do the female puffers swim past the dust clouds and settle for a semi-pro crop circle because she’s tired of waiting? Or are the girls smart enough to take a vacation until construction on their dream pad is finished?

Obviously I wouldn’t leave our house for another just because ours is under construction – I would be a fool.

But I'm awfully tempted to take a vacation.

Images by Yoji Ookata

Boobs? Check. Belly? Check. Feet? Feet?? FEEEEET!!

Someone stole my feet. I first realized the items were missing perhaps halfway through my second trimester. I was taking a shower and looked down at my belly, but something was different (other than the fact that the once flat stomach was now the size of a soccer ball). My feet! They were gone! And that’s when I realized that this little squirmy wormy baby girl inside of me was slowly taking over my body. She’s stealing stuff, and I mean important stuff that I’ve relied on for my entire life. And this is just the beginning.

I don’t feel like a “large” pregnant woman, but I do have moments of feeling fat. It’s uncomfortable at times - as she grows, everything inside of me pushes up against my ribs, squeezing my lungs and making it hard to breathe. I waddle now. I climb the 5 steps to our door and I’m winded. I literally "roll" out of bed. I don’t think Jamie is used to my new size because he still seems to think I can squeeze past him in a doorway. I fear I won’t be able to reach the washing machine soon because the space between it and the wall is only about two feet. I guess I’ll have to eventually pick my belly up and slide myself across the top of the dryer, my feet dangling a few inches above the ground as I shift over toward the washing machine.

Either that, or I stop doing laundry… Hmm…

But I still think it’s fair to answer honestly when people ask me how I feel. Most days I feel fine. Sleep is a bit tricky since rolling over in bed has become more of a process. But some days I just feel fat. I do. And I wonder to myself whether Jamie still thinks I’m attractive because my shape has changed so much, because I can’t wear my super cute green dress without looking like a snake that’s just swallowed a meal. Because I can’t kiss him without maneuvering slightly to the side to get my belly out of the way. This might be too much information, but sex is something of a new adventure, too. It can be complicated - sometimes really complicated. And it can be frustrating, for both of us.

But we’ve learned to communicate about these new challenges. And don’t get me wrong - I don’t really think he doesn’t find me attractive, but honestly the thoughts still happen. The truth of my identity in Christ and my trust in Jamie wins out, but the thoughts still happen. And no matter how many times someone tells me I don’t look fat, I still feel that way sometimes. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with feeling that way and admitting to it. I know folks just want to encourage me, but I don’t really feel discouraged. Just fat. And just sometimes. Not most times, but sometimes.

Anyway, knowing my feet are still below me is a comfort, for sure (I did check), but since the discovery I’ve felt a striking sense that this child has already staked her claim in my life. In many areas, too - not just weight or body shape. I’m starting to grasp the fact that I have given over my entire life (willingly and purposefully) to better hers. And if she needs to take away my line of sight to my feet, well - that’s just one small sacrifice I’m willing to pay to make sure she gets what she needs to grow strong and healthy and know the Lord. Jesus gave us so much more than that when He sacrificed His life for our futures. Not only did He give us His feet, but he gave his hands, his side, his head… He gave his very blood, his very breath, to make sure we had the chance to see the Father.

And I know, while sometimes it’s a struggle, I am willing to give the same for my daughter. Feeling fat on occasion, or winded, or tired, or unattractive truly pales in comparison to knowing that God is making her into who she needs to be for this life.

A Plea for Positivity

How many parents have heard these words right after telling someone you were going to have a baby?

     

“Congratulations! Get ready to never sleep.”

“Congratulations! Live it up now while you can.”

“Congratulations! So how well do you handle exhaustion?”

What cracks me up the most is how all those negative comments are often followed with the standard, “But it’s worth it.” As if ending the conversation with those four little words makes the previous stressful images of a sleep-deprived non-life just fly out the window.

My request, my plea to anyone who has experience as a parent is to start conversations with those encouraging words. It would certainly give parents like me, soon-to-be first time moms (or dads) who have no clue what they’re up for, a little more confidence and trust that we’re in an okay place, that it is all going to be worth it and that those words aren’t just throw-aways that are placed into the conversation because “it’s something I should say, now that she’s peed her pants out of fear.”

When speaking to a first-time mom or dad, if you have experience in this area, be honest. But don’t freak us out first, thinking that your sincere “It’s all worth it” comment will be heard and remembered over and above the previous “You’re in for it now” forebodings.

Don’t sugar coat. But please, I beg you, tell us about the beauty of parenthood first, how we’re capable, how our bodies can handle it, how God is always there to help, how you love us and are there to help us, too, before weighing us down with the other side of reality – that it IS going to be hard, that we’ll want to cry (or even quit), that we’ll lose our tempers, that sleep as we know it will change. You’re not the first to tell us – we’ve been told that since day one. What we need to hear, and what isn’t really emphasized (in my opinion), are the positive aspects of the daily sacrifice. You parents have such a great opportunity to build us up and encourage us newbies, and that encouragement will directly affect our outlook on parenthood and, consequently, our children’s lives. What a gift you have!

It’s so easy to knock someone off a chair, and it’s much harder to pull someone up after weighing them down with the struggles they’ll face. So why not pull up a light, willing heart that is still eager for the experience? We’ll be so much more confident knowing we will not only survive, but THRIVE.

Then ease us into the hardships we’ll face. If you’ve already assured us that parenthood is worth it, we will be better equipped to face the challenges that teach us what sacrifice really means.

This newbie thanks you in advance, from the bottom of my heart. :)

Your Body is Now Public Property

I always believed it, but now I know it to be true. For some reason, when you're growing a human being in your tummy, it suddenly ends all concept of personal space and you WILL be touched. Not just by your close friends and family, but by strangers. Strangers! Two people could be completely indifferent to each other, but as soon as someone hears those two little words (I'm pregnant), the whole facade falls like a fortress wall crumbling to pieces.

"Oooo! You're pregnant!" Out shoots the hand straight for the belly (which, in my case, is still pretty small. Not that it matters to the stranger touching me.). "When are you due?"

I really can't complain that much, though, because I see the sincerity and wonder in their eyes, the confusion over the mystery and the excitement at the prospect of life. Being pregnant really is a wonderful and bizarre concept, and you don't need to be pregnant (obviously, for the male sex) to get that "weird wonderfulness" on some level.

The miracle of pregnancy truly is a miracle, and I shouldn't be surprised that others think so. But why are so many people drawn to pregnant women? Why does it open so many doors and cause so many walls to crumble? We can read about, research and study the chemistry and science behind it, but that never seems to fully explain just how it is that one can grow another.

Jeremiah 1:5 says, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you."

And Psalms 139:13-16 says, "For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me when as yet there were none of them."

Somehow even those who don't believe that they were formed by a creative and loving God, that they were formed by the One who formed the universe, that they were FEARFULLY and WONDERFULLY made are drawn to the miracle of pregnancy. It's as if, when we reach out to touch a pregnant belly, we're somehow drawing closer to the miracle through osmosis, losing ourselves in the mystery and the magnificence of new life. 

And to think, each one of us was once that miracle, too.

What an amazing thing.