Annnnnnd.... you're welcome! Try getting that song out of your head for the rest of today!
So, when I said I wanted to start with Asher's story, I didn't just mean in a general sense. (And, good grief, I didn't mean months later either. Holy frijole this whole renewed-commitment-to-blogging-thing is going to be rough.) Every kid sooner or later wants to know the story of his or her birth day, and I'm guessing this particular little boy will be no different. And of course, I want to remember it too - every itty bitty detail, even the unpleasant ones (of which there were more than a few, this being a story about labor and childbirth after all).
For point of reference, Eden's birth four years ago went something like this: contractions started around 2 or 3 in the morning and became fairly frequent and painful very quickly (although not at all regular). We went to the hospital around 5:30 or 6 am, had an epidural within the first couple of hours, and birthed a baby at about 5:30 in the evening. So, approximately 15 hours of labor all together, the majority of which I didn't feel as my epidural (which, unfortunately, took 4 needle sticks in the spine to place) basically knocked out all physical sensation from my ribs down. (This meant that I not only didn't feel the contractions at all, I also couldn't tell if/when I was even pushing when the time for that came - which is a weird predicament, to say the least. I also needed help rolling over, etc., and in the event of an emergency, I can guarantee you I would have been completely unable to take a single step away from that bed.)
Our only bit of excitement (you know, apart from the whole having a new baby thing) was that Eden's heart rate dropped a few times during labor. At one point that almost sent us into surgery for an emergency c-section, but it always self-corrected. When she was born, we discovered her umbilical cord was tied in a true knot (somewhat unusual), so that may have been the cause of the heart rate fluctuations. Fortunately, it didn't cause any serious complications.
Asher wanted a bit more dramatic entrance apparently.
I woke up around 2 am on the morning of Tuesday, July 3rd, feeling very uncomfortable. No matter what position I tried, I just couldn't fall back asleep. Now this is not uncommon at all for women in their third trimester, and I was at the very end of my pregnancy (just three days from my due date on July 6th), so I didn't think much of it - especially since Eden had come downstairs an hour or so earlier asking to sleep in our bed and greatly increasing the difficulty of finding a comfortable sleeping position. I decided to just get up and distract myself with facebook and random Internet browsing for awhile, but it wasn't long before I started suspecting that I might be having contractions. Not that contractions would have been too unusual at this point either - I'd been having regular and prolonged episodes of Braxton Hicks contractions since the mid-point of my pregnancy - these however felt sharper, and more painful even though they seemed confined to a smaller area of my abdomen.
By 3 am or a little after I was pretty sure I was in labor, so I started getting things ready - packing last minute items, etc. The contractions hurt, but were definitely manageable, and just like with Eden, not at all regular. By 5:15 am they were definitely making me pause and focus on my breathing to get through them - and I suspected they were maybe averaging about 5 minutes apart at this point. (Our OB had told us to come to the hospital when our contractions had been 5 minutes apart for 2 hours.) I woke Peter up, told him what was happening and asked him to call my sister-in-law who had agreed to come get Eden. Then I took a shower, and by the time I was out of my shower and dressed, my sister-in-law was there. At this point my contractions were also about as painful as they had been when I received my epidural in my labor with Eden. I could walk/sway and breathe my way through them, but I was not looking forward to the next several hours of labor at all. I figured we would wait a little while longer (my OB said two hours after all), but Peter wanted to go ahead and call the hospital and get on our way. Since we lived 30 to 40 minutes away, this seemed like a pretty fine idea to me. The hospital asked how far apart my contractions were at this point, and I estimated 4 minutes apart, but I didn't personally think too much about it. As I mentioned before, with Eden my contractions were very close together from the very beginning, and it was still a 15 hour labor, so I was expecting something roughly the same this time.
We left for the hospital around 6:30 am, right after we got Eden settled (very sleepily) in my sister-in-law's van and on her way to St. Louis. I had been dreading the car ride (the sitting position not being at all my favorite position for laboring), and it was definitely no fun. We made it in about 30 minutes, but the last 10 were fairly harrowing for me. I had started to feel as if I couldn't bear the contractions if they got much more painful and basically began mentally counting down the minutes to my epidural: 10 more minutes to the hospital... 30 minutes to get checked in and settled... maybe another 30 minutes until the anesthesiologist could come to my room... I was hoping I wouldn't have to wait much longer than 90 minutes to be pain free - but even that seemed like an eternity.
We arrived at the hospital, and I walked to my room, stopping just once to breathe through a contraction. Peter helped me into my gown and a nurse stopped by to ask a few questions. I'm not sure what it was about getting to that room, but within just a few minutes of being there (basically once I was in my gown and on the bed) I reached my limit pain-wise. The contractions became more than I felt like I could bear, and without meaning or wanting to I started groaning each time they hit. It honestly seemed like my body just kind of took over, and while the groaning was a little bit embarrassing to me (an introvert who does not like to call attention to herself), it also seemed entirely reflexive and outside of my control - like that sharp inhalation you immediately have to take when you jump into cold water. It really did help me manage the pain just a little bit more, so
I think it must be part of how are bodies are wired to instinctively deal with the demands of labor.
After that, everything happened really fast, and - in no small part due to the fact that I was feeling overwhelmed at this point - it is all pretty much a blur to me now. I know a nurse got me settled on the bed, took my blood pressure, and started an IV. She left and quickly came back with more nurses. They all started asking me questions and seemed to be in constant motion although I have no idea what they were actually doing. I know they wanted me to get at least one bag of IV fluids - preferably two - before I was given an epidural, and I know they were trying to get in contact with the anesthesiologist. I was still comforting myself with the thought that I just needed to try to hang on a little longer for the epidural. Of course at this point, I was definitely wishing we had started the whole process sooner.
A nurse checked me and said I was at a 7. Not fully aware of how fast my body was progressing through labor, I felt surprised but also a bit relieved by this news. It probably wasn't going to be 15 hours of labor this time then...
The nurses were looking for my OB at this point as well, which I naively wasn't paying too much attention to, because I knew the OB really only shows up for the birth, so I thought we weren't going to "need" him for awhile. My attention was almost completely focused on getting through my contractions, which were extremely intense and all-consuming.
A nurse checked me again and said I was at a 9.
What the what?!?! It had only been 10 or 15 minutes!
I was still trying to process that information when out of the corner of my eye I saw another nurse (there suddenly seemed to be nurses everywhere) come up to Peter and whisper something that sounded very much like, "I don't think there's going to be time for an epidural."
Peter looked as if he had just been informed that someone had died.
And ironically, overhearing that whispered news was simultaneously terrifying and comforting to me. Terrifying for obvious reasons. I'm about to have a baby. Without so much as a Tylenol for pain relief. Comforting because it was all now really and truly out of my hands. It didn't really matter if I felt prepared or not. My body had clearly completely taken over and was going to have this baby - RIGHT NOW - whether my mind was on board with the situation or not. So, here we go!
I remember the nurses telling me to try not to push. I remember trying not to push and once again feeling as if I had no say in the matter. So, I remember replying (between sobs), "I'm so sorry, I'm trying not to push, but I can't help it." And I couldn't. It felt like my whole body was repeatedly seizing up in a charley horse that I couldn't control.
Then - wonderfully! - my OB arrived. I picked my OB almost entirely for his bedside manner and that really paid off in the delivery room. He told me how and when to breathe and how to push with the contractions. Perhaps part of the reason labor is so painful is that you become incredibly motivated to get that baby out. Even though the delivery itself hurt very much (and I most definitely felt it all) I was so glad to finally be able to DO. SOMETHING. to move myself toward the point of bringing an end to the contractions. On the third contraction I pushed with all my might twice and pretty much expended every last ounce of energy I had left. I remember sobbing that I just couldn't take anymore, and hearing a nurse reply, "You don't have to! Open your eyes!" And I opened my eyes and looked down, and she was holding my newly delivered baby boy.
That really is one of life's most magical moments. I held him and snuggled him and the doctor and nurses continued to talk and move around, but I didn't hear or see anything else but my sweet baby. He was (and is!) glorious, and there's just no other way to describe it.
Eventually they took him away to be weighed and measured. Peter went over to the scale with the nurse and they stared laughing and called out 9 pounds, 11 ounces.
Huh. Wow. That's a lot.
*5 seconds*
Wait, what?!? HOW much did he way?!?!
Our OB, who had specifically told us that we "were not going to have a 9 pound baby" sheepishly admitted he hadn't called this one quite right.
And that's it. The story of Asher's birth. The story of the first day of our new family.
Our newborn isn't really a newborn anymore. At three and a half months he's smiling and cooing and squealing and grabbing and pulling and clearly recognizing each of us. His eyes follow us around the room like we are the greatest and most mesmerizing things he has ever seen. And we all watch his every move and expression like he is the greatest and most mesmerizing thing we've ever seen.
It's love. All of it. God-delivered, prayed-for, hoped-for, long-awaited, long-endured, pain-made-perfect, love.
And I am so, so thankful for it. So thankful for him. So thankful for us.
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenthood. Show all posts
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Because All This World Is Just A Stage
In the folder of information that the hospital gave us to take home are several different pamphlets and booklets that describe the grieving process. The traditional "five stages of grief" are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. One provided pamphlet notes, "People often think of grieving as going through stages that progress in a linear fashion. However... know that it is very unlikely that you will experience these feelings on a certain timetable or as 'stages.'"
If only it were that easy.
On Friday we found out our baby had died. Cliche it may be, but I couldn't shake the feeling of a bad dream that just wouldn't end. Surely soon I would wake up? I asked the doctor if he was sure, made him show me proof. Later, in the hospital's labor and delivery ward, I asked again. The world felt off-kilter, reality seemed indistinct.
Early Saturday my baby was born. I cried during the delivery, and then, empty and tired, I slept.
On Sunday I put on a brave face and at times actually felt brave. Sunday was a day of many people, many hugs, much love and support. I spent most of the morning trying to hide the shaking of my hands, the trembling of my chin. And I cried on that day too, sometimes with great uncontrollable sobs, sometimes silently. At some point I wondered, if I can just manage to stay calm will others recognize grief?
Monday was the worst. Monday found me doubled-over in the shower, gasping from a sadness that felt like a sword through my chest. It is startling, how physically painful sadness can be. That, in and of itself, is a shock.
Tuesday was a good day. I don't remember Tuesday.
On Wednesday the depression arrived. Just sadness in another form really, like a heavy wool blanket thrown over my shoulders, weighing me down, draining my energy. On Wednesday I accidentally drove by the grocery store I had been heading to, realized it several blocks later, kept driving. At Target I forced myself to read and reread my shopping list to try to fend off a peculiar propensity to wander aimlessly through the aisles, looking at everything and nothing. I discovered that smiling at strangers, even polite or kind ones, required more than I had to give. So I kept moving and prayed that I wouldn't see anyone I knew.
On Thursday the depression blanket was heavier and seemingly woven with sharp metal wire - anger making its first real appearance since the short burst of fury I had felt in the ultrasound room right after the doctor had left us alone with The News. I recognized the anger, an old tormentor in many ways, and kept questioning myself, who am I angry at? God? The doctor or hospital? Anyone and everyone? I never could successfully identify a rational target. But I realized that I felt cheated, robbed, and, unable to pinpoint The Robber, I directed my anger at the universe in general. I felt the first temptation to bitterness, the feeling that I had been wronged and had earned the right to take out my pain on others. After what had been taken from me, who could dare to hold me accountable?
Yesterday, another Friday, I got up (again! again and again and again) and went to a different hospital to be with my brother. I wore myself out with thinking other thoughts and grieving other griefs.
And now it has been a full week. A full week of being without child. A full week of emptiness. Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you doing?" At times, I have dreaded that question. I recognize that I have asked that same question to others many times before. I know there is really no other question to ask, and I know that it is motivated by love and concern. But I feel so at loss as how to answer. What does "good" or "bad" mean in this situation? It has been a full week of emptiness, and I have denied and raged and sunk low in depression, and I have even in some small ways (is there any small way?) accepted. Which parts are the good and which are the bad? Toward the questioner I sometimes find myself thinking, well, I'm here aren't I? I'm dressed, I'm standing, I'm looking you in the eye. I'm not somewhere curled up in the fetal position, lost in some mental oblivion. That's good right? That might not be the normal measuring stick for good, but what measuring stick do I qualify for right now?
How do I answer that question? Does the other person (often just a casual acquaintance) really want to know? Do I really want to tell them? Can I even figure it out for myself? Can I put it into words?
On Monday I forced myself to put on non-maternity pants even though they didn't fit. I couldn't bear to put on a lie. On Friday, almost without realizing it, I pulled on another pair and snapped them without trouble. I can't stop looking in mirrors, hypnotized. The belly is already almost entirely gone. And yet, sometimes I still think I feel the baby move.
On one day this past week, I can't remember which, Peter and I had a good talk. And I confessed. I would rather relive the delivery over and over and over than wake up to a new day each and every morning that does not contain some last connection to my son. I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to be separated from him. I would rather live in pain and hold him than heal and be alone.
And that, all of that, is the grieving process. And it is not linear.
If only it were that easy.
On Friday we found out our baby had died. Cliche it may be, but I couldn't shake the feeling of a bad dream that just wouldn't end. Surely soon I would wake up? I asked the doctor if he was sure, made him show me proof. Later, in the hospital's labor and delivery ward, I asked again. The world felt off-kilter, reality seemed indistinct.
Early Saturday my baby was born. I cried during the delivery, and then, empty and tired, I slept.
On Sunday I put on a brave face and at times actually felt brave. Sunday was a day of many people, many hugs, much love and support. I spent most of the morning trying to hide the shaking of my hands, the trembling of my chin. And I cried on that day too, sometimes with great uncontrollable sobs, sometimes silently. At some point I wondered, if I can just manage to stay calm will others recognize grief?
Monday was the worst. Monday found me doubled-over in the shower, gasping from a sadness that felt like a sword through my chest. It is startling, how physically painful sadness can be. That, in and of itself, is a shock.
Tuesday was a good day. I don't remember Tuesday.
On Wednesday the depression arrived. Just sadness in another form really, like a heavy wool blanket thrown over my shoulders, weighing me down, draining my energy. On Wednesday I accidentally drove by the grocery store I had been heading to, realized it several blocks later, kept driving. At Target I forced myself to read and reread my shopping list to try to fend off a peculiar propensity to wander aimlessly through the aisles, looking at everything and nothing. I discovered that smiling at strangers, even polite or kind ones, required more than I had to give. So I kept moving and prayed that I wouldn't see anyone I knew.
On Thursday the depression blanket was heavier and seemingly woven with sharp metal wire - anger making its first real appearance since the short burst of fury I had felt in the ultrasound room right after the doctor had left us alone with The News. I recognized the anger, an old tormentor in many ways, and kept questioning myself, who am I angry at? God? The doctor or hospital? Anyone and everyone? I never could successfully identify a rational target. But I realized that I felt cheated, robbed, and, unable to pinpoint The Robber, I directed my anger at the universe in general. I felt the first temptation to bitterness, the feeling that I had been wronged and had earned the right to take out my pain on others. After what had been taken from me, who could dare to hold me accountable?
Yesterday, another Friday, I got up (again! again and again and again) and went to a different hospital to be with my brother. I wore myself out with thinking other thoughts and grieving other griefs.
And now it has been a full week. A full week of being without child. A full week of emptiness. Everyone keeps asking me, "How are you doing?" At times, I have dreaded that question. I recognize that I have asked that same question to others many times before. I know there is really no other question to ask, and I know that it is motivated by love and concern. But I feel so at loss as how to answer. What does "good" or "bad" mean in this situation? It has been a full week of emptiness, and I have denied and raged and sunk low in depression, and I have even in some small ways (is there any small way?) accepted. Which parts are the good and which are the bad? Toward the questioner I sometimes find myself thinking, well, I'm here aren't I? I'm dressed, I'm standing, I'm looking you in the eye. I'm not somewhere curled up in the fetal position, lost in some mental oblivion. That's good right? That might not be the normal measuring stick for good, but what measuring stick do I qualify for right now?
How do I answer that question? Does the other person (often just a casual acquaintance) really want to know? Do I really want to tell them? Can I even figure it out for myself? Can I put it into words?
On Monday I forced myself to put on non-maternity pants even though they didn't fit. I couldn't bear to put on a lie. On Friday, almost without realizing it, I pulled on another pair and snapped them without trouble. I can't stop looking in mirrors, hypnotized. The belly is already almost entirely gone. And yet, sometimes I still think I feel the baby move.
On one day this past week, I can't remember which, Peter and I had a good talk. And I confessed. I would rather relive the delivery over and over and over than wake up to a new day each and every morning that does not contain some last connection to my son. I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to be separated from him. I would rather live in pain and hold him than heal and be alone.
And that, all of that, is the grieving process. And it is not linear.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Take Two
Well, this is not the photo post that I intended to put here.
Some very big life news had not made it on this blog yet. We found out right before Thanksgiving that we were going to have another baby! We held off announcing anything until we could tell my family in person at Christmas, and then we waited a little longer until we had passed the 12 week mark and were solidly into the second trimester. A few weeks ago we had the joy of announcing our good news at church and to our farther-flung friends over facebook. Since pretty much everyone who reads this blog is a friend of mine on facebook (as far as I know) it actually didn't immediately occur to me to post the news here - and when it did, I thought maybe I would just wait a few more weeks until we had the Big Ultrasound where you find out gender and then roll all the news into one big happy post.
Unfortunately, this past Friday at my routine appointment we found out that our baby's heart had stopped beating. I thought we had passed all the worry-points: the first trimester when the vast majority of miscarriages happen and the 14/15 week mark when our first miscarriage occurred. I had even thought I'd started feeling movement in the previous week and was in fact, sure that I'd felt the baby move just a day or two before. Friday morning I saw a few faint drops of blood after using the restroom first thing in the morning. (So sorry for what is almost certainly too much information.) It caused me some anxiety as my first miscarriage began the same way and as I've had no other bleeding of any kind in this or any other pregnancy. However, some spotting is supposedly not uncommon throughout pregnancy, and as all other trips to the restroom that morning resulted in no additional spotting (which was not true during my first miscarriage), I was able to keep my worry in check. I mentioned it to Peter and he was mildly concerned but not really worried and we headed off to my OB appointment.
We knew this should just be a quick, routine appointment: get in to see the doctor, hear the heartbeat, ask any questions we might have, and go on our way. The only real question I had was about the spotting I had seen earlier that morning, so I mentioned it to the doctor right off the bat as he was pulling over the Doppler device to listen for the heartbeat. He asked a few follow-up questions but didn't seem overly concerned, just as I had expected. I laid back and prepared to hear the heartbeat that would be the real reassurance I needed.
It didn't come. He patiently moved the device back and forth over my stomach and once caught the sound of my own pulse but even I could tell the difference. I remember at one point that he said he thought he heard movement. He asked if it had been hard to find the heartbeat before. It hadn't. He said that sometimes they can just be tricky to find and that he would go start the ultrasound machine so that we could see the baby and the heart. At the very end he caught my eye and quickly stated that he wasn't worried.
I didn't really believe him. I was pretty sure he was just saying that to try to make me feel better, but I tried to accept it and tried to believe it. Maybe there wasn't a reason to worry. Maybe this was just all going to be a good story - a little scary bleeding in the morning, followed by an appointment where it was hard to hear the heartbeat - just a good story for demonstrating the certain orneriness of any child of ours. I even tried to quickly cheer myself up with the thought that maybe this would be a chance to find out the gender 3 weeks early. It didn't really work. When the doctor left the room I tried to choke back some sobs as Peter patted me on the back. We didn't talk, just waited for the ultrasound.
Almost as soon as our baby was on the screen I knew something was wrong. He looked beautiful - we could clearly see so many features that had developed since our first ultrasound. But he was completely still, not a finger moved. And I knew that wasn't right. We silently watched the screen as the doctor tried different methods for checking the heart and bloodflow. I'm not sure exactly what the first thing he said was or when he said it, but I heard his, "I'm sorry," loud and clear and immediately put my hand over my face and sobbed. Peter held my other hand. I managed to pull it together and listened as the doctor discussed the next possible steps. I remember I asked him if he was absolutely sure. He said he was and then very carefully walked me through everything he could see with the ultrasound that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that our baby was no longer alive.
The next hour or so was the roughest. We made plans to drop Eden off at my brother's house in St. Louis and then head back to check into the hospital for the induction. We had the choice of waiting, but Peter didn't want to, and considering our last experience, I certainly couldn't blame him. The doctor left the ultrasound room to give us some privacy, and I sobbed some more. Eden asked why mommy was sad, and Peter told her that we were sad because we found out the baby was gone and that we weren't going to get to see it or hold it soon. We had a family hug and she patted my head and kept asking me if I was sad. She asked this a few more times in the van on the way to St. Louis with a few more questions about the baby being gone. At one point she told me not to be sad - that I could have another baby soon. She was so surprisingly gentle and sweet for a toddler who couldn't possibly really understand what was going on, and her presence was a great comfort to me.
We dropped Eden off with my sister-in-law and were in the process of trying to figure out how to break the news to my mom when she called to inform us that my older brother had been involved in an accident and was in the hospital having surgery on his foot which had been badly damaged. As terrible as it might sound, this additional bad news had one good effect in that it snapped me out of a world that had rapidly shrunk down in the previous hour to the size of my own individual pain. I felt overwhelmed but also as if I could breathe and think again. I guess it gave me some needed perspective.
I don't want to drag this story on forever. We checked into the hospital. Everyone was very kind. At around 5 pm they started the induction process. Our baby boy was born at 1:44 am Saturday morning. Peter and I got to spend a few minutes holding him for which I was very grateful. Our doctor arrived to assist with the end of delivery and then we got a couple hours of sleep. We checked out of the hospital at around 10:30 am that morning, went home to shower, and then headed to St. Louis to see my mom and Eden. Today we are all home together again in our new house.
Just as before, except for those first few horrible hours, the real pain is only now slowly beginning. There's something about the initial activity that helps keep the pain back. You're distracted, focused on the needs at hand. But now I'm home and there's not a single thing to do that involves my baby. It's life as usual except for the huge gaping wound that is me in the midst of it.
We named him Judah St. John. That has been his name all along so it wasn't a hard decision. Back in the fall as another month passed in which we didn't get pregnant (we had been trying, yet again, for over a year), I had stood at the bathroom mirror and wondered almost absently to myself if we would ever have another baby. And it was almost as if I heard another voice in my head reply, "Yes. You will have a son, and you will name him Judah." I wondered if it was just me talking myself, a sort of internal pep talk. Judah seemed like kind of a strange name though, a bit out of the blue. I had always loved the story of the naming of Judah in the Bible, but he was also a bit of a notorious character - not necessarily someone you would want to name your child for. I mentioned it to Peter, and we both kind of thought, well, we'll see if it's even a boy... But over the course of my pregnancy we both started to think of the baby as a boy and as Judah, and every time someone made a guess as to gender, they also always guessed boy.
Judah means praise. In Genesis 29:31-35, you can find the beginning of his story. Leah, a woman whose husband does not love her, gives birth to four sons in a row. The first three she gives names that all have meanings connected to her hope that her husband will now love her for what she has given him. But on the birth of her fourth son, she states, “This time I will praise the LORD.” So she named him Judah. For some reason, even as a child I loved this story. I loved that Leah stopped trying to earn her husband's love and just decided to praise God for what he had given to her. I loved that it was out of the line of Judah that Jesus was born. Out of praise came Redemption. Out of praise came Love.
We had tossed around ideas for middle names, but had trouble coming up with anything that seemed to fit with Judah. At one point, I suggested we choose the name of someone we admired. Peter suggested St. John, which I thought was kind of neat, since the Apostle John (who refers to himself as the "disciple Jesus loved" in his own Gospel and who wrote some of the greatest words on Love in his epistles) is one of my favorite New Testament characters. But Peter was actually thinking of the famous Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, who wrote the poem, Dark Night of the Soul. We kind of liked the way the two names sounded together although we knew they were both pretty unusual and together might just be a bit too much. Now they both just seem perfect to me - perfect to the situation, perfect to our son.
I don't really know what else to write at this point. Peter is home from work, I need to wake Eden up from her nap. We need to get dinner ready, wash dishes, do laundry. At some point I really need to get some more unpacking done.
We won't be putting together a nursery now. I have no idea what the future holds but can't imagine a situation in which a nursery would be of any use for well over a year at the very least. I don't say this out of some sort of gloomy negativity, but it is always possible that we may never have another need for a nursery. That's something that my heart, for its own protection, needs to remain open to.
Overall, we are in a better place that we were the last time this happened. We know what to expect. As much as anyone can, I know the road that lies before me. I hate it. I do. I so hate to be here again, to keep waking up to this same nightmare, this same grief, this same weight. But, I also have a tired, battered confidence that we will make it through. We will take one step after the next. We will bear it. And there will be a day when I will wake up and my first thought, my first very sensation, won't be of what I have lost.
I don't want to go on too long. I know people who have suffered much more than me and who have been and are so beautifully graceful in their grief. That is not me. I don't have any great or profound thoughts. I just want to get up and do the best I can with this moment. And the moment after that. And the moment after that. I know I am not alone. I know my Savior is with me. Sometimes He feels very close. More often right now, honestly, He feels a bit remote. But we've been down this road before together, and I trust Him. I know who He is. I know He loves me. He has not left me now. I know it is His mercies that get me through every moment. And I'm so thankful for that and thankful for what He will yet do.
Some very big life news had not made it on this blog yet. We found out right before Thanksgiving that we were going to have another baby! We held off announcing anything until we could tell my family in person at Christmas, and then we waited a little longer until we had passed the 12 week mark and were solidly into the second trimester. A few weeks ago we had the joy of announcing our good news at church and to our farther-flung friends over facebook. Since pretty much everyone who reads this blog is a friend of mine on facebook (as far as I know) it actually didn't immediately occur to me to post the news here - and when it did, I thought maybe I would just wait a few more weeks until we had the Big Ultrasound where you find out gender and then roll all the news into one big happy post.
Unfortunately, this past Friday at my routine appointment we found out that our baby's heart had stopped beating. I thought we had passed all the worry-points: the first trimester when the vast majority of miscarriages happen and the 14/15 week mark when our first miscarriage occurred. I had even thought I'd started feeling movement in the previous week and was in fact, sure that I'd felt the baby move just a day or two before. Friday morning I saw a few faint drops of blood after using the restroom first thing in the morning. (So sorry for what is almost certainly too much information.) It caused me some anxiety as my first miscarriage began the same way and as I've had no other bleeding of any kind in this or any other pregnancy. However, some spotting is supposedly not uncommon throughout pregnancy, and as all other trips to the restroom that morning resulted in no additional spotting (which was not true during my first miscarriage), I was able to keep my worry in check. I mentioned it to Peter and he was mildly concerned but not really worried and we headed off to my OB appointment.
We knew this should just be a quick, routine appointment: get in to see the doctor, hear the heartbeat, ask any questions we might have, and go on our way. The only real question I had was about the spotting I had seen earlier that morning, so I mentioned it to the doctor right off the bat as he was pulling over the Doppler device to listen for the heartbeat. He asked a few follow-up questions but didn't seem overly concerned, just as I had expected. I laid back and prepared to hear the heartbeat that would be the real reassurance I needed.
It didn't come. He patiently moved the device back and forth over my stomach and once caught the sound of my own pulse but even I could tell the difference. I remember at one point that he said he thought he heard movement. He asked if it had been hard to find the heartbeat before. It hadn't. He said that sometimes they can just be tricky to find and that he would go start the ultrasound machine so that we could see the baby and the heart. At the very end he caught my eye and quickly stated that he wasn't worried.
I didn't really believe him. I was pretty sure he was just saying that to try to make me feel better, but I tried to accept it and tried to believe it. Maybe there wasn't a reason to worry. Maybe this was just all going to be a good story - a little scary bleeding in the morning, followed by an appointment where it was hard to hear the heartbeat - just a good story for demonstrating the certain orneriness of any child of ours. I even tried to quickly cheer myself up with the thought that maybe this would be a chance to find out the gender 3 weeks early. It didn't really work. When the doctor left the room I tried to choke back some sobs as Peter patted me on the back. We didn't talk, just waited for the ultrasound.
Almost as soon as our baby was on the screen I knew something was wrong. He looked beautiful - we could clearly see so many features that had developed since our first ultrasound. But he was completely still, not a finger moved. And I knew that wasn't right. We silently watched the screen as the doctor tried different methods for checking the heart and bloodflow. I'm not sure exactly what the first thing he said was or when he said it, but I heard his, "I'm sorry," loud and clear and immediately put my hand over my face and sobbed. Peter held my other hand. I managed to pull it together and listened as the doctor discussed the next possible steps. I remember I asked him if he was absolutely sure. He said he was and then very carefully walked me through everything he could see with the ultrasound that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that our baby was no longer alive.
The next hour or so was the roughest. We made plans to drop Eden off at my brother's house in St. Louis and then head back to check into the hospital for the induction. We had the choice of waiting, but Peter didn't want to, and considering our last experience, I certainly couldn't blame him. The doctor left the ultrasound room to give us some privacy, and I sobbed some more. Eden asked why mommy was sad, and Peter told her that we were sad because we found out the baby was gone and that we weren't going to get to see it or hold it soon. We had a family hug and she patted my head and kept asking me if I was sad. She asked this a few more times in the van on the way to St. Louis with a few more questions about the baby being gone. At one point she told me not to be sad - that I could have another baby soon. She was so surprisingly gentle and sweet for a toddler who couldn't possibly really understand what was going on, and her presence was a great comfort to me.
We dropped Eden off with my sister-in-law and were in the process of trying to figure out how to break the news to my mom when she called to inform us that my older brother had been involved in an accident and was in the hospital having surgery on his foot which had been badly damaged. As terrible as it might sound, this additional bad news had one good effect in that it snapped me out of a world that had rapidly shrunk down in the previous hour to the size of my own individual pain. I felt overwhelmed but also as if I could breathe and think again. I guess it gave me some needed perspective.
I don't want to drag this story on forever. We checked into the hospital. Everyone was very kind. At around 5 pm they started the induction process. Our baby boy was born at 1:44 am Saturday morning. Peter and I got to spend a few minutes holding him for which I was very grateful. Our doctor arrived to assist with the end of delivery and then we got a couple hours of sleep. We checked out of the hospital at around 10:30 am that morning, went home to shower, and then headed to St. Louis to see my mom and Eden. Today we are all home together again in our new house.
Just as before, except for those first few horrible hours, the real pain is only now slowly beginning. There's something about the initial activity that helps keep the pain back. You're distracted, focused on the needs at hand. But now I'm home and there's not a single thing to do that involves my baby. It's life as usual except for the huge gaping wound that is me in the midst of it.
We named him Judah St. John. That has been his name all along so it wasn't a hard decision. Back in the fall as another month passed in which we didn't get pregnant (we had been trying, yet again, for over a year), I had stood at the bathroom mirror and wondered almost absently to myself if we would ever have another baby. And it was almost as if I heard another voice in my head reply, "Yes. You will have a son, and you will name him Judah." I wondered if it was just me talking myself, a sort of internal pep talk. Judah seemed like kind of a strange name though, a bit out of the blue. I had always loved the story of the naming of Judah in the Bible, but he was also a bit of a notorious character - not necessarily someone you would want to name your child for. I mentioned it to Peter, and we both kind of thought, well, we'll see if it's even a boy... But over the course of my pregnancy we both started to think of the baby as a boy and as Judah, and every time someone made a guess as to gender, they also always guessed boy.
Judah means praise. In Genesis 29:31-35, you can find the beginning of his story. Leah, a woman whose husband does not love her, gives birth to four sons in a row. The first three she gives names that all have meanings connected to her hope that her husband will now love her for what she has given him. But on the birth of her fourth son, she states, “This time I will praise the LORD.” So she named him Judah. For some reason, even as a child I loved this story. I loved that Leah stopped trying to earn her husband's love and just decided to praise God for what he had given to her. I loved that it was out of the line of Judah that Jesus was born. Out of praise came Redemption. Out of praise came Love.
We had tossed around ideas for middle names, but had trouble coming up with anything that seemed to fit with Judah. At one point, I suggested we choose the name of someone we admired. Peter suggested St. John, which I thought was kind of neat, since the Apostle John (who refers to himself as the "disciple Jesus loved" in his own Gospel and who wrote some of the greatest words on Love in his epistles) is one of my favorite New Testament characters. But Peter was actually thinking of the famous Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, who wrote the poem, Dark Night of the Soul. We kind of liked the way the two names sounded together although we knew they were both pretty unusual and together might just be a bit too much. Now they both just seem perfect to me - perfect to the situation, perfect to our son.
I don't really know what else to write at this point. Peter is home from work, I need to wake Eden up from her nap. We need to get dinner ready, wash dishes, do laundry. At some point I really need to get some more unpacking done.
We won't be putting together a nursery now. I have no idea what the future holds but can't imagine a situation in which a nursery would be of any use for well over a year at the very least. I don't say this out of some sort of gloomy negativity, but it is always possible that we may never have another need for a nursery. That's something that my heart, for its own protection, needs to remain open to.
Overall, we are in a better place that we were the last time this happened. We know what to expect. As much as anyone can, I know the road that lies before me. I hate it. I do. I so hate to be here again, to keep waking up to this same nightmare, this same grief, this same weight. But, I also have a tired, battered confidence that we will make it through. We will take one step after the next. We will bear it. And there will be a day when I will wake up and my first thought, my first very sensation, won't be of what I have lost.
I don't want to go on too long. I know people who have suffered much more than me and who have been and are so beautifully graceful in their grief. That is not me. I don't have any great or profound thoughts. I just want to get up and do the best I can with this moment. And the moment after that. And the moment after that. I know I am not alone. I know my Savior is with me. Sometimes He feels very close. More often right now, honestly, He feels a bit remote. But we've been down this road before together, and I trust Him. I know who He is. I know He loves me. He has not left me now. I know it is His mercies that get me through every moment. And I'm so thankful for that and thankful for what He will yet do.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
For The Love
In all honesty, I have seriously considered abandoning this blog over the last month.
I just can't find the time to write anymore. And that's not a bad thing. It's just a natural result of my life being very full right now - much more so than it was just a few months ago. I'm working a lot harder, but it's good work, it's satisfying work. I wish I had more time to work, in fact. And it's interesting to me that while I'm working harder than ever (and enjoying it more than ever) I'm actually earning nothing. Well, zero dollars, anyway.
But do you know what I think it's called when you get up every morning still tired from the day before, but glad - so glad! - to have another opportunity to work, to pour all of your energy and everything you are and have into the tasks set before you, even if those tasks are, by all objective standards, mostly small and insignificant?
I think it's called Love.
So, so thankful for my life.
(Also. This blog is not over quite yet. Eden is: 1) stinkin' cute, but also, 2) not that interested in listening to my meandering and, frankly, rather self-absorbed thoughts on life. Thus that role must still fall to you, dear friends o' the Internet. I recommend skimming. At least until you get to the pictures of the stinkin' cute kid.)
I just can't find the time to write anymore. And that's not a bad thing. It's just a natural result of my life being very full right now - much more so than it was just a few months ago. I'm working a lot harder, but it's good work, it's satisfying work. I wish I had more time to work, in fact. And it's interesting to me that while I'm working harder than ever (and enjoying it more than ever) I'm actually earning nothing. Well, zero dollars, anyway.
But do you know what I think it's called when you get up every morning still tired from the day before, but glad - so glad! - to have another opportunity to work, to pour all of your energy and everything you are and have into the tasks set before you, even if those tasks are, by all objective standards, mostly small and insignificant?
I think it's called Love.
So, so thankful for my life.(Also. This blog is not over quite yet. Eden is: 1) stinkin' cute, but also, 2) not that interested in listening to my meandering and, frankly, rather self-absorbed thoughts on life. Thus that role must still fall to you, dear friends o' the Internet. I recommend skimming. At least until you get to the pictures of the stinkin' cute kid.)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Ringleader
Someone has recently become a little obsessed with taking pictures of her favorite friends.
She gathers them together very carefully...
...then tries desperately to climb into the chair in front of the computer without dropping one. "Pictures? Pictures?" she pleads.
Some of them are cuter than others. I'll leave you to your own opinions.
Frankly, I find the monkey to be a bit of a strange choice. But who can say no to that face?
I don't think I've given much of an update on Miss Eden recently. We haven't been to the doctor in several months so I've no idea what her height and weight are at the moment. But lately she has seemed, almost all of a sudden, much more of a little girl than a baby or even a toddler. She can be amazing and confounding and utterly delightful and completely provoking. She surprises me everyday with what she can do and what she knows and just with the incredible little person she is becoming.
She can run. Fast. She can also do pull-ups.
She can recognize and name most of the letters of the alphabet, although not in order for the most part, and pretty much never on command.
She has recited her numbers from 1 to 10 several times, once going to 11 and then tagging a 19 on the end for good measure.
I've stopped counting her words. She knows a lot.
She still calls flowers "waffles." Blueberries are still "happies." Daddy and doggy are virtually indistinguishable - but if you ask her which one she is referring to, she'll add a little "ruff, ruff!" to be helpful, if it's appropriate.
We've noticed she seems to be picking up just a little grammar too (although a bit inaccurately). More than one sheep are "sheeps," and when our two cats are sleeping curled up in the same bed, they become "Shebas."
She has a massive sweet tooth. She is highly suspicious of anyone eating anything in the vicinity of a recent cookie spotting. If you give her a chocolate chip cookie, she will carefully locate the visible chips and try to gnaw them out first before consuming the rest.
She still loves trucks, and buses, and trains. All motorcycles are "bicycles."
She has an absolutely amazing memory. She knows when we're driving to church just based on what she can see out of our back window. As soon as we pull into the parking lot for the mall she starts demanding to see the "horses" (the carousel). She remembers people and asks for them by name days after she has seen them. She seemingly memorizes new books from the library overnight and knows what animal or object is going to appear on the next page often well before I do.
She loves, loves, loves books. She will now go through all the books on her bookshelf at least once if not multiples times a day. She wants to be read to, she wants to look at the pictures, and sometimes, she wants to read aloud to herself. This is absolutely adorable because it is usually a bunch of meaningless jabber with key words thrown in. Thus, Everywhere Babies becomes "jabber jabber jabber babies!" on every page and We're Going on a Bear Hunt is read with a repetition of "uh oh!"
She is obsessed with Sesame Street. Particularly Elmo. She also loves watching the Bare Necessities clip from The Jungle Book on YouTube. "Bear?! Bear?!" she'll cry if she sees you open your computer.
She's not at all perfect, of course. Lately we are dealing with unwanted food being thrown on the floor and running away when it's time to go to bed (or when she wants to do anything other than what you are taking her to do). She gets frustrated easily and has the most high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek of anger that you can possibly imagine. And she can be so S-T-U-B-B-O-R-N.
She continues to be, as she was named, a "delight." I am so thankful to know her and to be able to watch her learn and grow and develop.
She gathers them together very carefully...
...then tries desperately to climb into the chair in front of the computer without dropping one. "Pictures? Pictures?" she pleads.
Some of them are cuter than others. I'll leave you to your own opinions.
Frankly, I find the monkey to be a bit of a strange choice. But who can say no to that face?I don't think I've given much of an update on Miss Eden recently. We haven't been to the doctor in several months so I've no idea what her height and weight are at the moment. But lately she has seemed, almost all of a sudden, much more of a little girl than a baby or even a toddler. She can be amazing and confounding and utterly delightful and completely provoking. She surprises me everyday with what she can do and what she knows and just with the incredible little person she is becoming.
She can run. Fast. She can also do pull-ups.
She can recognize and name most of the letters of the alphabet, although not in order for the most part, and pretty much never on command.
She has recited her numbers from 1 to 10 several times, once going to 11 and then tagging a 19 on the end for good measure.
I've stopped counting her words. She knows a lot.
She still calls flowers "waffles." Blueberries are still "happies." Daddy and doggy are virtually indistinguishable - but if you ask her which one she is referring to, she'll add a little "ruff, ruff!" to be helpful, if it's appropriate.
We've noticed she seems to be picking up just a little grammar too (although a bit inaccurately). More than one sheep are "sheeps," and when our two cats are sleeping curled up in the same bed, they become "Shebas."
She has a massive sweet tooth. She is highly suspicious of anyone eating anything in the vicinity of a recent cookie spotting. If you give her a chocolate chip cookie, she will carefully locate the visible chips and try to gnaw them out first before consuming the rest.
She still loves trucks, and buses, and trains. All motorcycles are "bicycles."
She has an absolutely amazing memory. She knows when we're driving to church just based on what she can see out of our back window. As soon as we pull into the parking lot for the mall she starts demanding to see the "horses" (the carousel). She remembers people and asks for them by name days after she has seen them. She seemingly memorizes new books from the library overnight and knows what animal or object is going to appear on the next page often well before I do.
She loves, loves, loves books. She will now go through all the books on her bookshelf at least once if not multiples times a day. She wants to be read to, she wants to look at the pictures, and sometimes, she wants to read aloud to herself. This is absolutely adorable because it is usually a bunch of meaningless jabber with key words thrown in. Thus, Everywhere Babies becomes "jabber jabber jabber babies!" on every page and We're Going on a Bear Hunt is read with a repetition of "uh oh!"
She is obsessed with Sesame Street. Particularly Elmo. She also loves watching the Bare Necessities clip from The Jungle Book on YouTube. "Bear?! Bear?!" she'll cry if she sees you open your computer.
She's not at all perfect, of course. Lately we are dealing with unwanted food being thrown on the floor and running away when it's time to go to bed (or when she wants to do anything other than what you are taking her to do). She gets frustrated easily and has the most high-pitched, ear-splitting shriek of anger that you can possibly imagine. And she can be so S-T-U-B-B-O-R-N.
She continues to be, as she was named, a "delight." I am so thankful to know her and to be able to watch her learn and grow and develop.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
For My Mama, On Her Birthday
As I think I've mentioned already, before having Eden I was never really sure that I wanted to be a stay-at-home-mom. I wasn't much of a "kid" person growing up - I didn't like to babysit or even hold babies. I was (and am!) pretty terrible at all the "Suzie Homemaker" type activities: cooking, cleaning, whatever. I figured I'd always probably work part-time at least.
Then I had Eden and suddenly my career was about as interesting and stimulating as filling out forms at the DMV. I just wanted to be able to be home with her, to spend as much time with her as possible. I wanted to ensure that she was getting the best care and life experience possible. And I figured, who better to give her that than me? Who would ever be more motivated and committed?
And now, except for 10 hours a week, I am a stay-at-home-mom. And I think it was the right decision for me and for us. I don't have any desire to go back to full-time work or even to work a single hour more than I do now. I believe that every family is different, and I HATE all the judgment that flies back and forth between stay-at-home-moms and working moms (or you know, between a few individuals within both of those groups), but personally, I'm confident that I'm exactly where I should be.
However.
The transition to this new role has been surprisingly difficult at times. Even though I love it. Even though I'm confident of my choice.
While I was never ambitious or interested in climbing any sort of career ladder (I would happily stay a Librarian I forever, I think), I've always been a bit of an "achiever" personality-wise. Okay, fine. An "over-achiever" at times. Occasionally. My whole life. I was a model student, and I think for the most part (hopefully I'm not getting too big for my britches here), I was a model employee. I get immense satisfaction out of a job well done - out of a sense of accomplishment. Every good grade, successful interview, positive job evaluation, and promotion was an emotional boost - another brick in the foundation of my sense of self-worth.
But, as it turns out, there are no grades, interviews, job evaluations or promotions as a stay-at-home-mom. There's not even a paycheck. (And a paycheck, I've discovered, is a surprisingly validating thing. It's a very tangible indicator of accomplishment. "I earned this. And with this, we bought X, Y, and Z. This is what I contribute to this family. Etc.")
And the work is HARD. It requires infinite amounts of patience and self-control. (And let me tell you, working with public library patrons is not always a walk in the park. But still, not nearly as hard - at least to me.) It's often demanding and tedious and there are no allowances made for illness or lack of sleep. You always have to be "on" - and the regret that comes with the moments where you fail, where you snap at your child or don't prevent some accident that you could have prevented if you had been paying full attention, stings far worse than any botched patron interaction.
But lately it's been that lack of a sense of accomplishment that has been the hardest for me to adjust to. Every finished project is immediately undone again. Fifteen minutes after washing the dishes, dirty dishes appear in the sink. At the end of a long day of laundry, dirty clothes fill our hampers. Toys must be picked up and put away and picked up and put away and picked up and put away. I always feel slightly behind because these tasks, by their very nature, can never be fully accomplished. They are generally not stimulating and they do not require a degree to validate their worth. While librarian is not a flashy job, it still inspires interest and questions at social interactions. Stay-at-home-mom does not. And it's not because people are rude - because really, what are they supposed to say? "Oh, you clean and carpool and cook and sing the ABC's 15 times a day? How interesting! Please, tell me more about how hard it is to adjust the straps on that car seat. You cleaned up that entire diaper explosion using only two baby wipes - that is some serious skill! So what exactly are the lyrics to the second verse of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star? I've always wanted to know..."
You get the point.
Philosophically, I know that I am accomplishing something. I know that what I'm doing has worth. But it's measured in a completely different way, and I miss all the attaboys and slaps-on-the-back and other affirmations that came with a career.
I've been thinking about this a lot this week. And I've been thinking about my mom too.
My mom is the hardest working person I know. She always was up working before we awoke in the morning and she was still working when we went to bed at night. She did all of the cooking and cleaning and shopping and errands and fixing of this and solving of that. We almost never ate take-out. Our house and clothes were always clean. We always had whatever we needed - even if it was something that we HAD TO HAVE for the next day of school that we didn't bother to tell her about until bedtime the night before. She did all of this even when necessity (aka our private schooling) required that she also take on a full-time job. And in exchange we took her completely for granted. We called her at work to whine that so-and-so took a toy and wouldn't give it back. We complained about being dragged to the grocery store and then made complained more about what she fixed for dinner. We expected her to help us with anything we needed help with at whatever moment we needed help. We left our dirty dishes in the sink and marched off to play games or read a book.
It never crossed our minds to wonder if she was happy or would maybe like to read a book herself. We never considered whether she had more to offer the world than folding our socks or wiping our noses. She was mom - that's what she did. That's what she always did.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for serving us day in and day out. Thank you for all that time you spent making that Halloween costume that I then refused to wear the night of Halloween. Thank you for inventing an ingenious way to make me think I was "safe" from snakes. Thank you for taking me to the library. Thank you for cooking a hundred kabillion meals for me. Thank you for reading to me when I was sick. Thank you for giving up your sleep, your right to privacy, your right to anything, for me. Thank you for all the millions and millions of ways you put my happiness before your own. And most of all, mom, thank you for never ever making me feel like you minded one second of it. Thank you for assuring me through your every word and action that I was always worth it and that there was nowhere else you'd rather be and nothing else you'd rather do. Thank you for sending me out into the world with the unshakable conviction of your unconditional love tucked into my heart.
I can never, ever, ever repay you.
Happy birthday, mom!! I love you!
Then I had Eden and suddenly my career was about as interesting and stimulating as filling out forms at the DMV. I just wanted to be able to be home with her, to spend as much time with her as possible. I wanted to ensure that she was getting the best care and life experience possible. And I figured, who better to give her that than me? Who would ever be more motivated and committed?
And now, except for 10 hours a week, I am a stay-at-home-mom. And I think it was the right decision for me and for us. I don't have any desire to go back to full-time work or even to work a single hour more than I do now. I believe that every family is different, and I HATE all the judgment that flies back and forth between stay-at-home-moms and working moms (or you know, between a few individuals within both of those groups), but personally, I'm confident that I'm exactly where I should be.
However.
The transition to this new role has been surprisingly difficult at times. Even though I love it. Even though I'm confident of my choice.
While I was never ambitious or interested in climbing any sort of career ladder (I would happily stay a Librarian I forever, I think), I've always been a bit of an "achiever" personality-wise. Okay, fine. An "over-achiever" at times. Occasionally. My whole life. I was a model student, and I think for the most part (hopefully I'm not getting too big for my britches here), I was a model employee. I get immense satisfaction out of a job well done - out of a sense of accomplishment. Every good grade, successful interview, positive job evaluation, and promotion was an emotional boost - another brick in the foundation of my sense of self-worth.
But, as it turns out, there are no grades, interviews, job evaluations or promotions as a stay-at-home-mom. There's not even a paycheck. (And a paycheck, I've discovered, is a surprisingly validating thing. It's a very tangible indicator of accomplishment. "I earned this. And with this, we bought X, Y, and Z. This is what I contribute to this family. Etc.")
And the work is HARD. It requires infinite amounts of patience and self-control. (And let me tell you, working with public library patrons is not always a walk in the park. But still, not nearly as hard - at least to me.) It's often demanding and tedious and there are no allowances made for illness or lack of sleep. You always have to be "on" - and the regret that comes with the moments where you fail, where you snap at your child or don't prevent some accident that you could have prevented if you had been paying full attention, stings far worse than any botched patron interaction.
But lately it's been that lack of a sense of accomplishment that has been the hardest for me to adjust to. Every finished project is immediately undone again. Fifteen minutes after washing the dishes, dirty dishes appear in the sink. At the end of a long day of laundry, dirty clothes fill our hampers. Toys must be picked up and put away and picked up and put away and picked up and put away. I always feel slightly behind because these tasks, by their very nature, can never be fully accomplished. They are generally not stimulating and they do not require a degree to validate their worth. While librarian is not a flashy job, it still inspires interest and questions at social interactions. Stay-at-home-mom does not. And it's not because people are rude - because really, what are they supposed to say? "Oh, you clean and carpool and cook and sing the ABC's 15 times a day? How interesting! Please, tell me more about how hard it is to adjust the straps on that car seat. You cleaned up that entire diaper explosion using only two baby wipes - that is some serious skill! So what exactly are the lyrics to the second verse of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star? I've always wanted to know..."
You get the point.
Philosophically, I know that I am accomplishing something. I know that what I'm doing has worth. But it's measured in a completely different way, and I miss all the attaboys and slaps-on-the-back and other affirmations that came with a career.
I've been thinking about this a lot this week. And I've been thinking about my mom too.
My mom is the hardest working person I know. She always was up working before we awoke in the morning and she was still working when we went to bed at night. She did all of the cooking and cleaning and shopping and errands and fixing of this and solving of that. We almost never ate take-out. Our house and clothes were always clean. We always had whatever we needed - even if it was something that we HAD TO HAVE for the next day of school that we didn't bother to tell her about until bedtime the night before. She did all of this even when necessity (aka our private schooling) required that she also take on a full-time job. And in exchange we took her completely for granted. We called her at work to whine that so-and-so took a toy and wouldn't give it back. We complained about being dragged to the grocery store and then made complained more about what she fixed for dinner. We expected her to help us with anything we needed help with at whatever moment we needed help. We left our dirty dishes in the sink and marched off to play games or read a book.
It never crossed our minds to wonder if she was happy or would maybe like to read a book herself. We never considered whether she had more to offer the world than folding our socks or wiping our noses. She was mom - that's what she did. That's what she always did.
Dear Mom,
Thank you for serving us day in and day out. Thank you for all that time you spent making that Halloween costume that I then refused to wear the night of Halloween. Thank you for inventing an ingenious way to make me think I was "safe" from snakes. Thank you for taking me to the library. Thank you for cooking a hundred kabillion meals for me. Thank you for reading to me when I was sick. Thank you for giving up your sleep, your right to privacy, your right to anything, for me. Thank you for all the millions and millions of ways you put my happiness before your own. And most of all, mom, thank you for never ever making me feel like you minded one second of it. Thank you for assuring me through your every word and action that I was always worth it and that there was nowhere else you'd rather be and nothing else you'd rather do. Thank you for sending me out into the world with the unshakable conviction of your unconditional love tucked into my heart.
I can never, ever, ever repay you.
Happy birthday, mom!! I love you!
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Resolved! I Think.
I wasn't going to make any resolutions this year. I've always been the kind of person to get carried away with them - and then NEVER keep them - which would just leave me feeling disappointed and discouraged.
This is what I mean by "carried away": for a long time I would try to make one resolution for each of the Five Dimensions of Wellness (if you were a Health Science major like I was, you know exactly what I'm talking about here). For example: Physical (usually something about exercising more or drinking more water, etc.), Mental/Intellectual (reading a certain number of books perhaps), Emotional (this was always a toughie - it's hard to remember what I might have resolved in the past for this one - keeping a gratitude journal, maybe?), Social (date nights with Peter, keeping up with friends), and Spiritual (often something to do with reading my Bible or memorizing Scripture or something). I'm not sure I ever once kept one single resolution from those lists. I meant so well! But I failed spectacularly every time.
So this year I wasn't going to make any resolutions. It seemed silly when the only result was always negative. HOWEVER, there have definitely been some things I've needed to do for quite a while, which I'd been putting off according to my typical procrastinator ways. And by the end of 2009 I found myself thinking, well, I'll just make them into resolutions and that will motivate me to take care of them when I have a fresh start in the new year.
LIES.
And yet, here I am.
It started off with just one thing - basically a task I hate and yet have been needing to take care of for some time now.
RESOLUTION 1: Make ALL doctor appointments.
For some reason that I can't explain, I HATE making appointments. HATE it. Even for things that I want to do or am looking forward to, like getting a haircut! I will put it off forever just because I don't want to call and make the appointment. Part of the problem is contained in that last sentence of course: call. I have an intense dislike for telephones. I either want to talk to you in person or e-mail you. I don't ever want to call you. Why? I'm not really sure. I have some guesses, but I don't want to get into them here because the last thing this blog needs is more random tangents. So, anyway, hatred of telephones plus dislike of visiting doctors and especially dentists equals no appointments. This needs to be rectified badly. Thus, I am resolved to make an appointment with: my primary care physician, my OB/GYN, an eye doctor, and a dentist. I also need to make an appointment for Eden with an ophthalmologist and a pediatric cardiologist (we're still waiting on the referral paperwork) as well as figure out when she needs her next well-baby appointment. Gah! That's SEVEN appointments!! I need to move on now because I can't think about this anymore.
Shortly after deciding on that first one, a couple of other things that had been on my mind for awhile got turned into resolutions.
RESOLUTION 2: Develop a habit of reading the Bible every day.
I used to do this. Then, I don't know, I got busy and tired and let's face it, ferociously mad at God a few times, and poof, there went that habit. It doesn't help that the Bible has always been a tough book for me. I love books! I love to read! But the vast majority of the time I have NO IDEA what the Biblical authors are talking about and that makes me either frustrated or bored or both. Peter reads the Bible ALL THE TIME. And not just because he's resolved to do it, although that may be true at times as well. But because he really enjoys it - and he understands it, at least a lot more than I do. He is basically a walking concordance/commentary. I'm always asking him, where's that verse about such-and-such, and he can usually correctly name the book and chapter if not the specific verse. Which is AWESOME. But I really need to stop being lazy and read for myself. I KNOW it's good for me, and I WANT to do it, but developing the habit is going to take some time. I'm not putting any additional requirements on this one: I'm not going to try to read a certain number of pages or chapters or for a certain number of minutes. But I'm going to try to read something every day, even if it's just a single verse. So far I've missed two days - mostly just because I got busy and forgot. But that's okay, because my resolution is to develop a habit - not to be perfect from the beginning.
RESOLUTION 3: Eat better and exercise more.
Snoooooooooze. I know, I know, I just typed the most incredibly generic and cliche resolution of all time. The truth is, Peter and I have been talking about how we both need to do this - and again, the new year just seemed like an opportune staring point. I realize that such a vague resolution is likely to be absolutely useless - but I'm actually keeping it deliberately vague, because I want to just try to make some small changes - any changes - and be happy with that. Again, this is more about getting started in a direction than actually accomplishing some kind of grand, fantastical goal. Because that latter thing, WON'T HAPPEN. But I know that I can do something. So right now, I'm just trying to approach it on a decision by decision basis. I'm going to Target, should I walk or drive the car? Walking is healthier, so choose to walk. I want a snack, should I choose an apple or cookie? Again, identify the healthier choice and try to make it more often than not. BUT, since I don't have to hit some specific goal, there's not as much pressure. And every time I make a healthy choice, I feel good, because I'm fully realizing my resolution with each one. I hope that makes sense. I don't think this approach will accomplish much, but if it becomes something I hate, then I also know I won't accomplish anything. So, we'll see what happens.
I was pretty much done with those three. They represent things that are both important and that have been really nagging at me for awhile. And three is a good number - enough to be significant altogether, but hopefully not enough to become overwhelming.
Then something kind of weird happened.
RESOLUTION 4: Learn to live counter-culturally and not be (as much of) a consumer.
What??
Okay, I am not that person. I am not a hippie-granola-culture-snob. (Apologies if you consider yourself one of those.) I like Starbucks. I like Target. I like television and movies and fast food and shopping malls (occasionally) and all the other normal staples of middle-class America. I would totally shop at Gap more often if the price differences between the men's clothes and women's clothes didn't send me into a fuming rage every time I was there. I am the last person on earth to ever want to utter the words counter-cultural, because I don't know... ewww. Then, all of a sudden, things began... shifting... in my mind.
It all started with my sister-in-law. (Hi Laura!)
She was telling me about this idea she had for Lent. I won't go into all of it, because I think she'll be covering it on her own blog (http://domesticgoddessphd.blogspot.com/) when Lent arrives - but in talking about her idea, we started talking about the habit of spending money. I am honestly not a big shopper. But at the same time, it's always nice to go and spend a little money. In fact, whenever I'm feeling down, one of my favorite pick-me-ups is to go and buy something. A smoothie, a brownie, a book, or a cd - something. I don't spend money that I don't have, and I don't spend outside of the parameters of our budget, but still, if I want to feel better, I spend money. And if I want to celebrate something? Same thing. Spend some money. The problem is not the individual purchases but the larger theme: buying something and being happy are definitely linked in my head. How did this happen? Who knows? I've got a couple of theories but again don't want to take the time at this point to get into it. The point is, this conversation got me thinking.
The next thing that happened was that Peter and I went to see Avatar.
First of all, I would like to say that I liked Avatar. I thought it was absolutely beautiful visually. And I enjoyed the story just fine too, despite the stereotypes and predictability and one-dimensional characters. Whatever. It's a big blockbuster movie. Remember that non-cultural-snob thing I said earlier? This is an example. I'm not looking to be enlightened, just entertained, and I thought Avatar was very entertaining.
But... it got me thinking again. It made me think about how the big bad military/company guys are portrayed as representing a culture of consumers - a society that has not learned to live within its means - a society that is more or less in the habit of consuming for consuming's sake. They no longer consume (sorry for the constant repetition of that word) to fill a real need, but almost because it has become an addiction. And in order to feed this addiction they have become hardened to the rights and needs of others - and even to the beauty in the world around them. (And yes, in the movie it was all pretty thick and heavy-handed, but again! Who cares!) What this actually made me think of was the verse from Philippians that says "...their god is their stomach..." (And since the book concordance is in the same room where Eden is sleeping right now, I had to wait until Pete, the human concordance, got home to find out the reference for that verse.)
Buying things because it makes me happy... because it's become a habit... consuming for consuming's sake... their god is their stomach. Do you see where I'm going here? All these thoughts were starting to pull together into a big knot in my mind. But I wasn't at the end of it yet.
Because then I read The Hunger Games.
Which I loved. Probably my favorite book since the Harry Potter series, in fact. I'm going to try very hard not to get too much into the details of this book because, 1) it's sci-fi, so there are a lot of details, and this post is already at legendary proportions as it is, and 2) you might want to read it (you should! you should!), and I don't want to spoil anything for you. But I'm still going to have to give a general summary so that you can follow my train of thought. I should also warn you that this is a very dark book with some pretty gut-wrenching themes and plot lines. But, that's part of the point as I think you will see.
The book takes place in the future, where somewhere in North America a new nation has risen up following a series of apocalyptic wars/natural disasters/etc. that have wiped out the world as we know it. This new nation is composed of a central Capitol surrounded by twelve Districts. The Capitol is your basic cruel totalitarian government, keeping the citizens of the Districts in poverty. Once, many years ago, the Districts had tried to fight back, but their rebellion was harshly overthrown. Now, as a punishment for this rebellion and as a reminder of the power of the Capitol over them, an annual lottery is held in which one girl and one boy (ages 12-18) are selected from each District to fight in the Hunger Games - which is essentially a fight to the death on national television.
Okay, I know right there I've lost many if not most of you. And that's okay - when I first heard about the plot, I thought it sounded completely ridiculous myself. In fact, the only real reason I finally read the book was because so many people were talking about it, and as a librarian, I feel like I really need to be on top of the book business. But somehow, crazy-sounding plot aside, the author really gets you with this book. And frankly, I found it downright eerie at times. The tributes (which is what the "contestants" in the Hunger Games are called) are brought to the Capitol from their Districts and given stylists and mentors and other staff to help them create what basically amounts to a marketing plan and carefully constructed public image. Why? Because, as the Games are aired live on television, they are not only trying to stay alive but also win over the audience. If they win over the audience, they are more likely to attract sponsors who can pay to send them supplies, etc., which will increase their odds of survival. It is all very much American Idol meets Survivor meets the Roman Empire. And it is horrifying and repulsive and alarmingly familiar. Seriously. If you've ever watched much reality television or those entertainment/paparazzi shows where the hosts shred the lives and families of complete strangers for the entertainment of their viewers, you will find this book much less far-fetched than you could ever imagine. And if you are like me, that will turn your stomach.
So. The point of all this is that I think I would really like to take some time this year to reflect on what I value and how those values may or may not always be supported by the culture around me. I don't know, maybe this all sounds really ridiculous. I mean, I did get some of this idea about not being a consumer and living counter-culturally from a blockbuster movie that is making already ridiculously rich people a billion dollars, and a bestselling novel, which is, obviously, culturally-approved. But it just seems extra important to me all of a sudden. Part of it I'm sure is because I'm a mom now. How do I teach Eden to see clearly the values and motives behind all the messages she will hear in this lifetime? How do I teach her to set a straight course through those messages based on her own understanding of what is true and right if I don't at least first model this in my own life?
I'm not planning any drastic changes honestly. I'm going to keep drinking my Starbucks and shopping at Target. For now, at least. :) But I want to think about what it means to be a consumer and what it means for your god to be an appetite. And I want to think about what it would mean to live the opposite of a consumeristic life - which, I guess, would mean a life that's lived not about taking in, but about giving out. And finally, I want to think about the ways in which I've been swept along by the not-so-good parts of the culture around me - how have I become blind and hard-hearted toward those that are hurting and oppressed? What horrors have I overlooked in my passive acceptance of the sometimes-slightly-too-shiny world I live in everyday?
At this point, I don't really know how to go about this resolution other than to, you know, think. So if you have any suggestions, I would love, love, love to hear them!! Really, I would love anyone's thoughts or (gentle) feedback about this stuff. The only other idea I've had so far is to try to find some books by people who I see as living genuine, non-consumeristic, counter-cultural lives. For example, I've ordered some books by Mother Teresa from the library. But again, thoughts/ideas/suggestions would be GREATLY appreciated. And, I hope this goes without saying, but I'm really just reflecting on my own life here. No matter what I decide in my own life, I don't ever want to be the kind of person who looks down on others because of their Starbucks consumption, or whatever. That would be the opposite of what I'm trying to do.
I think this may be my longest post ever. Thanks for sticking with me this far (mom). I'll try to post any updates on how things are going or any new thoughts I've had.
Until then, here's to a new year and to new resolutions!
This is what I mean by "carried away": for a long time I would try to make one resolution for each of the Five Dimensions of Wellness (if you were a Health Science major like I was, you know exactly what I'm talking about here). For example: Physical (usually something about exercising more or drinking more water, etc.), Mental/Intellectual (reading a certain number of books perhaps), Emotional (this was always a toughie - it's hard to remember what I might have resolved in the past for this one - keeping a gratitude journal, maybe?), Social (date nights with Peter, keeping up with friends), and Spiritual (often something to do with reading my Bible or memorizing Scripture or something). I'm not sure I ever once kept one single resolution from those lists. I meant so well! But I failed spectacularly every time.
So this year I wasn't going to make any resolutions. It seemed silly when the only result was always negative. HOWEVER, there have definitely been some things I've needed to do for quite a while, which I'd been putting off according to my typical procrastinator ways. And by the end of 2009 I found myself thinking, well, I'll just make them into resolutions and that will motivate me to take care of them when I have a fresh start in the new year.
LIES.
And yet, here I am.
It started off with just one thing - basically a task I hate and yet have been needing to take care of for some time now.
RESOLUTION 1: Make ALL doctor appointments.
For some reason that I can't explain, I HATE making appointments. HATE it. Even for things that I want to do or am looking forward to, like getting a haircut! I will put it off forever just because I don't want to call and make the appointment. Part of the problem is contained in that last sentence of course: call. I have an intense dislike for telephones. I either want to talk to you in person or e-mail you. I don't ever want to call you. Why? I'm not really sure. I have some guesses, but I don't want to get into them here because the last thing this blog needs is more random tangents. So, anyway, hatred of telephones plus dislike of visiting doctors and especially dentists equals no appointments. This needs to be rectified badly. Thus, I am resolved to make an appointment with: my primary care physician, my OB/GYN, an eye doctor, and a dentist. I also need to make an appointment for Eden with an ophthalmologist and a pediatric cardiologist (we're still waiting on the referral paperwork) as well as figure out when she needs her next well-baby appointment. Gah! That's SEVEN appointments!! I need to move on now because I can't think about this anymore.
Shortly after deciding on that first one, a couple of other things that had been on my mind for awhile got turned into resolutions.
RESOLUTION 2: Develop a habit of reading the Bible every day.
I used to do this. Then, I don't know, I got busy and tired and let's face it, ferociously mad at God a few times, and poof, there went that habit. It doesn't help that the Bible has always been a tough book for me. I love books! I love to read! But the vast majority of the time I have NO IDEA what the Biblical authors are talking about and that makes me either frustrated or bored or both. Peter reads the Bible ALL THE TIME. And not just because he's resolved to do it, although that may be true at times as well. But because he really enjoys it - and he understands it, at least a lot more than I do. He is basically a walking concordance/commentary. I'm always asking him, where's that verse about such-and-such, and he can usually correctly name the book and chapter if not the specific verse. Which is AWESOME. But I really need to stop being lazy and read for myself. I KNOW it's good for me, and I WANT to do it, but developing the habit is going to take some time. I'm not putting any additional requirements on this one: I'm not going to try to read a certain number of pages or chapters or for a certain number of minutes. But I'm going to try to read something every day, even if it's just a single verse. So far I've missed two days - mostly just because I got busy and forgot. But that's okay, because my resolution is to develop a habit - not to be perfect from the beginning.
RESOLUTION 3: Eat better and exercise more.
Snoooooooooze. I know, I know, I just typed the most incredibly generic and cliche resolution of all time. The truth is, Peter and I have been talking about how we both need to do this - and again, the new year just seemed like an opportune staring point. I realize that such a vague resolution is likely to be absolutely useless - but I'm actually keeping it deliberately vague, because I want to just try to make some small changes - any changes - and be happy with that. Again, this is more about getting started in a direction than actually accomplishing some kind of grand, fantastical goal. Because that latter thing, WON'T HAPPEN. But I know that I can do something. So right now, I'm just trying to approach it on a decision by decision basis. I'm going to Target, should I walk or drive the car? Walking is healthier, so choose to walk. I want a snack, should I choose an apple or cookie? Again, identify the healthier choice and try to make it more often than not. BUT, since I don't have to hit some specific goal, there's not as much pressure. And every time I make a healthy choice, I feel good, because I'm fully realizing my resolution with each one. I hope that makes sense. I don't think this approach will accomplish much, but if it becomes something I hate, then I also know I won't accomplish anything. So, we'll see what happens.
I was pretty much done with those three. They represent things that are both important and that have been really nagging at me for awhile. And three is a good number - enough to be significant altogether, but hopefully not enough to become overwhelming.
Then something kind of weird happened.
RESOLUTION 4: Learn to live counter-culturally and not be (as much of) a consumer.
What??
Okay, I am not that person. I am not a hippie-granola-culture-snob. (Apologies if you consider yourself one of those.) I like Starbucks. I like Target. I like television and movies and fast food and shopping malls (occasionally) and all the other normal staples of middle-class America. I would totally shop at Gap more often if the price differences between the men's clothes and women's clothes didn't send me into a fuming rage every time I was there. I am the last person on earth to ever want to utter the words counter-cultural, because I don't know... ewww. Then, all of a sudden, things began... shifting... in my mind.
It all started with my sister-in-law. (Hi Laura!)
She was telling me about this idea she had for Lent. I won't go into all of it, because I think she'll be covering it on her own blog (http://domesticgoddessphd.blogspot.com/) when Lent arrives - but in talking about her idea, we started talking about the habit of spending money. I am honestly not a big shopper. But at the same time, it's always nice to go and spend a little money. In fact, whenever I'm feeling down, one of my favorite pick-me-ups is to go and buy something. A smoothie, a brownie, a book, or a cd - something. I don't spend money that I don't have, and I don't spend outside of the parameters of our budget, but still, if I want to feel better, I spend money. And if I want to celebrate something? Same thing. Spend some money. The problem is not the individual purchases but the larger theme: buying something and being happy are definitely linked in my head. How did this happen? Who knows? I've got a couple of theories but again don't want to take the time at this point to get into it. The point is, this conversation got me thinking.
The next thing that happened was that Peter and I went to see Avatar.
First of all, I would like to say that I liked Avatar. I thought it was absolutely beautiful visually. And I enjoyed the story just fine too, despite the stereotypes and predictability and one-dimensional characters. Whatever. It's a big blockbuster movie. Remember that non-cultural-snob thing I said earlier? This is an example. I'm not looking to be enlightened, just entertained, and I thought Avatar was very entertaining.
But... it got me thinking again. It made me think about how the big bad military/company guys are portrayed as representing a culture of consumers - a society that has not learned to live within its means - a society that is more or less in the habit of consuming for consuming's sake. They no longer consume (sorry for the constant repetition of that word) to fill a real need, but almost because it has become an addiction. And in order to feed this addiction they have become hardened to the rights and needs of others - and even to the beauty in the world around them. (And yes, in the movie it was all pretty thick and heavy-handed, but again! Who cares!) What this actually made me think of was the verse from Philippians that says "...their god is their stomach..." (And since the book concordance is in the same room where Eden is sleeping right now, I had to wait until Pete, the human concordance, got home to find out the reference for that verse.)
Buying things because it makes me happy... because it's become a habit... consuming for consuming's sake... their god is their stomach. Do you see where I'm going here? All these thoughts were starting to pull together into a big knot in my mind. But I wasn't at the end of it yet.
Because then I read The Hunger Games.
Which I loved. Probably my favorite book since the Harry Potter series, in fact. I'm going to try very hard not to get too much into the details of this book because, 1) it's sci-fi, so there are a lot of details, and this post is already at legendary proportions as it is, and 2) you might want to read it (you should! you should!), and I don't want to spoil anything for you. But I'm still going to have to give a general summary so that you can follow my train of thought. I should also warn you that this is a very dark book with some pretty gut-wrenching themes and plot lines. But, that's part of the point as I think you will see.
The book takes place in the future, where somewhere in North America a new nation has risen up following a series of apocalyptic wars/natural disasters/etc. that have wiped out the world as we know it. This new nation is composed of a central Capitol surrounded by twelve Districts. The Capitol is your basic cruel totalitarian government, keeping the citizens of the Districts in poverty. Once, many years ago, the Districts had tried to fight back, but their rebellion was harshly overthrown. Now, as a punishment for this rebellion and as a reminder of the power of the Capitol over them, an annual lottery is held in which one girl and one boy (ages 12-18) are selected from each District to fight in the Hunger Games - which is essentially a fight to the death on national television.
Okay, I know right there I've lost many if not most of you. And that's okay - when I first heard about the plot, I thought it sounded completely ridiculous myself. In fact, the only real reason I finally read the book was because so many people were talking about it, and as a librarian, I feel like I really need to be on top of the book business. But somehow, crazy-sounding plot aside, the author really gets you with this book. And frankly, I found it downright eerie at times. The tributes (which is what the "contestants" in the Hunger Games are called) are brought to the Capitol from their Districts and given stylists and mentors and other staff to help them create what basically amounts to a marketing plan and carefully constructed public image. Why? Because, as the Games are aired live on television, they are not only trying to stay alive but also win over the audience. If they win over the audience, they are more likely to attract sponsors who can pay to send them supplies, etc., which will increase their odds of survival. It is all very much American Idol meets Survivor meets the Roman Empire. And it is horrifying and repulsive and alarmingly familiar. Seriously. If you've ever watched much reality television or those entertainment/paparazzi shows where the hosts shred the lives and families of complete strangers for the entertainment of their viewers, you will find this book much less far-fetched than you could ever imagine. And if you are like me, that will turn your stomach.
So. The point of all this is that I think I would really like to take some time this year to reflect on what I value and how those values may or may not always be supported by the culture around me. I don't know, maybe this all sounds really ridiculous. I mean, I did get some of this idea about not being a consumer and living counter-culturally from a blockbuster movie that is making already ridiculously rich people a billion dollars, and a bestselling novel, which is, obviously, culturally-approved. But it just seems extra important to me all of a sudden. Part of it I'm sure is because I'm a mom now. How do I teach Eden to see clearly the values and motives behind all the messages she will hear in this lifetime? How do I teach her to set a straight course through those messages based on her own understanding of what is true and right if I don't at least first model this in my own life?
I'm not planning any drastic changes honestly. I'm going to keep drinking my Starbucks and shopping at Target. For now, at least. :) But I want to think about what it means to be a consumer and what it means for your god to be an appetite. And I want to think about what it would mean to live the opposite of a consumeristic life - which, I guess, would mean a life that's lived not about taking in, but about giving out. And finally, I want to think about the ways in which I've been swept along by the not-so-good parts of the culture around me - how have I become blind and hard-hearted toward those that are hurting and oppressed? What horrors have I overlooked in my passive acceptance of the sometimes-slightly-too-shiny world I live in everyday?
At this point, I don't really know how to go about this resolution other than to, you know, think. So if you have any suggestions, I would love, love, love to hear them!! Really, I would love anyone's thoughts or (gentle) feedback about this stuff. The only other idea I've had so far is to try to find some books by people who I see as living genuine, non-consumeristic, counter-cultural lives. For example, I've ordered some books by Mother Teresa from the library. But again, thoughts/ideas/suggestions would be GREATLY appreciated. And, I hope this goes without saying, but I'm really just reflecting on my own life here. No matter what I decide in my own life, I don't ever want to be the kind of person who looks down on others because of their Starbucks consumption, or whatever. That would be the opposite of what I'm trying to do.
I think this may be my longest post ever. Thanks for sticking with me this far (mom). I'll try to post any updates on how things are going or any new thoughts I've had.
Until then, here's to a new year and to new resolutions!
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Funky Town
No Flashback Friday this week. I realized that I'm just not a prolific enough blogger to write more than one post a week on a regular basis, so if I try to do a Flashback post every Friday then pretty soon that's all my blog will be. So the Flashback Fridays will continue, but just on a periodic basis.
Peter had an unexpected day off work today. Mostly because he's been working non-stop with conferences and retreats and homecoming events, etc., etc. It's a very busy time of year for him. Even now, as he's sitting on the couch with me, he's reading a book to help prepare for the next unit in his Pastoral Theology class. I think he enjoys this book though - so I suppose that makes it seem less like work. (Have I ever mentioned that it's really cool to be married to a theologian? Because it is. I highly recommend it. Just make sure you get a good one.)
Peter slept in (a little bit - our definition of sleeping in has changed soooo much in the last year) and I got to take a late morning nap. Then, in the afternoon, we got a babysitter for Eden and went to see a movie. We saw Where The Wild Things Are. I enjoyed it although it didn't really seem like a kids movie to me too much. I think all the monsters in the movie would have benefited from a good therapy session actually. But still, I enjoyed the film overall, and it was fun to chat about it with Peter over some Panda Express in the mall food-court afterward. We drove home, played with the munchkin and then put her to bed, and now, as previously mentioned, we're enjoying some relaxation on the couch. And it's not even the weekend yet! Next up: the pumpkin patch. Probably on Sunday. There will be pictures.
This has been kind of a weird week. I've been in a funk. Part of that has been from being a little sleep-deprived. (The cats are at it again. They've started waking me up at 4:30 or 4:45 am because they want me to feed them, and they will harass me and keep me awake until that happens. If I feed them, then I feel like I'm just perpetuating this problem forever, but ignoring them also doesn't work. They will keep me awake until Eden wakes up at some point during the 5 o'clock hour - either because of the rough phase of teething she's been going through or because of the noise the cats are making. Oh - and if you are wondering why we just don't close the bedroom door to keep the cats out - it's because they'll make enough noise meowing and scratching at the door to wake me up anyway (I've become an especially light sleeper since Eden was born), and they are also much more likely to wake Eden up too, as her door is right next to ours. Anyway, if any of you all know a cat whisperer, please send him/her our way.) I'm still trying to figure out the rest of it.
Awhile ago a friend of mine asked how I was liking being a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM). I don't remember exactly how I replied, but it was definitely something positive. My friend then said something about being in the SAHM honeymoon period, and I wondered if that was true. Working full-time was torturous after Eden was born (because of me, not because of the job, just to be clear). Being able to stay home with her has been wonderful. Like Christmas vacation when you're a kid. That's not to say it has been easy. I've been oh so tired so much of the time. In addition to just always needing sleep, I've also found myself tired of the limitations of her schedule, of changing diapers, of trying to be eternally patient, and of trying to entertain a baby who sometimes is just in a funk herself. It's been really hard and anything but fun at times. BUT, being here with her, my heart has felt full. That's the only way I know to say it. When I was at work, things never felt settled, I always felt a bit out-of-sorts and discombobulated - even on the best days. At home, even when nothing's going right, I've felt like I'm where I'm supposed to be. You can take a lot of crap if you feel settled inside yourself.
Anyway, so being in a funk this week had me remembering my friend's words and wondering again if they were true. Had I just been in the SAHM honeymoon period up to this point? Had that worn off? Was this weird down feeling a sign of things to come? Would I soon feel as discontented and dissatisfied being at home as I felt at work? Was it just me??
When things finally fell in place for me to be able to stay home, I immediately made plans and set goals. (Naturally. Because this is how I deal with my world.) I decided that I wanted to approach the SAHM thing like a job in a way. I wanted to make the most of my time with Eden. I wanted to be the best mom and wife and home-manager. I didn't want to treat my time at home like one big long weekend where we stayed in our pajamas watching mindless television for hours on end, while the trash overflowed and dishes piled up in the sink. (Erm, not to say that our weekends before Eden were ever like that. In any way. Yeah....) I wanted to be productive. I wanted Eden to have lots of stimulating activities and fun experiences and just lots of good old-fashioned play time with mommy. I wanted to keep up on the household chores and shopping and cooking so that those things wouldn't pile up on us and become a stressful mountain of never-ending to-do-lists, constantly hanging over our heads like they often have been before (ESPECIALLY while I was doing the full-time job thing). I wanted to make a home that was warm and peaceful and the kind of place you'd want to spend time in, and come back to, and go to sleep in every night. So I made goals and signed up for storytime and playgroups and tried to get and stay organized.
But I've discovered that this approach also has its drawbacks. If all that I'm trying to do as a mom is my "job" - then when exactly do the work hours end? With this approach the line between "working" and "resting" gets blurred. I'm working from the moment I wake up till I go to bed some days. I might get a few minutes of lunch or an hour or two before bed to do my own thing, but generally I still try to fill that with something "productive," whether it's dishes or laundry or the budget, or even reading parenting books or posting pictures to this blog. I've stopped reading for fun, I watch less than an hour of television most weeks, and I find myself wondering, wait - when am I done? Can I have a lunch hour? What about a 15 minute break? CAN I AT LEAST HAVE A 15 MINUTE BREAK?? IT'S MANDATED BY LAW, PEOPLE.
The other problem with the "job" approach is that I don't have a boss. Now that might not seem like a problem right off the bat. But bosses are there not only to distribute and oversee work, but also (hopefully) to keep their employees in good shape so-to-speak, so that they can continue to work and be productive. As already mentioned, no one's here making sure I get a lunch hour or breaks. No one is reviewing my goals to make sure they're reasonable and that I'm not trying to do too much too quickly. I don't have anyone to offer me guidance when I encounter unexpected or baffling problems (like a child who insists on trying to smear poop on herself and everything else every time we change her diaper). And, on the flip side, I don't have anyone holding me accountable. (Not to imply that Peter isn't supportive or involved, he's just simply not here during most of our day.)
Anyway, this post is way too long and way too rambley, but I think part of my funk this week stems from some of the disadvantages mentioned above. Goals are good, productivity is good, but I need to be able to relax in the midst of it too and remember that this ISN'T a job. No one is standing over me with a predetermined and set-in-stone job description which I must fulfill every second of every day. It's okay to be flexible and creative. Heck, it's probably okay to stay in our pajamas and watch hours of mindless television from time to time. Also, it would probably be a good thing if I worked out some clearly demarcated downtime on a regular basis. Time to not be productive or accomplish anything. I'm not sure how to do that, but I imagine it can be worked out somehow. The hardest part will not be setting the time but actually using it for its intended purpose without feeling guilty. And lastly, I also just need to practice developing the self-discipline so to accomplish the things that are important to me even if there is no one to hold me accountable. And that's just going to take time.
I still don't know if there is a honeymoon period to this whole SAHM business. And if there is, am I in it? Am I out of it? I don't know. I'm glad to be home though. So glad. It's not perfect. It's not problem-free. Poop is involved on a regular basis, in fact. But it's worth it. I'm absolutely, 100% confident of that.
Break's over, lady! Back to work.
Peter had an unexpected day off work today. Mostly because he's been working non-stop with conferences and retreats and homecoming events, etc., etc. It's a very busy time of year for him. Even now, as he's sitting on the couch with me, he's reading a book to help prepare for the next unit in his Pastoral Theology class. I think he enjoys this book though - so I suppose that makes it seem less like work. (Have I ever mentioned that it's really cool to be married to a theologian? Because it is. I highly recommend it. Just make sure you get a good one.)
Peter slept in (a little bit - our definition of sleeping in has changed soooo much in the last year) and I got to take a late morning nap. Then, in the afternoon, we got a babysitter for Eden and went to see a movie. We saw Where The Wild Things Are. I enjoyed it although it didn't really seem like a kids movie to me too much. I think all the monsters in the movie would have benefited from a good therapy session actually. But still, I enjoyed the film overall, and it was fun to chat about it with Peter over some Panda Express in the mall food-court afterward. We drove home, played with the munchkin and then put her to bed, and now, as previously mentioned, we're enjoying some relaxation on the couch. And it's not even the weekend yet! Next up: the pumpkin patch. Probably on Sunday. There will be pictures.
This has been kind of a weird week. I've been in a funk. Part of that has been from being a little sleep-deprived. (The cats are at it again. They've started waking me up at 4:30 or 4:45 am because they want me to feed them, and they will harass me and keep me awake until that happens. If I feed them, then I feel like I'm just perpetuating this problem forever, but ignoring them also doesn't work. They will keep me awake until Eden wakes up at some point during the 5 o'clock hour - either because of the rough phase of teething she's been going through or because of the noise the cats are making. Oh - and if you are wondering why we just don't close the bedroom door to keep the cats out - it's because they'll make enough noise meowing and scratching at the door to wake me up anyway (I've become an especially light sleeper since Eden was born), and they are also much more likely to wake Eden up too, as her door is right next to ours. Anyway, if any of you all know a cat whisperer, please send him/her our way.) I'm still trying to figure out the rest of it.
Awhile ago a friend of mine asked how I was liking being a stay-at-home-mom (SAHM). I don't remember exactly how I replied, but it was definitely something positive. My friend then said something about being in the SAHM honeymoon period, and I wondered if that was true. Working full-time was torturous after Eden was born (because of me, not because of the job, just to be clear). Being able to stay home with her has been wonderful. Like Christmas vacation when you're a kid. That's not to say it has been easy. I've been oh so tired so much of the time. In addition to just always needing sleep, I've also found myself tired of the limitations of her schedule, of changing diapers, of trying to be eternally patient, and of trying to entertain a baby who sometimes is just in a funk herself. It's been really hard and anything but fun at times. BUT, being here with her, my heart has felt full. That's the only way I know to say it. When I was at work, things never felt settled, I always felt a bit out-of-sorts and discombobulated - even on the best days. At home, even when nothing's going right, I've felt like I'm where I'm supposed to be. You can take a lot of crap if you feel settled inside yourself.
Anyway, so being in a funk this week had me remembering my friend's words and wondering again if they were true. Had I just been in the SAHM honeymoon period up to this point? Had that worn off? Was this weird down feeling a sign of things to come? Would I soon feel as discontented and dissatisfied being at home as I felt at work? Was it just me??
When things finally fell in place for me to be able to stay home, I immediately made plans and set goals. (Naturally. Because this is how I deal with my world.) I decided that I wanted to approach the SAHM thing like a job in a way. I wanted to make the most of my time with Eden. I wanted to be the best mom and wife and home-manager. I didn't want to treat my time at home like one big long weekend where we stayed in our pajamas watching mindless television for hours on end, while the trash overflowed and dishes piled up in the sink. (Erm, not to say that our weekends before Eden were ever like that. In any way. Yeah....) I wanted to be productive. I wanted Eden to have lots of stimulating activities and fun experiences and just lots of good old-fashioned play time with mommy. I wanted to keep up on the household chores and shopping and cooking so that those things wouldn't pile up on us and become a stressful mountain of never-ending to-do-lists, constantly hanging over our heads like they often have been before (ESPECIALLY while I was doing the full-time job thing). I wanted to make a home that was warm and peaceful and the kind of place you'd want to spend time in, and come back to, and go to sleep in every night. So I made goals and signed up for storytime and playgroups and tried to get and stay organized.
But I've discovered that this approach also has its drawbacks. If all that I'm trying to do as a mom is my "job" - then when exactly do the work hours end? With this approach the line between "working" and "resting" gets blurred. I'm working from the moment I wake up till I go to bed some days. I might get a few minutes of lunch or an hour or two before bed to do my own thing, but generally I still try to fill that with something "productive," whether it's dishes or laundry or the budget, or even reading parenting books or posting pictures to this blog. I've stopped reading for fun, I watch less than an hour of television most weeks, and I find myself wondering, wait - when am I done? Can I have a lunch hour? What about a 15 minute break? CAN I AT LEAST HAVE A 15 MINUTE BREAK?? IT'S MANDATED BY LAW, PEOPLE.
The other problem with the "job" approach is that I don't have a boss. Now that might not seem like a problem right off the bat. But bosses are there not only to distribute and oversee work, but also (hopefully) to keep their employees in good shape so-to-speak, so that they can continue to work and be productive. As already mentioned, no one's here making sure I get a lunch hour or breaks. No one is reviewing my goals to make sure they're reasonable and that I'm not trying to do too much too quickly. I don't have anyone to offer me guidance when I encounter unexpected or baffling problems (like a child who insists on trying to smear poop on herself and everything else every time we change her diaper). And, on the flip side, I don't have anyone holding me accountable. (Not to imply that Peter isn't supportive or involved, he's just simply not here during most of our day.)
Anyway, this post is way too long and way too rambley, but I think part of my funk this week stems from some of the disadvantages mentioned above. Goals are good, productivity is good, but I need to be able to relax in the midst of it too and remember that this ISN'T a job. No one is standing over me with a predetermined and set-in-stone job description which I must fulfill every second of every day. It's okay to be flexible and creative. Heck, it's probably okay to stay in our pajamas and watch hours of mindless television from time to time. Also, it would probably be a good thing if I worked out some clearly demarcated downtime on a regular basis. Time to not be productive or accomplish anything. I'm not sure how to do that, but I imagine it can be worked out somehow. The hardest part will not be setting the time but actually using it for its intended purpose without feeling guilty. And lastly, I also just need to practice developing the self-discipline so to accomplish the things that are important to me even if there is no one to hold me accountable. And that's just going to take time.
I still don't know if there is a honeymoon period to this whole SAHM business. And if there is, am I in it? Am I out of it? I don't know. I'm glad to be home though. So glad. It's not perfect. It's not problem-free. Poop is involved on a regular basis, in fact. But it's worth it. I'm absolutely, 100% confident of that.
Break's over, lady! Back to work.Monday, October 19, 2009
Flashback Friday: The... Erm... Weekend Edition
Sorry I'm late with this week's installment of flashback photos. I have good reasons (not really) but am too lazy to type them out and figure you probably don't care anyway. Moreover, if Saturday Night Live can have a Thursday edition, then why can't I have a Flashback Friday post on Sunday? Except I guess, technically, they are actually airing shows ahead of their normal schedule. So, yeah. Moving on...
Once upon a time, long, long, ago, Peter and Stephanie took an anniversary trip up the coast of California. Actually, it was a combined 5th and 6th anniversary and also Valentine's Day trip, and it occurred during Peter's spring break back in March of 2006. I think. But that is a lot of details, so it is very possible that some of them are wrong.
One thing I know for sure: we had a great time. We stayed in our first ever bed-and-breakfast (beautiful and cozy and not nearly as please-please-PLEASE-don't-make-me-talk-to-strangers-panic-inducing as I expected), we toured Hearst Castle, we saw a LOT of elephant seals, we visited Pismo Beach and Avila Beach, we visited Mission San Luis Obispo, we tried to go whale-watching but the weather was too stormy that day, and then, on our way home we randomly took a strange little detour recommended by the lady at the b&b and after seemingly driving out to the middle of nowhere, ended up at the Oso Flaco Nature Trail.
Which was awesome.
Awesome because it was a pretty little trail that wound its way back through a small area of trees, over a boardwalk that crossed Oso Flaco Lake, and then ended on a beautiful stretch of beach bordering the Oceano Dunes.
Awesome because we got to the trail just as the stormy skies suddenly emptied of clouds and everything was sunny, and blue, and sparkling, and amazingly gorgeous.
Awesome because previously mentioned stormy skies had apparently scared away all other visitors and we had the entire trail - the entire beach - to ourselves. Let me repeat that. Peter and I found a beautiful stretch of beach (not all that far from Los Angeles) on a beautiful day - completely devoid of people. AMAZING.
It was beautiful. Really, really beautiful.
Also, the Oceano Dunes? Super cool.
I only found four photos of the trip (below) when I was going through our photo files. More can be seen on an old online album of Pete's. The pictures don't even come close to doing it justice.
On the way home from Shanelle and Jared's wedding last Sunday I had a horrible moment of panic when, after thinking about their upcoming honeymoon trip to Paris and Italy, I was suddenly hit with the thought that, OH MY GOODNESS, WE HAVE A KID. And maybe someday KIDS. AND THERE WILL BE NO PARIS OR ITALY OR ROMANTIC ROADTRIPS OR LONG WALKS OR LET'S FACE IT LEISURELY DINNERS OR UNINTERRUPTED CONVERSATIONS FOR US EVER AGAIN FOR AS LONG AS BE BOTH SHALL LIVE. Or AT LEAST until we are 80. And then we'll be too tired. (I apologize for that last bit of ageist stereotyping. As I'm sure you can tell, this panic attack was not completely full of rational thought.) ALSO, I HAVEN'T BEEN ANYWHERE OR SEEN ANYTHING. WAH WAH WAH.
I really felt quite gloomy about it for a bit. Then I recovered. But a little smidgen of panic remains. Or maybe it's some other emotion. I'm not quite sure.
I mean, Eden. Is Wonderful. I cannot get enough of her. But I also miss the just-the-two-of-us adventures that Pete and I used to have. And while I know that we will have more of those in the future - and in all likelihood, well before our eighties - I have a feeling they won't be quite the same. Because we are not just-the-two-of-us anymore. And even if we are physically off on our own, a chunk of our heart and mind will always be missing, somewhere else, firmly tied to the rest of the tribe, whatever it may look like at that point in time. We are no longer carefree.
Because we have cares.
We very, very much have cares.
Also. Thank you God, for our cares.
P.S. Does anyone have any suggestions for toddler-friendly 10th anniversary trips?
Once upon a time, long, long, ago, Peter and Stephanie took an anniversary trip up the coast of California. Actually, it was a combined 5th and 6th anniversary and also Valentine's Day trip, and it occurred during Peter's spring break back in March of 2006. I think. But that is a lot of details, so it is very possible that some of them are wrong.
One thing I know for sure: we had a great time. We stayed in our first ever bed-and-breakfast (beautiful and cozy and not nearly as please-please-PLEASE-don't-make-me-talk-to-strangers-panic-inducing as I expected), we toured Hearst Castle, we saw a LOT of elephant seals, we visited Pismo Beach and Avila Beach, we visited Mission San Luis Obispo, we tried to go whale-watching but the weather was too stormy that day, and then, on our way home we randomly took a strange little detour recommended by the lady at the b&b and after seemingly driving out to the middle of nowhere, ended up at the Oso Flaco Nature Trail.
Which was awesome.
Awesome because it was a pretty little trail that wound its way back through a small area of trees, over a boardwalk that crossed Oso Flaco Lake, and then ended on a beautiful stretch of beach bordering the Oceano Dunes.
Awesome because we got to the trail just as the stormy skies suddenly emptied of clouds and everything was sunny, and blue, and sparkling, and amazingly gorgeous.
Awesome because previously mentioned stormy skies had apparently scared away all other visitors and we had the entire trail - the entire beach - to ourselves. Let me repeat that. Peter and I found a beautiful stretch of beach (not all that far from Los Angeles) on a beautiful day - completely devoid of people. AMAZING.
It was beautiful. Really, really beautiful.
Also, the Oceano Dunes? Super cool.
I only found four photos of the trip (below) when I was going through our photo files. More can be seen on an old online album of Pete's. The pictures don't even come close to doing it justice.
On the way home from Shanelle and Jared's wedding last Sunday I had a horrible moment of panic when, after thinking about their upcoming honeymoon trip to Paris and Italy, I was suddenly hit with the thought that, OH MY GOODNESS, WE HAVE A KID. And maybe someday KIDS. AND THERE WILL BE NO PARIS OR ITALY OR ROMANTIC ROADTRIPS OR LONG WALKS OR LET'S FACE IT LEISURELY DINNERS OR UNINTERRUPTED CONVERSATIONS FOR US EVER AGAIN FOR AS LONG AS BE BOTH SHALL LIVE. Or AT LEAST until we are 80. And then we'll be too tired. (I apologize for that last bit of ageist stereotyping. As I'm sure you can tell, this panic attack was not completely full of rational thought.) ALSO, I HAVEN'T BEEN ANYWHERE OR SEEN ANYTHING. WAH WAH WAH.
I really felt quite gloomy about it for a bit. Then I recovered. But a little smidgen of panic remains. Or maybe it's some other emotion. I'm not quite sure.
I mean, Eden. Is Wonderful. I cannot get enough of her. But I also miss the just-the-two-of-us adventures that Pete and I used to have. And while I know that we will have more of those in the future - and in all likelihood, well before our eighties - I have a feeling they won't be quite the same. Because we are not just-the-two-of-us anymore. And even if we are physically off on our own, a chunk of our heart and mind will always be missing, somewhere else, firmly tied to the rest of the tribe, whatever it may look like at that point in time. We are no longer carefree.
Because we have cares.
We very, very much have cares.
Also. Thank you God, for our cares.
P.S. Does anyone have any suggestions for toddler-friendly 10th anniversary trips?
Friday, September 4, 2009
A Very Long Ramble About Timelines, Life, and... Bears?
Disclaimer: I am really long-winded. Really.
Back when we were going through premarital counseling (almost 10 years ago now) Peter and I completed an activity where we individually created a "timeline" for our married life. Without collaborating in any way we were supposed to write down our goals/expectations for where we would be (as both individuals and a family) in 5, 10, 15, 25 years, etc. Then, during one of our counseling sessions, we sat down together and compared notes. The idea behind the exercise was that couples often have different ideas/expectations when it comes to the big picture of their future - but often don't reflect on these expectations in any sort of concrete way, as individuals or as partners, leading to conflict down the road in their married lives.
When Peter and I compared notes we discovered that our "life plan" matched almost completely. This was encouraging, and being a planner, I subconsciously hoped that this meant we would not only avoid conflict but also be able to simply tick off our life goals in a simple, straightforward, and well-organized manner. (Because really, I am more than a tad bit neurotic when you come right down to it.) Grad school? Check. Perfect jobs? Check. House? Check. Baby? Check. All in perfectly timed succession. After all, we'd made our plans. We'd even agreed on the plans we developed independently. Clearly, it was meant to be.
Well, needless to say, life has not turned out exactly according to our plans. It started off all right - we moved to California in the first chapter of our big adventure so that Peter could attend seminary. But we didn't move back to the Midwest (and our perfect jobs, and house, and family) when he graduated. Instead, a little over seven years after we set up camp on the West Coast, we're still here. And during that time we've been through soul-sucking jobs, major depression, job terminations, friendship terminations (well, almost), a year of trying to get pregnant with no success, a miscarriage at the 15th week, strained finances, doubt/confusion/anger/anxiety/fear/homesickness (that would be me, mostly), and all the other normal ups and downs of life.
But, honestly, I love my life. And I'm not just saying that. I really, really do. Now, to be fair, many of the things in the above list are behind us, or at least strongly diminished. We have jobs we like and find reasonably fulfilling. We have wonderful friends who support and encourage us and make us laugh. We have a great home and live in a great city. And, most notably, we have a truly amazing little girl whom we have been given the privilege to raise and love. So it's not too hard to love life these days. (Although the still-living-in-an-apartment situation is quite a regular struggle for me, truth be told. We have a great apartment, and I know I should be grateful for it, and I am most of the time, but... it's a struggle. I practically drooled over a washer and dryer at Best Buy the other day. And I was also informed by a 5-year-old that my house was way too small, and I needed to get a bigger one like his. I hear ya, kid. Oops - I mean, I have a great apartment.)
But, and here's where we actually start getting to the point of this post believe-it-or-not, part of the reason I love my life is because I've become much more capable of letting go of my expectations and plans when it comes to a timeline. (Okay, the people closest to me - who hear all my grumblings on a regular basis - might disagree with the previous statement. But really. I've gotten a LOT better.) To just cut to the chase and be completely cheesy, I've started expecting the unexpected.
Life does not go the way we plan or expect. Period. Not occasionally, or sometimes. Pretty much always. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that anything major in life going the way it was planned would probably be the exception to the rule. At least, that's the way my life is. Don't get me wrong, Peter and I still make plans and set goals. We just hold them very, very loosely. And I think that's a good thing. It not only allows us to be more flexible and unperturbed by unexpected change, it also gives us greater room and freedom to grow and develop as individuals.
Case in point: my job. (Aha! Now you see where I'm going with this!) When I started grad school for my library degree, Peter and I agreed that if I got into it and hated it, I could quit. If I got halfway through and got pregnant, I could quit. Or take a class a year. Or whatever. There would be no mutterings or worrying over lost tuition or time or whatever. Why? Because life doesn't go the way we plan or expect and sometimes you just have to try something and be willing to let it go if it doesn't work. So when I got a full-time librarian job, all those same qualifications still applied.
And then, we had Eden.
Talk about a life changer. Can anyone really be prepared for what it means to have a child? I don't think so. Seriously, this is definitely one of those events where you just need to fully embrace the "expect the unexpected" mantra. People can (and will!) tell you how hard it is to be a parent and how your life will never be the same, yada, yada, yada, till you can (and will!) hear it in your sleep, but it won't make a difference. Even if you hang on to their every word, soaking it all in and reflecting on it with utmost gravity and the best intentions, it still won't matter. You can't prepare for this, people. You just can't. Well, that's what I think anyway.
So, we had Eden, and once again realized that nothing was set in stone. Not plans, not timelines, not jobs, nothing. Furthermore, I quickly realized that when it comes to motherhood, I not only needed to expect the unexpected with regard to circumstances external to me, but also internally. Having a baby rattled up my identity and emotions in unexpected ways. I'd never been one of those girls who loved kids or babies. I mean, I didn't dislike kids. I just didn't oooh and ahhh over them and want to hold them or play games or stuff like that all the time. I hated baby-sitting. Talk about a miserable way to make some extra cash. So I never thought I'd be the stay-at-home-mom type.
But then I had Eden and the world shifted inside and out, and suddenly I was Mama Bear. And let me tell you that Mama Bear is not interested in careers, or corporate ladders, or time invested in graduate degrees, or pretty much anything outside of taking care of that baby. She's DEFINITELY not interested in paying someone else to do the job that she wants to do (needs to do) so that she can go sit in a staff meeting somewhere, or read through 14 kazillion e-mails everyday, or try to answer reference questions like "what do demons look like in real life?" (actual question from a few days ago). I did not expect Mama Bear. I did not know the potential for such a creature was even inside of me. I kind of thought I'd have a baby and just go on being the same person I always was except, you know,... with a baby. But that is not how things turned out.
Side note: They really need to figure out what hormone or neurotransmitter or crazy lurking DNA brain thingy is responsible for turning previously ordinary, rational women into Mama Bears, and then bottle it up. Because seriously, you could start a revolution with that stuff.
Anyway, at first I thought, well, I'll just work long enough after the baby is born to pay off my student loans. Then, as my return-to-work date actually loomed on the horizon, I changed that to I'll just work one full year. But after I started back at work full-time it became much more a matter of, just try to make it to the 6 week mark, okay now the 3 month mark, can I hold out for 6 months?, there is no way I can make it a year... By the end I was counting the days, hours, minutes. It was painful. And not just painful because I missed Eden and had lost much of my enthusiasm for my job. Painful because I felt like I had to hide it - because I didn't feel like I could just say that out loud and be taken seriously. Painful because I felt like I was being somehow unprofessional and immature by wanting to "stay-at-home." Painful because I didn't like to admit even to myself that I had changed so much so quickly - it made me feel fickle, unreliable, like I wasn't a committed or dependable adult.
The truth is, I have a very, very small pain tolerance - physically and emotionally. I learned the first during labor, but I should have remembered the second from a series of past experiences. If I'm forced to do something that I don't enjoy or find fulfilling, there is a good chance I will be emotionally shredded within a very short span of time. Fortunately, I have a husband who loves me, understands me, and supports me. And fortunately, he was not taken aback by the unexpected shift in my feelings and plans (or if he was, he hid it well). He encouraged me in my job but when it got to the point that I just couldn't do any more, he was more than okay with letting go of the previous goals and charting a new course - even if it meant some things were lost in the process. He is a really great husband and a great friend to me.
Sooooo, the gist of all this is that as of the middle of August (the 17th to be exact) I stopped working full-time at the library and became a stay-at-home mom. I still work about 10 hours a week - mostly in the evenings and on weekend afternoons - and that seems to be enough hours for me to feel like I'm staying in the loop of my profession (for whenever I want or need to go back) as well as enable us to stay afloat financially (as we also tighten the belt quite a bit). The few hours that I'm away, Eden is either asleep or being watched by Peter for the most part. This means that we are saving on childcare as well as being able to give her greater consistency in her schedule and life. All good things.
And being home with her is wonderful. Tiring, of course. Taking care of a child is work as anybody who has done it knows. But it's so meaningful to me and such a joy to see her grow and explore and learn. She's such a smarty-pants. And so inquisitive! And fearless! It does my soul good just to be around her. I'm sure that I will have moments of doubt about this decision - I am me, after all - but spending more time with Eden is just one of those things that can't be too wrong.
What a wonder is the unexpectedness of life!
Back when we were going through premarital counseling (almost 10 years ago now) Peter and I completed an activity where we individually created a "timeline" for our married life. Without collaborating in any way we were supposed to write down our goals/expectations for where we would be (as both individuals and a family) in 5, 10, 15, 25 years, etc. Then, during one of our counseling sessions, we sat down together and compared notes. The idea behind the exercise was that couples often have different ideas/expectations when it comes to the big picture of their future - but often don't reflect on these expectations in any sort of concrete way, as individuals or as partners, leading to conflict down the road in their married lives.
When Peter and I compared notes we discovered that our "life plan" matched almost completely. This was encouraging, and being a planner, I subconsciously hoped that this meant we would not only avoid conflict but also be able to simply tick off our life goals in a simple, straightforward, and well-organized manner. (Because really, I am more than a tad bit neurotic when you come right down to it.) Grad school? Check. Perfect jobs? Check. House? Check. Baby? Check. All in perfectly timed succession. After all, we'd made our plans. We'd even agreed on the plans we developed independently. Clearly, it was meant to be.
Well, needless to say, life has not turned out exactly according to our plans. It started off all right - we moved to California in the first chapter of our big adventure so that Peter could attend seminary. But we didn't move back to the Midwest (and our perfect jobs, and house, and family) when he graduated. Instead, a little over seven years after we set up camp on the West Coast, we're still here. And during that time we've been through soul-sucking jobs, major depression, job terminations, friendship terminations (well, almost), a year of trying to get pregnant with no success, a miscarriage at the 15th week, strained finances, doubt/confusion/anger/anxiety/fear/homesickness (that would be me, mostly), and all the other normal ups and downs of life.
But, honestly, I love my life. And I'm not just saying that. I really, really do. Now, to be fair, many of the things in the above list are behind us, or at least strongly diminished. We have jobs we like and find reasonably fulfilling. We have wonderful friends who support and encourage us and make us laugh. We have a great home and live in a great city. And, most notably, we have a truly amazing little girl whom we have been given the privilege to raise and love. So it's not too hard to love life these days. (Although the still-living-in-an-apartment situation is quite a regular struggle for me, truth be told. We have a great apartment, and I know I should be grateful for it, and I am most of the time, but... it's a struggle. I practically drooled over a washer and dryer at Best Buy the other day. And I was also informed by a 5-year-old that my house was way too small, and I needed to get a bigger one like his. I hear ya, kid. Oops - I mean, I have a great apartment.)
But, and here's where we actually start getting to the point of this post believe-it-or-not, part of the reason I love my life is because I've become much more capable of letting go of my expectations and plans when it comes to a timeline. (Okay, the people closest to me - who hear all my grumblings on a regular basis - might disagree with the previous statement. But really. I've gotten a LOT better.) To just cut to the chase and be completely cheesy, I've started expecting the unexpected.
Life does not go the way we plan or expect. Period. Not occasionally, or sometimes. Pretty much always. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that anything major in life going the way it was planned would probably be the exception to the rule. At least, that's the way my life is. Don't get me wrong, Peter and I still make plans and set goals. We just hold them very, very loosely. And I think that's a good thing. It not only allows us to be more flexible and unperturbed by unexpected change, it also gives us greater room and freedom to grow and develop as individuals.
Case in point: my job. (Aha! Now you see where I'm going with this!) When I started grad school for my library degree, Peter and I agreed that if I got into it and hated it, I could quit. If I got halfway through and got pregnant, I could quit. Or take a class a year. Or whatever. There would be no mutterings or worrying over lost tuition or time or whatever. Why? Because life doesn't go the way we plan or expect and sometimes you just have to try something and be willing to let it go if it doesn't work. So when I got a full-time librarian job, all those same qualifications still applied.
And then, we had Eden.
Talk about a life changer. Can anyone really be prepared for what it means to have a child? I don't think so. Seriously, this is definitely one of those events where you just need to fully embrace the "expect the unexpected" mantra. People can (and will!) tell you how hard it is to be a parent and how your life will never be the same, yada, yada, yada, till you can (and will!) hear it in your sleep, but it won't make a difference. Even if you hang on to their every word, soaking it all in and reflecting on it with utmost gravity and the best intentions, it still won't matter. You can't prepare for this, people. You just can't. Well, that's what I think anyway.
So, we had Eden, and once again realized that nothing was set in stone. Not plans, not timelines, not jobs, nothing. Furthermore, I quickly realized that when it comes to motherhood, I not only needed to expect the unexpected with regard to circumstances external to me, but also internally. Having a baby rattled up my identity and emotions in unexpected ways. I'd never been one of those girls who loved kids or babies. I mean, I didn't dislike kids. I just didn't oooh and ahhh over them and want to hold them or play games or stuff like that all the time. I hated baby-sitting. Talk about a miserable way to make some extra cash. So I never thought I'd be the stay-at-home-mom type.
But then I had Eden and the world shifted inside and out, and suddenly I was Mama Bear. And let me tell you that Mama Bear is not interested in careers, or corporate ladders, or time invested in graduate degrees, or pretty much anything outside of taking care of that baby. She's DEFINITELY not interested in paying someone else to do the job that she wants to do (needs to do) so that she can go sit in a staff meeting somewhere, or read through 14 kazillion e-mails everyday, or try to answer reference questions like "what do demons look like in real life?" (actual question from a few days ago). I did not expect Mama Bear. I did not know the potential for such a creature was even inside of me. I kind of thought I'd have a baby and just go on being the same person I always was except, you know,... with a baby. But that is not how things turned out.
Side note: They really need to figure out what hormone or neurotransmitter or crazy lurking DNA brain thingy is responsible for turning previously ordinary, rational women into Mama Bears, and then bottle it up. Because seriously, you could start a revolution with that stuff.
Anyway, at first I thought, well, I'll just work long enough after the baby is born to pay off my student loans. Then, as my return-to-work date actually loomed on the horizon, I changed that to I'll just work one full year. But after I started back at work full-time it became much more a matter of, just try to make it to the 6 week mark, okay now the 3 month mark, can I hold out for 6 months?, there is no way I can make it a year... By the end I was counting the days, hours, minutes. It was painful. And not just painful because I missed Eden and had lost much of my enthusiasm for my job. Painful because I felt like I had to hide it - because I didn't feel like I could just say that out loud and be taken seriously. Painful because I felt like I was being somehow unprofessional and immature by wanting to "stay-at-home." Painful because I didn't like to admit even to myself that I had changed so much so quickly - it made me feel fickle, unreliable, like I wasn't a committed or dependable adult.
The truth is, I have a very, very small pain tolerance - physically and emotionally. I learned the first during labor, but I should have remembered the second from a series of past experiences. If I'm forced to do something that I don't enjoy or find fulfilling, there is a good chance I will be emotionally shredded within a very short span of time. Fortunately, I have a husband who loves me, understands me, and supports me. And fortunately, he was not taken aback by the unexpected shift in my feelings and plans (or if he was, he hid it well). He encouraged me in my job but when it got to the point that I just couldn't do any more, he was more than okay with letting go of the previous goals and charting a new course - even if it meant some things were lost in the process. He is a really great husband and a great friend to me.
Sooooo, the gist of all this is that as of the middle of August (the 17th to be exact) I stopped working full-time at the library and became a stay-at-home mom. I still work about 10 hours a week - mostly in the evenings and on weekend afternoons - and that seems to be enough hours for me to feel like I'm staying in the loop of my profession (for whenever I want or need to go back) as well as enable us to stay afloat financially (as we also tighten the belt quite a bit). The few hours that I'm away, Eden is either asleep or being watched by Peter for the most part. This means that we are saving on childcare as well as being able to give her greater consistency in her schedule and life. All good things.
And being home with her is wonderful. Tiring, of course. Taking care of a child is work as anybody who has done it knows. But it's so meaningful to me and such a joy to see her grow and explore and learn. She's such a smarty-pants. And so inquisitive! And fearless! It does my soul good just to be around her. I'm sure that I will have moments of doubt about this decision - I am me, after all - but spending more time with Eden is just one of those things that can't be too wrong.
What a wonder is the unexpectedness of life!
Friday, August 28, 2009
Return of the Blog
Hello!
It's been quite awhile since I've posted anything to this blog - sorry about that. The truth is I wasn't really up to posting for awhile - partially because I was just way too busy, and partially because what was keeping me busy (the whole working mom bit) was also keeping me feeling a bit glum overall. And no one wants to read post after post of repeated grumblings, right? Despite the general tilt of my personality toward the melancholy, I didn't really want to write post after post of repeated grumblings either. So I decided to give the ol' blog a break for awhile. And awhile turned in to 4 to 5 months. It happens.
But big changes have been afoot in the Hough House lately, and I'm excited to share them all with you. The fact that I also have a little more time to share them now should give you a hint regarding what at least one of those changes might be... but more about that later. Right now I want to try to catch you up to the present - well, at least through the end of July. It's going to be a whirlwind tour, so hang on to your hats!
Shortly after my last post in the beginning of April, we took a family trip to Yosemite for about 5 days. Eden went on her first hike and pretty much cried the whole way. The only time she would stop crying was when another hiker appeared on the path - mostly because she immediately became curious about the new person. This saved us from the fear that someone would turn us in to the authorities for cruelty but didn't keep that first hike from being pretty miserable for all involved. The next day however, we decided to take a hike on a little path near our cabin, and this time Eden proved that she was more than able to be a happy camper (happy hiker?) when she felt so inclined. She even indulged in a short snooze on the way home. This trip contained 2 other firsts as well - the first time Eden clapped and her first scary fall - head first off the hotel bed while Peter and I were a little too focused on looking over the trail map. (Perhaps someone should have turned us in to the authorities after all...) I'm pretty sure the thunk of Eden hitting the floor was the loudest and worst sound I've ever heard in my life - followed closely by the scream she let out immediately afterward (which, both Peter and I noted later, seemed much more like an "angry" scream than a hurt or frightened one). She recovered pretty quickly though and never got a bump or even a bruise. I'm still a jittery mess about it though.
Two of us:
The Not-So-Happy-Hiker:
Fun times:
Short snooze:
Yosemite:
Other items of note: Eden stood on her own without support for the first time on May 7th. She had her 9-month checkup on May 14th and weighed 16.69 pounds and was 28.3 inches long. Her much anticipated first steps were taken on Sunday, May 24th, in the presence of both mom and dad, as well as our friend, Shanelle!
In June we flew back to the Midwest for a family reunion in the Smoky Mountains. It was the first time everyone (grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins) from my mom's side of the family had gotten all together since before I was married. The reunion was also a surprise 80th birthday party for my wonderful Grandma Green - I am so thankful that all the details were worked out and that everyone was able to make it. Both Peter and Eden were introduced to many relatives and, apart from a terrible cold I developed a few days into the trip, a fun time was had by all. Eden also started waving "bye-bye" on our last day in the Midwest - right before we flew back to California.
Stretching our legs at a rest stop with Cousin Cedric:
Passed out on Grandma at the cabin:
Fuzzy family:
Curly top:
Shortly after we returned from the family reunion, Peter went on a trip to Africa with students and staff from his school. They had an incredible time and were able to visit several organizations that the school might partner with and support in the future. While he was gone, my sister-in-law, Laura, visited for a week with my nephew. We had a wonderful time just relaxing as well as taking fun little adventures each day to places like the Huntington Gardens, Kidspace, and the beaches in Malibu (which my nephew referred to as the "Big Water"). I was very sad to see them go when the week was up.
Flat tire on safari:
Masai man:
Laura, Eden, Cedric:
My beautiful baby:
Kidspace:
On July 16th, Eden dropped a toy from the changing table while I was changing her diaper. I said "uh-oh!" and she looked right at me and repeated the word, drawing out the second syllable: "uh-ohhhh." And she's been saying it ever since! Usually she says it when she drops something, but she will also say it sometimes for no (apparent) reason. She was cracking us up the other day by saying it whenever we told her no or to stop doing something:
"Eden, out of the trash!"
"Uh-oh!"
"Don't put that cat food in your mouth!"
"Uh-oh!"
"Eden - no! Put that down!"
"Uh-oh!"
"Eden, please stop squealing in that incredibly high-pitched way."
"Uh-oh!"
Well, you get the picture. It was even funnier because she was so serious and sincere when saying it. We would have to hide our faces so she wouldn't see us laughing and continue it as a joke.
She has actually become quite a mimic verbally and will often repeat words immediately after we say them although "uh-oh" seems to be the one she understands the most and uses independently. Other words she has said, or at least mimicked, include: mama, dada, kitty, no, wow, more, tada!, and e-i-e-i-oooo (from the Old McDonald Had a Farm song). There is also an interesting and very hard to describe "la-la-la" noise that we think is supposed to mean banana.
It's hard to believe the time has passed so quickly, but Eden turned one year old on August 1st, 2009. I will write another post soon all about her party and the other big events that have happened in the month of August - promise! (Although, please be generous with your interpretation of the word soon.) For now, I hope you feel at least a little bit caught up on our lives over the last few months. In addition to some new posts (and hopefully regularly occurring posts from this point on), I will be working on some other changes to the blog to get it a bit more up-to-date. It's definitely a work in progress at the moment though, so don't be surprised if a few things seem missing or a bit unfinished for a (hopefully brief) time.
Until next time here's a short video of Eden walking/climbing to tide you over.
It's been quite awhile since I've posted anything to this blog - sorry about that. The truth is I wasn't really up to posting for awhile - partially because I was just way too busy, and partially because what was keeping me busy (the whole working mom bit) was also keeping me feeling a bit glum overall. And no one wants to read post after post of repeated grumblings, right? Despite the general tilt of my personality toward the melancholy, I didn't really want to write post after post of repeated grumblings either. So I decided to give the ol' blog a break for awhile. And awhile turned in to 4 to 5 months. It happens.
But big changes have been afoot in the Hough House lately, and I'm excited to share them all with you. The fact that I also have a little more time to share them now should give you a hint regarding what at least one of those changes might be... but more about that later. Right now I want to try to catch you up to the present - well, at least through the end of July. It's going to be a whirlwind tour, so hang on to your hats!
Shortly after my last post in the beginning of April, we took a family trip to Yosemite for about 5 days. Eden went on her first hike and pretty much cried the whole way. The only time she would stop crying was when another hiker appeared on the path - mostly because she immediately became curious about the new person. This saved us from the fear that someone would turn us in to the authorities for cruelty but didn't keep that first hike from being pretty miserable for all involved. The next day however, we decided to take a hike on a little path near our cabin, and this time Eden proved that she was more than able to be a happy camper (happy hiker?) when she felt so inclined. She even indulged in a short snooze on the way home. This trip contained 2 other firsts as well - the first time Eden clapped and her first scary fall - head first off the hotel bed while Peter and I were a little too focused on looking over the trail map. (Perhaps someone should have turned us in to the authorities after all...) I'm pretty sure the thunk of Eden hitting the floor was the loudest and worst sound I've ever heard in my life - followed closely by the scream she let out immediately afterward (which, both Peter and I noted later, seemed much more like an "angry" scream than a hurt or frightened one). She recovered pretty quickly though and never got a bump or even a bruise. I'm still a jittery mess about it though.
Two of us:
The Not-So-Happy-Hiker:
Fun times:
Short snooze:
Yosemite:
Other items of note: Eden stood on her own without support for the first time on May 7th. She had her 9-month checkup on May 14th and weighed 16.69 pounds and was 28.3 inches long. Her much anticipated first steps were taken on Sunday, May 24th, in the presence of both mom and dad, as well as our friend, Shanelle!
In June we flew back to the Midwest for a family reunion in the Smoky Mountains. It was the first time everyone (grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins) from my mom's side of the family had gotten all together since before I was married. The reunion was also a surprise 80th birthday party for my wonderful Grandma Green - I am so thankful that all the details were worked out and that everyone was able to make it. Both Peter and Eden were introduced to many relatives and, apart from a terrible cold I developed a few days into the trip, a fun time was had by all. Eden also started waving "bye-bye" on our last day in the Midwest - right before we flew back to California.
Stretching our legs at a rest stop with Cousin Cedric:
Passed out on Grandma at the cabin:
Fuzzy family:
Curly top:
Shortly after we returned from the family reunion, Peter went on a trip to Africa with students and staff from his school. They had an incredible time and were able to visit several organizations that the school might partner with and support in the future. While he was gone, my sister-in-law, Laura, visited for a week with my nephew. We had a wonderful time just relaxing as well as taking fun little adventures each day to places like the Huntington Gardens, Kidspace, and the beaches in Malibu (which my nephew referred to as the "Big Water"). I was very sad to see them go when the week was up.
Flat tire on safari:
Masai man:
Laura, Eden, Cedric:
My beautiful baby:
Kidspace:
On July 16th, Eden dropped a toy from the changing table while I was changing her diaper. I said "uh-oh!" and she looked right at me and repeated the word, drawing out the second syllable: "uh-ohhhh." And she's been saying it ever since! Usually she says it when she drops something, but she will also say it sometimes for no (apparent) reason. She was cracking us up the other day by saying it whenever we told her no or to stop doing something:
"Eden, out of the trash!"
"Uh-oh!"
"Don't put that cat food in your mouth!"
"Uh-oh!"
"Eden - no! Put that down!"
"Uh-oh!"
"Eden, please stop squealing in that incredibly high-pitched way."
"Uh-oh!"
Well, you get the picture. It was even funnier because she was so serious and sincere when saying it. We would have to hide our faces so she wouldn't see us laughing and continue it as a joke.
She has actually become quite a mimic verbally and will often repeat words immediately after we say them although "uh-oh" seems to be the one she understands the most and uses independently. Other words she has said, or at least mimicked, include: mama, dada, kitty, no, wow, more, tada!, and e-i-e-i-oooo (from the Old McDonald Had a Farm song). There is also an interesting and very hard to describe "la-la-la" noise that we think is supposed to mean banana.
It's hard to believe the time has passed so quickly, but Eden turned one year old on August 1st, 2009. I will write another post soon all about her party and the other big events that have happened in the month of August - promise! (Although, please be generous with your interpretation of the word soon.) For now, I hope you feel at least a little bit caught up on our lives over the last few months. In addition to some new posts (and hopefully regularly occurring posts from this point on), I will be working on some other changes to the blog to get it a bit more up-to-date. It's definitely a work in progress at the moment though, so don't be surprised if a few things seem missing or a bit unfinished for a (hopefully brief) time.
Until next time here's a short video of Eden walking/climbing to tide you over.
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