Preaching to Myself

I'm sitting in the backyard shed. In silence. Alone. And I'm not even sure where to start. This moment was a looong 9 months in the making, and I'm fairly certain it can/will end at any moment. But I wanted to sit here with my cupcake and my nettle tea and my thoughts, because I'm behind on my thoughts. I'm not sure I knew that was possible, but as someone who needs to deal with emotions by naming them and moving through them, I can tell you it's been pretty chaotic for me to not have time to sit in silence and reflect.

And I've been wanting to reflect on a lot of things lately. So it surprises me that today's reflections are on body image of all things, since these thoughts seemed to come a bit out of the blue. I've been organizing and putting away baby clothes and maternity clothes over the past few days, and even though it's nice to see my old clothes in my closet, the reality is that I won't be wearing most of them any time soon.

It's funny, because my 17-years-ago-self would be really focused on sizes and numbers right now. But let me take a minute here: 17 years ago. Every time I think about this, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude that the peak of my anorexia is now half a lifetime away from me. My past self never even fathomed all of the fullness that life beyond recovery held, and my present self is moved beyond words by the ways in which God pulled me from the muck and mire and set me on solid ground.

So anyway, it's hard to name what I'm feeling right now. I experienced a lot of freedom and healing in my pregnancy with Noah and the subsequent postpartum recovery I went through. I was in physical pain every day, and I felt like my body had come this far only to betray me. It took a lot of time and money and work and tears to move beyond that. But aside from the pain and physical recovery, there was also the ever-present bodily recovery in the sense of recognizing who I saw in the mirror. Just like the weight gain curve in pregnancy, I learned that my body had its own weight loss curve postpartum, and that I really couldn't comfortably and safely impact the progression that happened.

I gained 30 pounds in 38.5 weeks of pregnancy with Noah, lost 15 pounds (7lbs 8.7oz of that was a bouncing baby boy) within a few days of delivery, and pretty much hung out there for 7-8 months. I lost maybe 5 pounds around that point, another 5 pounds after 14-15 months when Noah started sleeping through the night, and another 2-3 pounds when we weaned at 26 months. For much of the first year with Noah, I was run into the ground. I've talked about this plenty of times before, with the house under construction, the colic, the pain, the postpartum anxiety, the sheer sleeplessness, the anemia, the fatigue. I was trying to work out and take care of myself, but I was not quite sure what that really meant and it took quite a while to find a new normal.

Before getting pregnant with Rosie, I was still technically hanging onto the last 3-5 pounds, but as I told a friend, I really had neither the time, nor money, nor f*cks to give at that point. I was happy and comfortable and active. I was a little softer than before (literally and figuratively), but I fit into most of my old clothes and I was mostly just so grateful for a body that allowed me to carry and birth a firework of a baby, to breastfeed him as long as I wanted to, and to carry him around and play with him and take long walks and snuggle at naps.

I gained 30 pounds in 38.3 weeks with Rosie, and again lost 15 pounds right away (7lbs 15.3oz of sweet baby included). But post-Rosie, getting "back into shape" hasn't really been a focus, in a good way. I was meticulous about physical therapy in pregnancy and postpartum since my first and foremost goal was to avoid another painful recovery if at all possible. I stayed on top of acupuncture and herbs. I focused on lots of nourishing and healing foods. And I'm grateful that purely focusing on replenishing and restoring has brought me this far. Physical recovery has been so different this time. I've been so grateful for that, I didn't really care about anything else. But the fact of the matter is, I sit here 9 months out a solid 15 pounds heavier than were I started 18 months ago, and much more... stretched out... than I was after the first baby. So yeah, the weather is warming up and I'm not wearing layers and sweaters and vests, and I'll be honest, I'm realizing it's been a while since I really evaluated the situation in the mirror.

I'm a bridesmaid in my brother's wedding in 4 weeks and I'm honored and psyched to be a part of their big day! But I took my dress to the seamstress this weekend and had to face the fact I'm also the mom to two babies on earth and two in heaven and I'm 5 years older than all the other (childless) bridesmaids. Let's be honest. I've lived a whole lot of life in those 5 years. Life that I'm grateful for and overwhelmed by and wouldn't trade for the world, but life nonetheless. And it shows.

It's hard for me to express this in a non-navel-gazing way: how I am so thankful for life right now and every single thing that brought me here, but how I also maybe wish I looked a little more familiar to myself. And that really is it. It's not about being a certain size or weight, but being at home with myself again. I've grown a little detached in the chaos of adjusting to two kids and getting through the long winter.

A friend recently shared her pregnancy news on a text chain with a few of us, and she was asking about weight gain. Everyone was sharing their stories, and I said, "I gained 30lbs on the dot for both of mine, but they were both 1-2 weeks early. With Noah I gained really rapidly in the first tri, then stalled in the second, then gained steadily in the third. With Rosie, I gained nothing in the first tri (so sick), gained really rapidly in the second, and then stalled a bit between 25-35 weeks. I panicked a bit both times because it wasn't a perfect linear progression. But your body does what it needs to do, and all you can do is eat as healthily as appetite allows, and be as active as you have the energy to be. Pregnancy and postpartum was/is redemptive for me in learning to trust how God made my body. With both kids, I lost 15 pounds right away, and the other 15 pounds seems to hang around for a good year. I'm in the middle of that now, but trusting and remembering that it goes away (fairly) easily when I start sleeping through the night again and having more energy during the day."

Really, though, other friends' answers were better for me to hear. Emily said that after having 4 babies, "I honestly feel more at home in my body even though it's a far cry from being in shape. After seeing the healthy humans I made, I see it in a much more positive light."

Alison's response stopped me in my tracks:

"I truly view my body differently since being pregnant and breastfeeding. Your body is literally giving life to another! That is so amazing! It definitely helps to put the gaining weight part of it into perspective. BUT it is still hard! And it's okay to feel those feelings of grief. Some seem to get right back to themselves after birth and that just wasn't me. I definitely hold onto weight while breastfeeding and my supply is very sensitive, so I couldn't make any big changes to my diet or activity level while nursing. I am done nursing [my second] and just now feel like I 'have my body back,' so to speak, after almost 4 years of being pregnant and breastfeeding.

They have been the most precious years and I obviously would not trade them for anything, but it doesn't mean that it's not hard to give that part of yourself up. But I'm learning, too, that that's motherhood! Giving of yourself over and over and over to your kids, but also finding time for self-care. And that looks different in every season. But in the early years I'm finding the 'giving up of yourself' is definitely heavy on the physical side! And I think the changes our bodies go through are kind of an outward representation of that sacrifice of our needs. But it's just a season."

I really loved her answer, and it gave voice to some of my thoughts about the giving of yourself. I feel like motherhood, for me, has really been a season of listening and learning and being patient. This is hard for me, as a verbal processor who likes to be bossy and know all the answers! But VERY slowly God is beginning to connect some of the dots for me. These body image thoughts have been rolling around for the past year and a half, ever since I got pregnant with Rosie, and they came full circle when I was listening to a podcast this morning and the conversation came around to body image in motherhood.

In the episode, Hannah Anderson says, 

"Again, we have to go back to this definition of humility, as recognizing and honoring the difference between God as God, and our identity as created, limited creatures who are dependent on Him. If we have that frame, and we move to talk about our bodies, it’s amazing to realize that one of the very things that defines the difference between us and a transcendent God, is our physical bodies.  

One of the catechisms that children often learn is, your God does not have a body. God is a spirit; He does not have a body. Even living within the boundaries of this physical flesh and bone is a limitation to begin with. Our bodies are our first reminder that we are not God. We fight this all the time, whether we’re skimping on sleep, or we’re skimping on food, or skimping on exercise, we’re essentially saying, “I don’t have to live within the boundaries of my physical body. I can live beyond them.” The first thing that humility teaches us about our body is that, it has been given to us to remind us of our limits. It is a walking, 24/7 reminder that we are not God. 

But Christ, when he entered human flesh, He also elevated and honored it, so there is no shame in our bodies. We feel the shame because we feel the limitations, and we press against those limitations. We look at our body, we feel them decaying and we feel them breaking down, and we are, quite frankly, embarrassed by them. We are ashamed of them in ways that God is not ashamed of them. Jesus Christ was not ashamed to carry human flesh.  

I find it fascinating that when He was raised from the dead, He was not ashamed to have marred flesh. He was not ashamed to carry the marks of love and sacrifice in His body. Again, this goes back to who are we listening to about our bodies? Jesus Christ is saying, “Your body is valuable and honoring and it’s been given to you to remind you of your limits, but also to make you dependent. It has been given to you to serve in sacrifice, and it’s going to carry marks.” That’s what Christ is telling us about our body. The world is telling us, “Your body is given to you to be a goddess. You are to transcend normal human limits...”  

At the root, there is essential conflict of, who we are going to listen to? Are we going to listen to culture around us that tells us a broken, limited body is a shameful thing? Or are we going to listen to the voice of Christ who says, “Come to me, I’ve got the same kind of body? And mine’s as messed up as yours is.” Not what the world is saying is beautiful, but high honor and value and love the things that the world does not love. So humility frees us, again like you said, takes that burden off, when we’re seeing our bodies the way God sees them. We don’t feel the weight that the world is putting on us for our bodies. 

[...]This has great potential for us to teach our children, and even our daughters, to honor what their bodies are, and will be. If you think about Christ coming back with wounds in His hands, it is these very wounds that He used to convince Thomas of His love, and to draw him to Himself. In many ways, whether we’re coming up in a swimsuit season, or whether we’re going to be outside more, and we can’t wear jeans and sweaters, all the time any more, we are going to be exposed. Yet it’s these very things that can be a connection, especially with our daughters to say, “Hey, this is where I carried you, this space.” ...Celebrating and honoring the same way Jesus said, “Come touch my hands. Come see it and believe that this was a good, valuable sacrifice. I am here and I did this for you.” We’re carrying a parallel kind of mark of sacrifice and love, and our children need to see that love embodied in us, rather than us shamefully covering and self condemning."

This really resonates with another podcast episode that I've been thinking about since I heard it last week. (Yeah I've been listening to a lot of podcasts lately. I need a different soundtrack in my head aside from kids crying and my own self-condemnation and frustration! It's good for me to listen and let truth wash over me without having to engage in conversation, or be heard, or interrupted.)

In this episode, Gloria Furman reminded me, "God is ONE. He is triune and he is one. There's no disunity in the eternal counsel in the Godhead. So he's ordained, designed, called, equipped, strengthens you, holds you accountable, and rewards you... He is not in conflict with himself. God has ordained THOSE kids, THIS marriage, THAT home, THIS financial situation and budget, THESE challenges, your weaknesses and your strengths, and he expects you to depend on Him for everything you need. His grace is sufficient for you. And he will give you what you need to persevere in your faith through all of that."

With that, I just heard the back door slam and Noah's running across the yard with a snack in his hand. But these are truths that I will be coming back to again and again. Nothing goes out from God and returns back empty, so I can rest assured that even these extra 15 pounds hold a purpose. They remind me that I'm not God, that I need him daily, and he has me here for a purpose.

Postpartum Freezer Meals: Part 2

I made some BIG plans for freezer meals, detailed here. Today is one month away from the gestational age at which Noah was born, and given my increasing discomfort, I realized I needed to get this done sooner rather than later.

How I did it

DAY 1 (1.5-2 hours): In the morning, I started the pulled pork in the crockpot and we ate some for dinner, gave some to a friend for a baby meal, and froze the rest for postpartum. Then before bed, I washed and chopped ALL the produce. This actually took almost two hours! It's the most tedious part of cooking, for me, and it was nice to get it out of the way.

DAY 2 (5 hours): I got EVERYTHING out on the counter. All the ingredients I would need for all of the recipes. Turns out this was overly ambitious, but it kept me from having to search for random stuff mid-recipe. Then I tackled most of the uncooked meat dishes. Before putting anything in freezer bags, I wrote the date, the name of the recipe, and the cooking or re-heating instructions so I wouldn't have to look it up later. To assemble these, I used one bowl for each marinade, rinsing well in between. Same for the small bowl I used for each dry spice mixture. I put the meat right in the freezer bag, dumped the marinade over it, and then sealed and laid the bag horizontally in the deep freezer. This method helped me assemble the jerk chicken tacos, maple dijon chicken, salsa chicken, and beef and broccoli pretty quickly.

Then, since the chicken was already in use, I continued with the rest of the chicken dishes. I put the chicken enchilada filling in the crockpot and put the chicken spaghetti bake in the oven.

While those were cooking, I moved onto the ground meat dishes. I processed all the bread crumbs in the food processor in one batch, to measure out accordingly. Then I used one big bowl for each of the ground meat dishes, rinsing it in between recipes (and using fresh gloves for each batch, because I hate mixing meat with bare hands). I made the meatballs and put them in a freezer bag with the tomato sauce, to be cooked after thawing. Then I made the turkey loaf and Greek meatloaf muffins.  When they cooled, I wrapped them in foil and then put them each in a freezer bag and placed in the freezer.

I had to sauté some of the veggies for the meatloaf, and I used the same sauté pan to then cook the Italian sausage, onions, and garlic for the cauliflower and Italian sausage casserole. I boiled the cauliflower in a big soup pot, and then assembled and baked that casserole as well. With the casseroles, I baked them in disposable aluminum trays, cooled in the fridge, covered rightly with foil, and then covered with the included plastic lid, on which I wrote the date and the re-heating instructions.

Then I used that same soup pot to boil the second round of cauliflower, for the alfredo sauce and I went ahead and blended that and put in a freezer bag. Finally, I assembled the white bean chicken chili and let it all simmer in the soup pot while I started to clean up. (I put the rotisserie chicken carcass in the freezer to make bone broth at a later date.)

This all took 5 hours and while I didn't finish everything, I was kind of over it after 5 hours. I still made 13 meals in two days, and the deep freezer is filling up quickly!

DAY 3 (1.5-2 hours): I really didn't want to do more, but I had bought, washed, and chopped all that produce, and I knew I needed to utilize the fresh stuff, lest it go bad. So I made the 7 vegetable cheese soup, the red lentil dal, and the lentil mushroom walnut balls. The other soups I listed mostly utilize canned vegetable purees and frozen veggies, so I will keep those ingredients in the pantry and they'll be reasonably easy to make as needed and store in the fridge for a week. Same with the baked bean and cornbread casserole.

DAY 4 (3 hours, but this is skewed because the toddler was awake and around for most of it): So over it today. But I powered through and made the chana masala, vegan stuffed shells, and a double batch of lactation cookies. I thought the vegan meals would be nice to have for quick lunches, but I forgot that vegan meals sometimes take longer to assemble than meat dishes because you have to cook the beans, roast the walnuts, soak the cashews, etc. Next time I would consider leaving the dal, the chana masala, and the lentil mushroom walnut balls off the list. But they may prove to be invaluable to have on hand, later, so I'll see if it was worth the extra time.

LATER: I still hope to make the pancakes, Glo bars, and breakfast cookies before baby comes, but worst case scenario, Ross and Noah can make those while I supervise.

---

THOUGHTS: Our brand new deep freezer is FULL. It feels really good, but I'm also really over cooking. Like I want to take a whole week off! But I have 18 meals in the freezer, and that feels great. I'm really hopeful that they will taste good/fresh in 1-3 months, and that they really will save time later. I neglected Noah a bit this week in the rush to have these DONE. I hope it keeps my postpartum self from standing in the kitchen too much in the first 2 months, though, and that means more time with Noah (and baby) down the road.

I'll write one more post once we've eaten everything, to follow-up on how it stored and re-heated! For now, here's the final tally of what I made (I put this list on the side of the deep freezer along with side dishes that would turn the frozen dish into a full meal):

-jerk chicken taco meat
-meatballs in tomato sauce
-maple dijon chicken
-salsa chicken
-beef and broccoli
-turkey loaf
-chicken enchilada filling
-pulled pork
-chicken spaghetti bake
-Greek meatloaf muffins
-cauliflower and Italian sausage casserole
-7 vegetable 'cheese' soup
-smoky white bean chili
-vegan alfredo sauce
-vegan stuffed manicotti shells
-red lentil dal
-chana masala
-lentil mushroom walnut balls
-lactation cookies

Postpartum Freezer Meals

So with Noah, I had prepped exactly one freezer meal, the day before going into labor. And it was filled with tofu and he ended up having MSPI and he was NOT thrilled with me eating that dish. So anyway, freezer meals are one thing I'm really really excited to get to do this time. Here's the list of what I'm thinking of making! Is this too ambitious? Am I overcompensating for last time? Do I care? Ha! I'll let you know how this all turns out.

Meat prepped to put in the crockpot or oven:

-Jerk Chicken Tacos (recipe from HyVee freezer meal workshop)
-Meatballs
-Skinny Taste's Maple Dijon Chicken
-Gimme Some Oven's Salsa Chicken
-Sweeter Side of Mommyhood's Beef and Broccoli

Cooked meat dishes to be thawed and warmed:

-Turkey Loaf (an old Jane Brody recipe that my mom makes)
-Salmon Cakes
-Enchilada Filling
-How Sweet Eats Saucy Pulled Pork
-Chicken Spaghetti Bake from Bev Cooks
-Greek Meatloaf Muffins (going to use this burger recipe, but plan to make them in muffin form)
-The Kitchn's Cauliflower and Chicken Sausage Casserole

Vegetarian meals for lunches or extra meals:

-Oh She Glows Red Lentil Dal with Cilantro Rice
-Oh She Glows Baked Bean Cornbread Casserole
-Eat Live Run's Chana Masala
-Wholefully's Vegan Stuffed Shells
-Full Helping's Sunshine Burgers (I love this recipe, but I might just buy some of these at the store to stash in the freezer to eat alongside soup or salad)
-Oh She Glows Lentil Mushroom Walnut Balls

Soup:

-Oh She Glows 7 Vegetable Cheese Soup
-Smoky White Bean Chicken Chili
-Ginger Lentil Soup
-Barley Stew (but with brown rice)
-Miso Pumpkin Soup

Miscellaneous:

-Oh She Glows Cauliflower Alfredo Sauce
-Bone Broth

Snacks:

-double batch of pancakes
-double batch of lactation cookies
-Jam and Teff Cookies
-Oh She Glows New Mama Glo Bars
-Oh She Glows Raspberry Almond Thumbprint Cookies or Flourless Breakfast Cookies

Advice on the Whole Process: 

Reader Advice from the Kitchn
5 Dos and Don'ts
Tips for Freezing and Reheating

This water

This water washed away my tears in 2011 and 2012 when I was totally unsure if my marriage was going to remain intact, and lap after lap, my anxiety turned to prayer turned to peace and exhaustion.

This water gave me a sense of purpose and achievement in 2013 when I was between jobs, and my last outdoor swim of the season that year was with a tiny little baby belly. A little piece of redemption in a place that had seen me through some of my darker times.

This water provided a welcome weightlessness for my postpartum body in all is cumbersome awkwardness in 2014. The silence and stillness was invaluable when I was able to get away from our still-under-construction house and reflux-y baby.

This water was the only place I found relief from lingering postpartum pelvic pain in 2015, and I loved introducing Noah to my sweet summertime ritual here.

And it's happy to welcome me back again this summer. Always ready to refill my thirsty soul with water and light. I usually take Noah to another pool in the mornings now, due to nap times and whatnot, so this pool is all mine again. A reminder of who I am when I'm not answering to "Mama," and a way to refresh myself before going back to the job of mom that I dearly love.

Overly philosophical? Maybe. A little slice of heaven on earth? Absolutely.

When Acute Becomes Chronic

I've been thinking a lot lately about self. As in, two years later and I'm still not myself. In a grand sense, I'm so very grateful. To remain unchanged after becoming a mother is unfathomable. I don't necessarily miss the self who was a little more "put together" with plucked eyebrows and painted toenails and daily quiet time (okay, I miss the daily quiet time). But let's be honest, I've always been pretty low-maintenance when it comes to exterior perks and that's okay.

I haven't been the same since I had my son. I love him infinitely. He makes me smile like nobody's business-- far more than anything else makes me smile these days. But it's not fair or possible to draw my light from him all day every day. I cry to the Lord, and He hears me-- He's molding my heart to be more like His-- but He's not healing me the way I want. Physically, emotionally, mentally, I'm not myself anymore. It doesn't feel fair to my son, to my husband, to my family and friends, to me... for me to be... not me.

Even my future self, the one I see at the other end of this chain of lights, the one I draw toward me one or two bulbs at a time, on a good day, remains ever far away.

I miss the part of me that had inner vibrance. Some spontaneous, uninitiated joie de vivre, at least sometimes. I get glimpses of her, when I'm clear-minded enough to hold a thoughtful conversation. When I'm spilling over with words that need to find a page. When I have energy to move my body.

I wouldn't say I'm depressed. My counselor concurs, as does my paradoxical response to numerous anti-depressants and anti-anxiolytics. Dare I say? I'm sick. I don't look nearly as sick as I did a year ago, and my level of pain is decreased by at least 80% on a good day compared to this time last year. Once or twice a month, I can muster up a "real" workout and enjoy the adrenaline rush immensely, even though I pay for it for the next 5-7 days. I can have a good "normal" weekend from time to time, but it's always followed by a truly horrible week.

I can't help but feel like I've fallen into the doughnut hole. Of course, there's the political one, where health insurance (which I'm so very grateful to have) only skims the surface when the doctors who are willing to step out on a limb charge by the hour, and don't file with insurance. (Because when you're sick and overwhelmed, it's no big deal to collect paperwork and navigate insurance bureaucracy, right?!)

But this is the doughnut hole where I fear acute becomes chronic. The one where you sense very few people still take you seriously. The one where you doubt yourself, even as your gut tells you, there's more out there! This cannot and will not be how you feel forever!

How long do you have to be a shell of yourself to call it chronic fatigue? I know it has to be long enough and low enough to bring you to a point where you're willing to admit this is a real thing, even though it terrifies you to your Just Do It core.

As a healthcare provider, do I respect my clients enough when they bare their "please tell me I'm not crazy" secrets? As a patient, is it worth staying up late to write a narrative of the last two years for a doctor who may or may not want to read it?

At what point is it optimism to get my hopes up that maybe this next doctor knows that how I feel is real, and at what point is it foolishness?

At what point is is helpful to cut out this food or add that supplement, and at what point does the trying and failing do more harm than good? The kind of harm that makes you feel like this is all your fault even though surely you just drew the short straw. (And how long does it take these dang expensive vitamins to work, anyway?!)

At what point, I wonder. At what point does acute become chronic?



See also: these fascinating essays on women and pain.

See also: the genius spoon theory.

Postpartum Anxiety

The fool says in his heart, "There is no God." 

They never call on God. 

But there they were overwhelmed with dread, 

where there was nothing to dread. 

Oh that salvation for Israel would come! 

Psalm 53 

"What does an unused prayer link look like? Anxiety. Instead of connecting with God, 

our spirits fly around like severed power lines, destroying everything they touch. 

A godlike stance without godlike character and ability is pure tension." Paul Miller

Allow me to start by saying that I'm hesitant to share this. The very last thing I want is for Noah to read this one day and feel like my postpartum anxiety/depression is somehow his fault, because it's not. Never for a second would I blame him! My inability to cope with the realities of motherhood, however, was a problem. No, scratch that. It was my reaction to my perceived inability. Mom-guilt and insecurity quickly turned into a fundamental shame in who I was as a person. That I was too much and not enough all at once. The shame was the straw that broke the camel's back. It was the tipping point in the perfect storm that had been brewing for, well, years according to my therapist. I went from extremely stressed, to anxious to the point of dread on a daily basis.

Walking around clinically depressed and anxious feels like staggering about, alone, on barren, deserted island. It can make you feel like you have no mooring; no place to throw an anchor; no shelter from the storm that tossed you ashore in the first place.

So in the end, I'm sharing. Because no new mom should feel ashamed when she's on the verge of tears and someone tells her to be grateful that she "only" has one kid and that it only gets harder from here on out. No new mom should be made to feel inadequate when someone tells her that they've never seen anyone else struggle so much with postpartum recovery. No new mom should feel the soul-crushing disappointment in herself when she's surprised by motherhood in all the wrong ways. When she's eating her pre-baby words and struggling to adapt to the role of motherhood, no new mom should feel ALONE.

This is the story of my pain, and maybe you will find in it an echo of your own story or that of someone you love. Consider taking the EPDS or reviewing this symptom checklist if anything henceforth sounds familiar to you.

.......

It all started when Noah started sleeping through the night consistently a few weeks after his first birthday. It seemed like suddenly I found myself at the beginning of July, after a month of rain, and I could see the sun for the first time in a LONG time. I had a few weeks of sleep under my belt, seemingly out of nowhere I had a toddler who could walk and talk and play, and life was so different than it had been just one or two months prior. I missed my baby, to be sure, and I still feel a familiar sadness when I think about all the sweet early moments I missed out on due to pain and anxiety, but mobility (and sleep) changed everything this summer and I couldn't deny that Noah was an awfully fun little guy to hang out with. Every stage is bittersweet, but I'm finding that each one is also progressively more fun as I get to know Noah better and better.

With the sun out at last, we could take playdates to the pool! We could take long walks every morning in the beautiful summer light! I had energy again! I could workout if I wanted to! I lost the last bit of baby weight and had a whole closet of clothes accessible to me again that I hadn't worn in almost two years! I could, and did, go to the farmer's market and start eating more vegetables after far too long of a hiatus. It's no secret summer is my favorite season. I felt like a new dawn was rising as I re-entered the land of the living and emerged from babyville. But it didn't take me long to realize I was not okay.

I was functioning. I was having fun! I was no longer having insomnia or heart palpitations, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't quite living either. At first I thought, okay, this is life as a mom. I will never be the same. And I WILL never be the same (thank God)! But I like to think that's because more has been added to my life and I've changed and grown into this new shape as I adjust. Not because the substance of my old self has been taken away.

This summer, Noah and I took daily morning walks and I started listening to sermon podcasts again. It was refreshing to just let truth wash over me. It's so easy for forget that I'm not the center of my life and that I'm certainly not in charge of it.

This summer, I realized I needed to change jobs. Again. But this time, the decision was not terribly debilitating. Now that I'm getting more settled into it, I'm relieved to find that my instincts were right, and this job is a great fit. But still, because of, or perhaps in spite of this decision, I was anxious. I was fearful. I had a certain peace that I was doing the right thing, that this was the best choice for my family, but I still wasn't okay.

This summer, Ross and I went to an amazing marriage conference once a week for 5 weeks. We started to reconnect and we were shocked and saddened at how far apart we'd grown in such a short time.

But the hardest thing was the thing that wasn't changing: the pain that I'd been having since I was 16 weeks pregnant. Ebbing and flowing with my hormones, but always there, always worse at the end of the day, was the pain. Somewhere in the haze of the early days of motherhood, my pelvic pain went from being a source of frustration to a source of concern to a trigger for hopelessness and despair. I'd been a compliant patient in physical therapy for 9 months by the time summer rolled around, and initially it was a life-saver. But the pain plateaud around March no matter what I did. In fact, certain aspects of it were starting to get worse again. It was so depressing. It was so painful. It was so discouraging. I was starting to feel like it would never ever go away. Like I would never feel normal again. Like I would never feel well enough to have another baby. Like I would never be able to love this baby the way I wanted to, because it hurt to lift him, it hurt to hold him, it hurt to rock him.

That kind of pain... I wouldn't wish it on anyone. By the end of most days, it was debilitating physically. I couldn't find it in me to stand and make dinner or tidy up. But emotionally? The pain was devastating. I felt like I was missing out on those "pay off" moments of parenting. Sure, having a toddler is chaotic. But people say, oh, when they snuggle up on your lap or fall asleep in your arms, it's so worth it. I felt like I didn't have that. I'd never been able to hold my crying or sleeping baby without my body screaming in pain. So I went back to my Midwife and thus began two months of constant appointments in August and September.

Back to the pain management OB, back to get another ultrasound, back to acupuncture, ramp up the physical therapy visits. Meanwhile, onto all of Noah's one-year appointments: pediatrician, shots, ENT, audiology... And then, I'm not sure if this was a cause or effect of additional stress and anxiety, but abdominal pain started waking me up at night. So I had an endoscopy. I had more labs drawn. More ultrasounds. More appointments. And more medical bills. And more hopelessness. Feeling like I was getting nowhere, and just spinning pointlessly in a cycle of pain and debt.

After Noah was born, I spent a very long time focusing on Noah's needs and putting him at the center of my life. This summer, I started to feel stifled by those expectations, and started feeling like it wasn't fair that I never got a break. Like I was physically worn out. Like I needed a spa day or a vacation or... something. Every time something else spun out of control, I thought: I'm terrible at this. I'm terrible at being a mother. I cannot balance this. I cannot manage this. Those were the sermons I preached to myself: I can't. I just can't.

And maybe I wasn't sharing enough, or maybe I cry wolf too much, or maybe it's simply that no one in my life was able to speak into that for me, to point out Satan's lies, to look me in the eye and remind that me that God CAN. To say, "Remember every other time you've reached the end of yourself and God drew you out of the muck and mire? He's still there. He's always there, but how gracious would it be for you to invite Him to partake in this moment with you? Into this embarrassing season of feeling hopeless as a mother and desperate for physical relief."

But it took me months to get to that realization. Until then, I was just in endless dialogue with myself: It wasn't supposed to be like this! I wanted kids! We prayed and planned. I take care of babies for a living! I loved Noah more than life, and I COULD NOT HANDLE the feeling that I was failing him day in and day out. In the isolation borne out of a long, dark, cold, anxiety-ridden, sleep-deprived winter, I had no one to bounce these thoughts off of, nor the mental clarity or inner confidence to do so. I had no barometer of 'normal.' Just occasional and seemingly benign comments here and there from people who didn't-- couldn't-- understand. Those words hurt. And made me feel more inadequate. And more abnormal.

Then, blessedly shortly before Noah's birthday, something clicked and I thought: what if this doesn't have to be normal? What if it's pain AND ... ? What if I'm depressed? What if my hormones are so out of whack that even though I'm a year out, I have had postpartum depression this whole time?

I truly don't know where this thought came from, but some freedom came with it, immediately. What if it's not my fault!? What if it's not just because I'm not trying hard enough or balancing well enough or doing things just the right way? So I got a referral and filled out the counselor's paperwork, and I was shocked. Shocked. At how many boxes I checked. How many symptoms I had.

Like many new moms, I was given a postpartum depression quiz shortly after Noah was born, when I was tired and sore, but also still riding the endorphin train. It's supposed to be hard at that point! I totally expected that! I did not expect to feel almost exactly the same, physically and mentally, a year later. I have no idea why I didn't think to take the survey again in the middle of December, when I dreaded going to bed only to be woken up every hour. When family obligations felt like a physical weight in my sleep-deprived state. When the long days started at 4am and I truly didn't know how I'd get through them in our drafty, unfinished house. (I don't know how I did, actually. I don't even remember.)

So in August, when the counselor tallied up my postpartum depression score, looked right at me, and said, "how did you get to this side of winter? How were alarm bells not going off everywhere?" I felt the weight start to lift. She said, "of course, the Scale is just a tool, and not necessarily diagnostic, but these scores suggest that you were terribly, frighteningly depressed. How did you get to the other side?!"

At those words, I wanted to cry tears of relief. Those feelings hadn't been normal! I wasn't inadequate for feeling like I was trapped and unable to talk myself out of it! But also, I saw God's hand. How had my depression score dropped from 24/30 to 11/30 in 4 months? Time helps. Sleep helps. Perspective helps (some of those extra-hard weeks really were just a phase). Sunlight helps. Exercise helps. A balanced diet helps. But really when it comes down to it, it's not hard for me to see that God was gracious and he removed me just far enough from the forest that I could see the trees again. I had been lost in a very dark place, and I couldn't recognize that because all I could see was this sleepless night, or that cranky day, or this extra-painful week. But once I could see the big picture, I could ask for help. More importantly, I could RECEIVE help for what it was, instead of a threat to my sense of capability.

When I think back to that symptom checklist, I think I was most shocked at the reality of the line I checked and starred near the end of the list: This is the worst that I have ever felt. When I saw that truth for what it was, and when I let it sink it, it hurt. Last winter was worse than being 15 and anorexic. It was worse than being depressed senior year of high school when I couldn't get out of bed and couldn't do school and cried about everything. It was worse than freshman year of college when all that unresolved depression left me unmoored and unable to recognize this girl who couldn't just sit down and study like she needed to. Worse than the bad breakups that haunted me. Worse than the hardest days of marriage.

The worst I'd ever felt... not only was that a bold statement in a season that I thought would signify that hard times were behind us, it was a disappointing realization in itself to feel this way during what I'd always envisioned to be one of the happiest times of my life. To be sure, the happiness did come in bits and pieces, slowly, and then all at once. Big love is winning over big heartache. Today, the exhausting is from keeping up with an active toddler and not from sleepless nights. And the joy... it overwhelms me at times. Our child is a delight, and I'm so grateful that he's ours, but there are a lot of things I would be tempted to change about the first year, if I could. (Things about myself, not about Noah.)

But I can't. Instead, this fall I started saying no to some things, but yes to others. No to the old job. No to a semester of Gospel Community. Yes to the support group, yes to MOPS, yes to spending allthemoney on acupuncture in a last-ditch effort to ease my physical pain.  Each of these steps would normally have felt very vulnerable, but for some reason they just weren't. I had nothing left to lose. What I was doing-- surviving-- wasn't working.

It was a breath of fresh air to sit at a table with other moms at my first MOPS meeting, toddlers safely tucked away in the childcare rooms, and to hear that God promises to send his people out in joy and lead them forth in peace (Isaiah 55). I thought, what a perfect way to end this summer. There IS more. There's joy to look forward to. There's peace regardless of circumstances.

Because now I see. Joy is not something to be attained. It's something to be received. A gift freely given, but often turned down in the pursuit of happiness. Here's the thing about reaching the end of yourself: depravity can be fruitful. God can plant the seeds for a harvest of plenty in the most barren soil. In our time of need, he loves to show us that he loves us. As a parent, I've garnered a new appreciation for the way God calls us to seek him for rest, comfort, reassurance, guidance. I can learn to give well as a parent when I, in, turn, receive these gifts as a beloved child.

I'm starting to get excited about motherhood as an opportunity to be enjoyed (as I first envisioned it) and not just an obligation to be feared (as I came to feel it). It's an opportunity to see God work in a new way. An opportunity to make new friends and have new eyes and, most of all, a new heart. A heart of freedom and not of burden.

I'm thankful for those uncomplicated moments this summer when I started to see myself in there again. After being buried for so long, it feels like catching a glimpse of a friend in the mirror when I say yes to the spontaneous outdoor concert, when I reach out to a neighbor and let our kids run around while we talk about everything we have in common, or when I'm running errands alone in the evening, car-dancing to CDs of music from high school. In those moments, I find a certain lightness of being, a simplicity, a reassurance, a whisper of hope. All is not lost. God can rebuild the years the locusts have eaten.

Durango Chicken

I was blown away with the generosity of friends and family after Noah was born. I was so afraid that gluten-free, dairy-free (with the exception of butter) post-partum meals would be too intimidating for people. But wow, we ate like kings for a few weeks there!

One meal in particular struck me as super easy to make, as well as comforting and delicious, and I find myself making it over and over.

Just wanted to record it here, since it's one of our new favorites.

Durango Chicken
(originally from Lindsay Lady)

4 chicken boneless, skinless chicken breasts pounded to even thinness
Juice of 2 lemons (I often just use 1-2 Tbs of lemon juice)
1/2 cup of melted butter
1 Tablespoon paprika
1 Tablespoon oregano
1 teaspoon garlic powder

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. Melt the butter and add the lemon juice, paprika, oregano, and garlic.
3. Dip the chicken into the butter mixture in an oven-safe dish, making sure both sides are covered.
4. Cover the dish and store in the fridge for up to 6 hours before baking.
5. Bake for about 30 minutes or until the chicken is done.

My friend brought this meal over with cooked wild rice* and a side of canned green beans with minced onion and garlic. Such a delicious combo! The rice makes a great vehicle for the leftover cooked butter sauce, too!

*Also something I learned from my post-partum meals: did you know you can cook rice like pasta?! Life. Changing.

Dear Noah

Noah,

You're 11 weeks old today. I feel like for the past few weeks I've been thinking of you as "nearly 3 months old" which, when you were 8 weeks old, was just not accurate at all. But now here we are almost actually 12 weeks and then 3 months old, and ugh. Where did time go? The last week we've been easing into a smoother place after a few rough weeks.

I was thinking about the day you were born (actually, at 4:29pm which is when you were born). And I wanted to write. I'm typing this because my journal is in your room and you're sleeping in your room for a few more minutes. This sleeping in your room is a new thing you've done that past few days... one nap a day in the rock and play and I sit out here and watch you on the monitor and simultanously love having two hands, and miss holding you. Where did you take all your naps two weeks ago? How is it that I can't even remember? I'm so glad I dropped everything and just loved on your the past few weeks. There was some frustration initially, as I adjusted my expectations. You're keeping me on my toes. This week it seems like you take a morning nap in the Moby wrap while we walk, your mid-morning/early afternoon nap in the rock and play (used to be that I'd try to sleep with you on me for that nap), and afternoon naps are hit or miss and often involve my "mellow music" playlist, which I'm thoroughly sick of.

Those early weeks I remember walking out to the driveway with you and singing "How Great Thou Art" to get you to calm down. Your dad would come home and read to you on the couch and then you'd pass out on him and I'd have to wake you both for the last feeding of the day. For a long time you ate at 10pm, 2am, and 6am and then whenever you wanted during the day. Things are sliiiightly more predictable now, and I aim to get 7 feedings in, with the last one starting around 10pm. Some nights you wake up at 2 or 3, but more often than not you've been sleeping until 4... and even 5am the last two days! It's amazing the difference a little more unbroken sleep makes... in all of us! You had a pretty rough time from weeks 6-9 figuring how to nap and some days you'd get so exhausted you'd just screamed at night. You'd look at us like, "how are you not fixing this? How do you not know what I'm saying?" And we didn't know. We had no clue. We just knew you were sad and it made us sad that we couldn't make it better.

I just looked through your birth pictures. I'm so glad Vanessa was there to capture that special day! "Special" doesn't even do it justice. It just sounds trite and inadequate. But I look at the pictures of your coming out and crying, and there's one sequence of shots where they are putting you on my chest and you're crying, scrunching your face, and then... relaxed and resting on me. It brings me so much joy and makes my heart want to burst for love for you and your vulnerability and your trust. I'm your only mom and you trust me and that is just above understanding. Babies are so vulnerable! And it breaks my heart knowing that there are other times that the world will be cold and loud and frightening and I won't be there to make it instantly better. Or I will be there, but I won't be enough. This is inevitably a matter of if, not when, and it draws me back to Jesus. The incarnation never seemed so real. Jesus never seemed so vulnerable. To come into the world as a helpless baby!?

These thoughts also draw me to Jesus because I hope with all my heart that you will know that when you can't find comfort at home, and I'm not there to take care of you, Jesus is enough. (Even me "being present" with you isn't enough for my fickle heart). And if he loves his children as much as I love you, then this love is nearly incomprehensible. An all-consuming, I love you, I want what's best for you, I want you to know the answer is right here, right in front of you, even when you can't see it. Even when the options are confusing and the world is overwhelming, the only really important choice is Jesus. He's the ultimate comforter. He's the one who can really dry the tears from your eyes. I want him to be enough for me, and I want him to be enough for you. I love that our relationship gives me a new glimpse of what God's love must be like. The times I have your food right there and you can't calm down enough to find it, the times you're so tired you're freaking out and you just need to breathe and relax, the times you get scared and I'm just one room away but how can you know that? Those are the times I wonder if God is just laughing at me. Because usually the solutions to your problems are so simple and obvious to me. How must I look to God, with all my fumbling, and complaining, and fretting?

Thank you, Noah, for showing me what really matters.

Love,
Mama

Babies Don't Keep

Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth!
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.)

Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby. Babies don't keep.

{Ruth Hamilton}

Highlights from August 11-18 when I gave up fighting Noah for sleep and focused on getting him some rest whenever, wherever. That was my only goal each day:

I didn't know it would be so hard

Eight weeks. EIGHT WEEKS. How can this be? Those early days are already fuzzy and yesterday this video made me cry:



About half the day, I feel like this: "What? I don't want him to grow up! Yeah, he's so cute. Oh I love you cute little smiles. OH MY GOSH! I want him to stay little!"

Then there are inevitably a few hours of the day, when Noah is bawling and hasn't slept in hours and he's looking at me like I should know what to do but I don't, when I just doubt everything. I hate myself when I wish away these parts of babyhood because I love my baby. I love the elusive smiles we're starting to get. I love knowing that bresatfeeding is finally going well enough that he's getting rolls on his legs. But then I hate that we just spent our last night in newborn sleepers and newborn-sized diapers.

I love his big blue eyes and his tiny baby fists, knowing that both those things will change at any moment as my infant moves into bigger babyhood. I love his wiggles and his shouts and the thousands of facial expressions he makes, but I hate not knowing what he's actually saying.

This morning, Noah is sleeping wrapped in a Moby wrap on my chest and I'm afraid to move too much or make too much noise, because sleep is a rare and wonderful thing for him.

 

I just read this beautiful post, and I can't stop reading it. The author's way of putting words to some of my current feelings is so phenomenal-- I want to remember what stands out to me here:

"Before I was a parent, I was the perfect one. People told me my life would change. People told me I would be tired. That parenthood would be the greatest and hardest thing I would ever do. 

Yeah yeah yeah.
I know. I know.
I knew everything.

...Then in a blink, (he) was here. (He) was tiny and marveling. (He) was so incredibly beautiful. (He) was perfect.

But wait.
I am not ready.
This is so hard.
I am so tired.
Why hadn't anyone prepared me for this?

I. Know. Nothing.

...The love you will feel is nothing like you have felt before. It will be foreign and familiar all at once. It will fill you to the very top of your heart, nearly spilling over. The thing about this kind of love, though, is that it can feel heavy. Disproportional. You may feel like you will nearly break in half from the top-heaviness. You will not be able to tell the difference between exhaustion and depression, and that darkness will rob you from what should be the most tender months of your (son's) new life.   

Your baby will cry, a lot. Your days will both begin and end with the saddest screams you will ever hear. Your body will respond the way that it is programmed to - with panic. 

...This love will crush your ego. It will destroy your capability to trust yourself. The fear that creeps in the shadows of this love will paralyze you... You will feel guilty for not measuring up. You will feel guilty for feeling guilty. You will feel guilty for feeling guilty for feeling guilty. You will cry over absurd things, like not being pregnant anymore... You may never feel like you will get the hang of carrying this love."

That's exactly where I am. I want to love every minute of the newborn stage because I know it's fleeting. But I don't love thrush. And it's hard to hang out with an overtired baby who's refusing to take a nap. And I never thought I would doubt everything like I do. When I was pregnant, I joked that I don't know what to do with a toddler but hey, I can keep a baby alive. 

I never knew that I'd question his eating and sleeping so much. That I'd wonder if I was too boring alone in a quiet house with him. That when I stopped setting an alarm at night for him to eat, I'd spend the night waking up every few hours anyway to make sure he was still breathing and wasn't crying and eventually I'd wake him up to eat anyway, ruining what may very well have been his first night to sleep through the night (that was last night).

I thought I'd relish holding him all day and didn't realize that it would be excruciating on my upper back. I didn't realize that sometimes I'd have to decide between being using my hands to prepare food for lunch, or having a quiet baby.

I didn't realize that I'd love him so much it would scare me and make me doubt everything I did.

I got that breath of air at 6 weeks just long enough to gather strength to go back under. I didn't know it would be this hard.  

But I do know that I love him fiercely and it's an honor to be his mom.

Jesus is Better

I have a problem. I want my baby to remain tiny, while I'm simultaneously doing everything I can to overcome his poor initial weight gain. Today he weighed 8 pounds and 14 ounces which is awesome! Up a whopping 12 ounces in 12 days! But also, sad. His newborn-sized clothes are getting pretty snug, as are his newborn diapers. His Shar Pei-esque elbows and knees are filling out and he even has the tiniest of rolls on his legs and arms. He is precious and wonderful and I am filled with pride and also an inordinate amount of sorrow as he grows.

Like, it's an actual problem. I shouldn't be this sad.

I am accustomed to working with babies in their first 28 days of life. Plenty of NICU babies stay longer than that, but since they were so early and/or so sick, most of them still leave acting like a newborn. I was nervous that I would like my baby less as he got older and bigger. Thankfully, that has not been the case, and it's so fun to watch his coordination develop and see recognition in his eyes. (Do you ever think... how weird would it be to not be able to just reach out and grab something? To have your arms and legs move around but not have control over them? So crazy! Babies have to learn so much.)

The passage of time is something that's always been hard for me to deal with for some reason, and what better than babies as an example of an accelerated version of time passing?! People tell me, "it goes too fast!" "You'll blink and he'll be this age (gesturing to whatever sized toddler they're walking around with)." And my least favorite, "Enjoy every moment before it's gone!"

Rather than helping me enjoy this time, these comments give rise to anxiety and nameless fears of missing out as time passes me by. I still haven't been able to address the root of this issue, but when I brought it up to a friend, she had such wise words:

"The truth is, we think that either 'being in the moment' and 'staying present' or the opposite, 'if it could only be like ___ in the next stage,' will satisfy us. And the truth is, we're all insatiable. We all want more of whatever we don't have. It's an interesting thing in motherhood to rest in Christ and be grateful for whatever God has handed us this day. All our expectations fly out the window. Otherwise we're left disappointed and wanting."

She is a wise, wise friend.



We've sung this song a few times at church, and the refrain "Jesus is better" keeps running through my head every time I find myself mourning something silly. Jesus is better than squishy cheeks and sleepy newborns and I simply have to believe that.

If you need me, I'll be bunkered in, listening to this song on repeat while I snuggle my baby.

Baked Oatmeal Squares

Continuing on the theme of quick, healthy snacks, I adapted these oatmeal bars for a change up from cookies for a few days. But instead of making bars, I divided the batter between 12 muffin tins for ease of individual serving.

• 1.5 cups gluten-free rolled oats (not instant oats) 
• 1 cup brown or white rice flour
• 3 tbsp chia seed
• 1/2 cup + 1 tbsp ground flax
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp kosher salt
• 1.5 cups almond milk (or other milk)
• 1/2 cup pure maple syrup (or other liquid sweetener)
• 2 tbsp nut or seed butter
• 1 banana, chopped small
• 1 tbsp pure vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup toppings as desired

Preheat oven to 350F and line muffin tins or an 8 inch square pan with two pieces of parchment paper. In a mixing bowl, blend the milk, syrup, banana, nut butter, and vanilla until smooth. Add oats, flour, chia seeds, flax, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon and stir until combined.

Pour mix into prepared pan and top as needed. (I put chocolate chips on half of mine and swirled strawberry jam on top of the other half.)

If using an 8x8 pan, bake for 35-40 minutes.

If using muffin tins, bake 20-25 minutes.

Enjoy!



(((In addition to these and lactation cookies, I've been eating lots of pumpkin chocolate chip muffins from PaleOMG and protein bites from Fitnessista. That is, when I'm not eating cookies or muffins my mom made for us!)))

The First 6 Weeks

In some ways, it's hard to believe it's been 6 weeks.

Then again, the last 6 weeks have really just felt like one long day, so time markers seem a bit irrelevant. I don't plan to write monthly baby updates on the blog, since that's what Noah's baby book is for. But since this blog is still our family record, and writing is how I seem to solidify and process things, I want the record to show that 6 weeks postpartum is when I finally felt like I got my head above water.

That's not to say I have things figured out (ha!) but simply to say that I'm starting to feel a little more comfortable in this new role. I'm also starting to feel a little more like myself again, as evidenced by the fact that I'm blogging again, for one. But also by the fact that the desire to eat more vegetables and less sugar is creeping in, as well as the desire to exercise again for sanity purposes!

One of my tasks as postpartum nurse at the Birth Center this past year has been to administer the postpartum depression screen at 2 weeks and at 6 weeks, so I'm fairly comfortable saying that I don't have postpartum depression. Anxiety, on the other hand, has been out of control!

More random thoughts on the past 6 weeks since it's been hard to form a coherent post these days:

...I thought having a baby during my favorite season-- summer-- would be awesome! Don't get me wrong, it's great that it's not freezing and gray outside, and that we can take morning or evening walks, and that we don't have to worry about icy roads. But last I looked it was spring, and now suddenly it's mid-July and I've spent most of summer indoors! This is usually the time I intensively refill my sunshine reservoir by spending lots of time working out outside, reading books outside, and swimming. I need summer to fill that bank so it can last me through the long, dark winters. I'm hoping to get outside more, soon!

...If labor brought out my quiet, meditative side, postpartum has absolutely brought out my socially anxious side. The desire to eat, sleep, and breathe baby and hide away as a family of three has been incredibly high. The amount of distress I felt having to get out to (what felt like daily) appointments in the first few weeks was ridiculous. Granted, we've had a lot of appointments: pediatrician visits, numerous weight checks, lactation consultations, OB visits, chiropractic appointments, etc. But when your baby doesn't breastfeed well you really don't want to sit down for an hour in a strange environment while they try to eat, so everything felt so rushed and time was at a premium.

...Speaking of breastfeeding, it seemed to be going fairly well, albeit exhausting, in the first 2-3 weeks. He ate often, and long. I easily spent 10 hours a day sitting and feeding him. His wet and dirty diapers were always on track, yet his weight was not. I wish I'd written more during those weeks because they're already fuzzy! I know I didn't sleep when the baby slept... I think I used his one long nap of the day to make food for myself haha! But if I thought I didn't have a lot of free time then, it shrank drastically during the third week when I had to start pumping and supplementing with bottles of pumped milk to get Noah back to birth weight. It worked! But to the incredible detriment of my sleep and my sanity. If you asked me how I was doing at 2 weeks out, I was really okay. Incredibly anxious, a little tired, but mostly happy. Things were going how I expected them to go at 2 weeks out. But by 3 weeks, I was an exhausted mess with really just an hour of free time between rounds of feeding, supplementing, and pumping. We're just now starting to back off on pumping and slowly dropping a bottle every few days. Oh and don't forget the thrush.

...I unfortunately have a list of regrets from Noah's first few weeks and I feel like between visitors and my own anxiety, I missed so much of his sleepy newborn days. It's something I've really been struggling with and all I can do is pray that God softens those regrets, helps me focus on the sweet times we have together now, and helps me remember to do things a little differently the next time around.

...I never got to nest, the house isn't finished, and while I'm more okay with that than I was before labor started, it's still pretty stressful. I sit here 6 weeks postpartum having watched Ross and my parents do every single bit of "nesting" around the house as I feed this baby. Half of our belongings are still in boxes. I don't know where most of my non-maternity clothes are (although it's not like I could fit into them anyway). Really, I don't know where anything is.   **That being said, my parents did an incredible amount of work while they were here visiting and Ross and I simply couldn't have come home from the hospital to a live-able house without their help. Thank you!!!**

...Kudos to the c-section moms. Post-partum recovery has been really difficult for me, and I cannot fathom recovering from major surgery while taking care of a baby.

...The best things you can say to someone post-delivery are, "good job Mama!" and "You look amazing!"

...If you're visiting a mom with a new baby, please bring food. Seriously. It feels selfish to say that but wow, procuring food for myself during that first week was really difficult and we couldn't have done it without the generosity of others.

All this being said, I think I've had 8 jobs since graduating college 7 years ago (most of the time working more than one job at a time) but this is by far the best job, with the best boss, that I ever could've asked for. I sincerely love motherhood even more than I thought I would and I'm so grateful for this time!