God, cast a vision for me in this crazy season. I'm loving these words right now from Coffee + Crumbs: Grow Your Hope with Ruth Chou Simons.
"As mothers, how can we grow our hope?"
"I think as moms we have a tendency to look at what's right in front of us. We're always attending to the next crisis. It's the tyranny of the urgent with moms, right? It is that child that's screaming, the milk that's spilled, the discipline that you need to really have the right words for but can't think of. And it's always that next big thing, where to send your kid to kindergarten, whether or not you're spending enough time nurturing their gifts, feeling mom guilt. There's all these things that we're feeling like we're always behind on. And I think one of the things that really causes us to grow in a season of motherhood, is to actually look always further and beyond, and to constantly consider that you're running a marathon and not a sprint.
For a long time, early on in motherhood, I kept thinking that I was going to arrive around the corner. I kept thinking, 'oh if I just read this book, get with the right playgroup, make the right choices, or just do it right today, train my kids to put away the dishes, tomorrow won't be that way. Or next week, I won't have to deal with this anymore.' And a few years in, I realized, no no no. This is a marathon. This is designed for me to press into the constancy of being pruned and changed in motherhood. And it's the marathon of my kids not arriving, and neither will I. And that's not to make us feel like, 'oh my goodness I'll never arrive.' But rather, the process, the progress, the in-between IS the thing. We talk about the journey is the thing. It really is, in motherhood. And I think sometimes we wish away that process and that season... thinking that if we just narrow on these few things and figure it out, then we will arrive and we can save ourselves some of that discomfort and this chafing of motherhood, the chafing of working with young ones who can't tie their own shoes and cry about everything. Really, that IS the content of your life. That is the very thing that you get to do right now, and influence, and build up. And so, I think we, as moms, there's a reason women in their 60s and 70s say, 'oh if you only knew how fast it goes,' and sometimes it's wonderful and sometimes it's annoying. I think that women who are older forget, and sometimes I forget as well, which is why I try to speak in a way that never undermines another season. But the reality is that we forget so easily that when you're in the trenches, you kind of don't know where you're heading. You don't really know exactly what it's going to be. And I know that older women are hoping to encourage that, but sometimes it's not just a picture you hold up. Sometimes it's actually holding that woman's hand and walking her out through the trenches.... You don't have to have the same circumstances to be going through the same life lessons."
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
Monday, April 30, 2018
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 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,
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.
Spring
When I look back on the past 5 years, I think spring has been such a hopeful time for me. Two of the past 5 springs, I've been visibly pregnant and anticipating adding a new addition to our family. And two of the past 5 springs have found me blinking bleary-eyed at the sun through sleep-deprived eyes, desperate for fresh air and refreshment after a winter filled with sickness and sleeplessness.
I think there's a fine line between being a masochist and being a mother. Motherhood is sanctifying. It's self-sacrificing. I know this, yet I also find myself pulling back and asking how much is too much? "Will is cost me this, too? Should it?"
God promises rest to the weary, but he doesn't promise a baby who sleeps through the night. I intentionally didn't pray for a "good sleeper" when I was pregnant with Rosie. In part, because I thought that dealing with the tongue tie, breastfeeding issues, and food intolerances early on would naturally fix some of the problem. But also, I prayed for sleep for a long time with Noah. A long time. God answered in the sense that, yes, between 18 months and 2.5 years, Noah was at long last a phenomenal sleeper. But I was in a pretty deep hole by that point, and it took me a long time to recover physically and emotionally.
We instituted gentle nap and nighttime sleep assistance with him around 7 months, and did some more firm "sleep training" at night around 14-15 months. At that time, Noah felt safe, comfortable, knew we would meet his needs, and he was developmentally ready to sleep. We let him cry a bit, but since it had all been so gradual, he never cried more than 20 minutes or so. He was ready.
So what happens this time when I'm ready but my baby maybe isn't? The longer I'm a mom, the slower I am to judge others, but still pretty quick to second guess myself. I feel like right now I can't be the mom I want to be at night AND during the day. Rosie's 9 months old and wakes up 2-5 times a night.
In the past few weeks, my 3 year old has started saying things like, "Rosie, you have GOT to let me have some quiet time." And, "I'm so grumpy in the morning because Rosie kept waking me up at night." Now, I'm not entirely sure that he really hears her crying at night, but he hears me complaining the next day loud and clear.
When do I feel mistakenly entitled to sleep, and when is it a matter of fuctioning?
I need to be able to distinguish between entitlement and self-care! And I need to sleep train my baby.
I think there's a fine line between being a masochist and being a mother. Motherhood is sanctifying. It's self-sacrificing. I know this, yet I also find myself pulling back and asking how much is too much? "Will is cost me this, too? Should it?"
God promises rest to the weary, but he doesn't promise a baby who sleeps through the night. I intentionally didn't pray for a "good sleeper" when I was pregnant with Rosie. In part, because I thought that dealing with the tongue tie, breastfeeding issues, and food intolerances early on would naturally fix some of the problem. But also, I prayed for sleep for a long time with Noah. A long time. God answered in the sense that, yes, between 18 months and 2.5 years, Noah was at long last a phenomenal sleeper. But I was in a pretty deep hole by that point, and it took me a long time to recover physically and emotionally.
We instituted gentle nap and nighttime sleep assistance with him around 7 months, and did some more firm "sleep training" at night around 14-15 months. At that time, Noah felt safe, comfortable, knew we would meet his needs, and he was developmentally ready to sleep. We let him cry a bit, but since it had all been so gradual, he never cried more than 20 minutes or so. He was ready.
So what happens this time when I'm ready but my baby maybe isn't? The longer I'm a mom, the slower I am to judge others, but still pretty quick to second guess myself. I feel like right now I can't be the mom I want to be at night AND during the day. Rosie's 9 months old and wakes up 2-5 times a night.
In the past few weeks, my 3 year old has started saying things like, "Rosie, you have GOT to let me have some quiet time." And, "I'm so grumpy in the morning because Rosie kept waking me up at night." Now, I'm not entirely sure that he really hears her crying at night, but he hears me complaining the next day loud and clear.
When do I feel mistakenly entitled to sleep, and when is it a matter of fuctioning?
I need to be able to distinguish between entitlement and self-care! And I need to sleep train my baby.
Thursday, April 12, 2018
Selfishness and Selflessness
I listened to a podcast when I was pregnant with Rosie, and re-listened again recently, with Jen Wilkin. At one point, she says, "Motherhood, particularly young motherhood, was such a time of selfishness and selflessness intertwined for me. I told myself that it was 'beating the selfishness out of me' because you have to give up all your personal freedoms, etcetera. But then it turned out that as soon as the kids got older and were able to do things on their own, I just took all the selfishness right back. Nothing is going to get to that underlying issue of self-centeredness, like spending time in the scriptures will."
That pull between selfishness and selflessness? I am feeling this deeply right now. Noah's old enough, and he and Rosie are far enough apart, that I did get a glimpse of that freedom. And it wasn't until Rosie came along that I realized I'd gotten to a point where I had taken back some of those personal freedoms. When I got pregnant, he was napping every day, sleeping through the night, potty training... In hindsight, I totally felt entitled to my alone time during naps, to those few hours between kids bedtime and my own. And I didn't realize how much I needed them until I lost them.
In a lot of ways, I know this is the hard season, this season of two kids 3 and under. I know that as the first child gets older, things change. Even if we do for some reason decide to have another baby, it won't be like this again. The sheer neediness. And I do also get glimpses of how having an older child can be helpful, can be a good role model, can set the tone for the day. I don't say this to put too much pressure on Noah, but more just watching friends with older kids out and about, things are just DONE a certain way because they've been done with the first child and that's just how things go. I'm realizing once again, this season is intense but (relatively) brief. This season of having to change diapers and change clothes and physically feed a child. The days when I'm harried and ravenous and my kids are scrambling to eat the food left on my plate, or the last of my yummy treat. I give it to them, but on a bad day, I kind of want to cry when I do. Some days, I feel like I'm bleeding myself dry. I know now that when I look back, this season will be so brief.
When am I "putting my own oxygen mask on first," and when am I just looking for glimpses of a bygone era when I was literally my only priority as I went throughout my day?
None of this is mind blowing, or even terribly unique. But the reality of it, of course, isn't fully realized until you're in it. The way the kids will take turns sleeping so you don't have a minute alone. The way one crying can often start the other one crying. The way you can't leave the room without worrying that the baby is going to be "moved" or "helped" or "taught a lesson" by the "helpful" older child.
The thing is, I love so much of it. I love being the one who can fix the owies and stop the crying. I love how sometimes they just need a hug to touch base. But I'm trying to give myself permission to realize that I can love it AND it can be kicking my butt.
The other thing I didn't quite realize I felt entitiled to, was an "easier" child. I know there's no such thing as EARNING a chill baby, but I did feel like I'd paid my dues somehow, and maybe genetics plus luck plus not being a first time mom would be on my side. We prepared for tongue tie, for reflux, for breastfeeding issues, for postpartum pain. But I couldn't quite bring myself to prepare for another sleepless child. I thought surely if we dealt with all those other issues, sleep would fall in line. And maybe it would have? Rosie slept GLORIOUSLY well for 2.5 months. Like, I can't even count the number of times she basically slept through the night, only waking up at 10pm or 4am. I felt HUMAN. I actually felt like a rockstar, getting two kids out of the house, and nursing the baby at the park, and letting her nap in the wrap. And, I don't know. I don't know what changed and I've been beating myself up about it. As if it were the 2 month shots, or the never-ending sickness that started literally the day I went back to work after taking 12 weeks off. As if I could've somehow changed it. But she started waking up. A lot. Like every 1.5 hours. After the hospital, I think there was a 1-2 month period where I literally never slept for more than 45 minutes at a time, and I was too tired to even count how often she woke up, or how much sleep I wasn't getting.
I kind of developed tunnel vision, to maintain some semblance of sanity (and lets be honest, calling it sanity might be a bit generous-- it's more like a thinly-veiled veneer of sanity). We cut back on playdates, we took a few weeks off of preschool. We finally got HEALTHY. But then we had some family drama and Ross went on a work trip for a week, and I was flying solo and Rosie was literally awake every 45 minutes every single night, and I hit a wall. So we drew back again: I talked to my manager about taking some time off of work.
Because here's the thing, I was literally needed around the clock 5 days a week, and then I went to work on Saturday, and Sunday was a mad scramble of church and groceries and cleaning and food prep, and before I knew it, it would be Monday again. And Monday mornings are theeee worst.
I find myself trying to catch snatches of alone time defensively. Like, can I just eat breakfast without answering a billion questions?! I hear myself saying, "I just need to send this text to my friend!" I find myself thinking, "jeez, just leave me alone for 5 minutes so I can laugh at these memes on facebook and feel less alone."
When I'm with friends, I'm talking too fast. I hear it. I've come so far from my violently defensive posture that I Felt with Noah, but I still feel inadequate. Less than. Not even.
I guess, here's the progress I have made: I know it's not about the size of my house, or the amount of money we have, or the family we don't have in town, or the anxiety that makes its home in the pit of my stomach some days. My problems are underwhelming to many, and maybe overwhelming to others. That doesn't matter. It's about the state of my heart, pure and simple. And I'm not okay.
---
That pull between selfishness and selflessness? I am feeling this deeply right now. Noah's old enough, and he and Rosie are far enough apart, that I did get a glimpse of that freedom. And it wasn't until Rosie came along that I realized I'd gotten to a point where I had taken back some of those personal freedoms. When I got pregnant, he was napping every day, sleeping through the night, potty training... In hindsight, I totally felt entitled to my alone time during naps, to those few hours between kids bedtime and my own. And I didn't realize how much I needed them until I lost them.
In a lot of ways, I know this is the hard season, this season of two kids 3 and under. I know that as the first child gets older, things change. Even if we do for some reason decide to have another baby, it won't be like this again. The sheer neediness. And I do also get glimpses of how having an older child can be helpful, can be a good role model, can set the tone for the day. I don't say this to put too much pressure on Noah, but more just watching friends with older kids out and about, things are just DONE a certain way because they've been done with the first child and that's just how things go. I'm realizing once again, this season is intense but (relatively) brief. This season of having to change diapers and change clothes and physically feed a child. The days when I'm harried and ravenous and my kids are scrambling to eat the food left on my plate, or the last of my yummy treat. I give it to them, but on a bad day, I kind of want to cry when I do. Some days, I feel like I'm bleeding myself dry. I know now that when I look back, this season will be so brief.
When am I "putting my own oxygen mask on first," and when am I just looking for glimpses of a bygone era when I was literally my only priority as I went throughout my day?
None of this is mind blowing, or even terribly unique. But the reality of it, of course, isn't fully realized until you're in it. The way the kids will take turns sleeping so you don't have a minute alone. The way one crying can often start the other one crying. The way you can't leave the room without worrying that the baby is going to be "moved" or "helped" or "taught a lesson" by the "helpful" older child.
The thing is, I love so much of it. I love being the one who can fix the owies and stop the crying. I love how sometimes they just need a hug to touch base. But I'm trying to give myself permission to realize that I can love it AND it can be kicking my butt.
The other thing I didn't quite realize I felt entitiled to, was an "easier" child. I know there's no such thing as EARNING a chill baby, but I did feel like I'd paid my dues somehow, and maybe genetics plus luck plus not being a first time mom would be on my side. We prepared for tongue tie, for reflux, for breastfeeding issues, for postpartum pain. But I couldn't quite bring myself to prepare for another sleepless child. I thought surely if we dealt with all those other issues, sleep would fall in line. And maybe it would have? Rosie slept GLORIOUSLY well for 2.5 months. Like, I can't even count the number of times she basically slept through the night, only waking up at 10pm or 4am. I felt HUMAN. I actually felt like a rockstar, getting two kids out of the house, and nursing the baby at the park, and letting her nap in the wrap. And, I don't know. I don't know what changed and I've been beating myself up about it. As if it were the 2 month shots, or the never-ending sickness that started literally the day I went back to work after taking 12 weeks off. As if I could've somehow changed it. But she started waking up. A lot. Like every 1.5 hours. After the hospital, I think there was a 1-2 month period where I literally never slept for more than 45 minutes at a time, and I was too tired to even count how often she woke up, or how much sleep I wasn't getting.
I kind of developed tunnel vision, to maintain some semblance of sanity (and lets be honest, calling it sanity might be a bit generous-- it's more like a thinly-veiled veneer of sanity). We cut back on playdates, we took a few weeks off of preschool. We finally got HEALTHY. But then we had some family drama and Ross went on a work trip for a week, and I was flying solo and Rosie was literally awake every 45 minutes every single night, and I hit a wall. So we drew back again: I talked to my manager about taking some time off of work.
Because here's the thing, I was literally needed around the clock 5 days a week, and then I went to work on Saturday, and Sunday was a mad scramble of church and groceries and cleaning and food prep, and before I knew it, it would be Monday again. And Monday mornings are theeee worst.
I find myself trying to catch snatches of alone time defensively. Like, can I just eat breakfast without answering a billion questions?! I hear myself saying, "I just need to send this text to my friend!" I find myself thinking, "jeez, just leave me alone for 5 minutes so I can laugh at these memes on facebook and feel less alone."
When I'm with friends, I'm talking too fast. I hear it. I've come so far from my violently defensive posture that I Felt with Noah, but I still feel inadequate. Less than. Not even.
I guess, here's the progress I have made: I know it's not about the size of my house, or the amount of money we have, or the family we don't have in town, or the anxiety that makes its home in the pit of my stomach some days. My problems are underwhelming to many, and maybe overwhelming to others. That doesn't matter. It's about the state of my heart, pure and simple. And I'm not okay.
---
"some day soon we will take family outings like this again (to the library, when philip was our wee one with just two). i can feel it in my bones.
juggling baby twins with 3 other littles can be hilarious and exhausting all at the same time. 😂
😂😂 it can also be impossible under certain "calm" circumstances, like, quiet play at the library. 😂😂😂
😂😂 it can also be impossible under certain "calm" circumstances, like, quiet play at the library. 😂😂😂
we are so happy to be the parents of this specific crew. life just keeps changing our family. we are embracing a new normal. neither of our children, or either of their parents, will ever be what we would have been (personality and temperment included) without the twins (or ANY of the sibling additions).
i think women especially can think things like "one day i will find myself again, i promise" or "i'll work at becoming who i was working on before the kiddos came once they are older" while we are in the throws of this crazy season.
but the truth is we aren't supposed to look back on that person. God brought this change on purpose. He purposed this crazy. this "how in the world did i get here?"
and He purposed any circumstance that can tip our feelings toward discontment-- with or without children.
we are our real self now.
we are suppose to go through this type of metamorphosis.
we are not suppose to be the same girl we were on our wedding day that we are NOW after living with the man we married.
we are not suppose to be the same woman we were before kids that we are NOW after having a child! or 2 or 3 or 4 or more.
but we are to lay down our life to lose it.
we are to fall on our faces before our Savior when we are struggling and desperate.
He doesn't mind our desparate.
the world's system would like to whisper in your ear something quite different. but this world is your enemy and doesn't care about you at all, no matter how empathetic it my sound at times. the world knows you will buy whatever they are selling if you are discontent. period.
your Creator, on the other hand, does care! and he promises you abundant life, joy in all things, peace in the midst of storms, personal growth in the midst of trials, and hope in the midst of despair to just to name a few!
choose with me today to walk confidently in the skin you are in--even if you don't recognize that girl at times--and speak the truth of God's word over a heart that can easily fill up with the junk that wrong thinking produces."
~ beautifully written by fellow mom Deana Marie Myers
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
Imitation Hail Merry Bites
It's funny how I didn't really have cravings during my pregnancy with Rosie. Instead, I'll always associate certain foods with her first few months of life. When Noah started preschool in August, I'd grab a coconut milk latte from Starbucks on my way home, and enjoy it with some salted chocolate covered almonds from Trader Joe's.
A few months later, I moved onto these Hail Merry bites because I was hungry so often, and they were a little sweet but also filling. When Rosie was in the hospital this winter, I ate a lot of gluten-free chocolate bundt cake from eCafe. Then, all hell broke loose and I'm not entirely sure how I've survived the past few months! But... spring is coming. The weather hasn't quite warmed up yet, but I'm craving these energy bites again!
Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites modified from this recipe:
1 cup almond flour
1 cup shredded unsweetened coconut
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 Tbs melted coconut oil
2 Tbs mini chocolate chips
Raw Chocolate Macaroons modified from this recipe:
1 cup shredded unsweetened coconut
1 cup almond flour
scant 1/2 cup coconut oil
4-5 Tbs cocoa powder
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp salt
For both recipes, you just dump everything in the food processor and blend until it clumps together. Then roll them into balls and store in the fridge or freezer!
Now I just need to try my hand at imitating the delicious Hail Merry tarts...
A few months later, I moved onto these Hail Merry bites because I was hungry so often, and they were a little sweet but also filling. When Rosie was in the hospital this winter, I ate a lot of gluten-free chocolate bundt cake from eCafe. Then, all hell broke loose and I'm not entirely sure how I've survived the past few months! But... spring is coming. The weather hasn't quite warmed up yet, but I'm craving these energy bites again!
Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites modified from this recipe:
1 cup almond flour
1 cup shredded unsweetened coconut
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 Tbs melted coconut oil
2 Tbs mini chocolate chips
Raw Chocolate Macaroons modified from this recipe:
1 cup shredded unsweetened coconut
1 cup almond flour
scant 1/2 cup coconut oil
4-5 Tbs cocoa powder
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp salt
For both recipes, you just dump everything in the food processor and blend until it clumps together. Then roll them into balls and store in the fridge or freezer!
Now I just need to try my hand at imitating the delicious Hail Merry tarts...
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
When Rosie Went to the Hospital
It's Tuesday night. This time last week, I was taking Rosie to the Respiratory Outpatient Clinic inside the children's hospital ER. It was our second of three visits. She was breathing so fast, and retracting, and burning up and I was so tense waiting there, knowing that she needed suctioning, but knowing I hated seeing them put that catheter down her nose.
We would've actually qualified for hospital admission that night, but she seemed to improved when they suctioned some of that thick junk out of her airway, so we went home. She had a feverish, sad night. She wasn't eating well, and was lethargic, resting on my chest, as hot as a little space heater because she was refusing to take her Tylenol. When morning came, I took her to the ROC clinic again. They suctioned her again. But by the time we got to the car, she was already retracting and breathing fast and looking so, so sad. So I grabbed some sustenance, made some phone calls, and walked into the ER with my baby and asked to be seen. The nurse counted her respiratory rate at 80 breaths per minute, and they took us back to a room right away. They put her on a monitor, suctioned her again, and then the doctor came in to chat.
I was honestly relieved when the doctor decided to admit her. The previous few nights had been so scary. I was calling the on-call pediatrician's line almost nightly. I think I knew what was coming. She got oxygen for about an hour in the ER, and rested so comfortably on it. She was breathing fast and hard when we got her up to her room, but since her sats were 90-92%, they didn't put the oxygen back on, which I was a little anxious about. (For the record, I did NOT like our day shift nurse those first few days). By evening, she was a little more comfortable, albeit still sat-ing in the low 90s, and sometimes dipping below when she was asleep.
It's funny, I've kind of been regretting not staying that second night in the hospital after she was born, just to snuggle. Well, we got our extra nights in the hospital. But snuggling was really hard with the big uncomfortable chair, a sick baby, a sick mama, lines, and oxygen. But I still relished that time when I literally had nothing to do but attend to her. Even though it did wear on me, especially by the evening, when it started to get dark out and I realized I somehow needed to shower, and eat, and pump, and wash pumping parts all alone with a fussy baby. I was so grateful when my parents decided to come down to help out.
Rosie had basically been sick since October 21. All of us came down with a pretty brutal cold that weekend, and then Noah, Rosie, and I got pink eye. Right as we recovered from the last of the cold symptoms, we got the stomach bug. Ross and Noah had about 24 hours of discomfort, but Rosie and I had a solid week. I woke up that day in mid-November with a high fever and body aches that were so awful, I could barely walk. I hadn't even gotten the GI symptoms yet! Thankfully my mom was still in town. She was just about to leave after helping out over the weekend, but instead she was able to take Noah to school and hold Rosie while I slept and then went to the doctor. Aunt Karen came over later to hold Rosie, too. I've been sick a lot in the past year, but that Tuesday I was just truly incapacitated. Rosie started throwing up that afternoon, and continued to do so for the next 4 days! Days 2 and 3, she was basically projective vomiting after most of her feeds, and we were watching wet diapers to make sure she didn't have to go to the ER. At once point, she only had 2 wet diapers in 24 hours, which was fairly scary for a 3 month old. I had the fever and body aches for 4 days, and then finally got the GI symptoms right before leaving town for Thanksgiving.
So we were all healthy for about 2 days, and then... RSV hit. Noah stayed in Omaha for a few days after Thanksgiving, and came back with the sniffles. They very quickly progressed into him sleeping for hours and hours one Sunday, which is completely unlike him. He also had a high fever and I had a really bad feeling about it. Sure enough, Rosie started to get sick later that day. We were all congested and exhausted by Sunday night. Rosie's RR was in the 60s, so I FaceTimed my dad for some triage. We decided to just take her to the pediatrician first thing in the morning, which was good because he had a RR of 65 and temp of 101 overnight and I had to suction her a few times.
At the pediatrician on Monday, Rosie's O2 sats were 95-96%, HR 136, and RR 56. She was having some very minor retractions though, so they did do an RSV swab. It came back positive, and they gave us a script for the Respiratory Outpatient Clinic at the children's hospital. I took it but kind of shrugged it off. We'd been using the Nose Frida with decent success. By Tuesday morning, Rosie was either lethargic or fussy-- never engaged and happy like she'd been with previous illnesses. She didn't pee overnight, and her morning RR was 80 with some pretty noticeable subcostal retractions.
By 9am Tuesday morning, I knew she needed more suctioning and care than I was able to provide at home, so I drove her to the ROC. I was so stressed, and basically prepped for the worst, expecting to get admitted. Noah even drew a sweet little picture and rolled it up and put it into Rosie's hand before we left! Turns out, that the ROC doesn't even have a doctor, and they don't really triage. So they deep suctioned her (wow-- so hard to watch even though I've done it to smaller babies before at work), and sent us on our way with a RR of 43 and sats at 98%. The RT told me that days 4-5 of RSV are the worst, and this was the morning of day 4. She seemed more comfortable, albeit still pale and sleepy. Meanwhile, though, she just wasn't staying hydrated even though I was feeding her often. (Probably a combo between a fever, insensible water loss with such fast breathing, and just not eating well because she was so congested). She'd only had one wet diaper in 12 hours, so the pediatrician said if she didn't have 2 more by bedtime, she'd need to go into the ER. But by 2pm, she seemed happier and more active, had eaten 3oz pumped milk by bottle, and peed and pooped once.
At this point, we were all so sick. Noah was over the lethargic phase, but I was exhausted. All of us had fluid behind our ears and tons of congestion, so he'd say something, I'd respond (losing my voice), and he'd go, "what'd you say?" All day it was a constant cycle of, "why? what? what did you say? why? what? what did you say?" Aunt Theresa brought us dinner that night, which was SO SO appreciated. But seeing Rose through another person's eyes made me realize just how sick and sad she looked. Sadly, she was looking worse again after a 4 hour nap!!! RR 90, temp 100.9. She peed and pooped again, so we avoided the ER by a 5 hour margin! But she was retracting even more, and still had a RR of 80 an hour after Tylenol (aka not just breathing fast because of a fever) so we went back to the ROC. And the second visit was so much more stressful! We'd been the only ones there at 10am, but at 7pm, the waiting room was packed with sick babies. An hour and a half later, we finally got back to a room. RR 54 O2 sats 95%. After suctioning sats went up to 100% so we went home. That night, though, was rough.
I suctioned Rosie before bed, but in the middle of the night, she was so miserable. She wouldn't take Tylenol, she had refused bottles since her second round of deep suctioning, but was tiring easily at the breast, and she was working so hard to breathe. It was awful. I allllmost took her in then, but I was able to get her to sleep and I slept lightly while holding her . At 6am, her temp was 101.8, RR 80+, so we got ready to head to the ROC first thing. Thankfully she was still drooling, and her fontanelle felt normal, but I was afraid that if the respiratory symptoms didn't admit her, the dehydration would. At the ROC, they suctioned again, but she was already retracting so much by the time we got to the car. I called my dad to discuss options, I drove through at eCafe to grab a treat, some coffee, and some food for lunch, and drove back to the ER and walked in with my baby, which I had yet to do in 3.5 years of parenting.
Rosie ended up staying in the hospital for 3 nights and 4 days. It was hard. Really hard. Even though I knew she was going to be fine and it could've been so much worse! But sleeping 3 hours a night, being super sick myself, nursing and pumping and not being able to feed the pumped milk due to an oral aversion from all the suctioning. The first time they weaned her off her IV fluid, she was running too dry and they almost gave her an NG tube. Thankfully, we avoided that and just did fluids for another 24 hours and tried again. The third night, they went back and forth on discharge 3 times. They decided to keep her, so I went home for a real shower and a change of clothes, and Ross called at 10pm saying the new resident said we could go. By that point, I said I wanted to stay overnight because it was already so late.
The things that surprised me most about this whole series of events:
1. The reassurance I felt when my mom gut was validated. I knew she was getting admitted when I walked into the ER.
2. The relief I felt when they did admit her. I only slept 3 hours a night in the hospital, but I slept better than I had been at home, because she was on monitors and I knew I wasn't the only person responsible for knowing if she was having too much trouble breathing.
3. I thought I'd have time to read, so I brought books. This was shockingly not true at all! I did read for an hour one night, and I loved this quote from Lisa Jo-Baker's intro to a book called Anchored:
"I'm constantly surrounded by the fact that we consider motherhood 'ordinary.' When it's outrageous in its courage. When it, quite literally, bleeds life from the giver. Bleeds prayers and tears and blessings and terrible, holy faith. When it opens our eyes to the majesty of the world we have no control over, reminding us how vulnerable we are and how parenting is this living, breathing parable of surrendering control to the God who had the whole world in his hands all along. We just hadn't stopped to notice until we became mothers and discovered that most of what happens to our kids and our own bodies is entirely outside our control."
This so perfectly captures this season of sickness for me. Being a mother makes me more vulnerable, and I will fiercely protect my little ones and run myself into the ground doing so. But God is reminding me that he loves us, too. He bleeds for us, he cries for us, and he, unlike me, is actually in control.
We would've actually qualified for hospital admission that night, but she seemed to improved when they suctioned some of that thick junk out of her airway, so we went home. She had a feverish, sad night. She wasn't eating well, and was lethargic, resting on my chest, as hot as a little space heater because she was refusing to take her Tylenol. When morning came, I took her to the ROC clinic again. They suctioned her again. But by the time we got to the car, she was already retracting and breathing fast and looking so, so sad. So I grabbed some sustenance, made some phone calls, and walked into the ER with my baby and asked to be seen. The nurse counted her respiratory rate at 80 breaths per minute, and they took us back to a room right away. They put her on a monitor, suctioned her again, and then the doctor came in to chat.
I was honestly relieved when the doctor decided to admit her. The previous few nights had been so scary. I was calling the on-call pediatrician's line almost nightly. I think I knew what was coming. She got oxygen for about an hour in the ER, and rested so comfortably on it. She was breathing fast and hard when we got her up to her room, but since her sats were 90-92%, they didn't put the oxygen back on, which I was a little anxious about. (For the record, I did NOT like our day shift nurse those first few days). By evening, she was a little more comfortable, albeit still sat-ing in the low 90s, and sometimes dipping below when she was asleep.
It's funny, I've kind of been regretting not staying that second night in the hospital after she was born, just to snuggle. Well, we got our extra nights in the hospital. But snuggling was really hard with the big uncomfortable chair, a sick baby, a sick mama, lines, and oxygen. But I still relished that time when I literally had nothing to do but attend to her. Even though it did wear on me, especially by the evening, when it started to get dark out and I realized I somehow needed to shower, and eat, and pump, and wash pumping parts all alone with a fussy baby. I was so grateful when my parents decided to come down to help out.
Rosie had basically been sick since October 21. All of us came down with a pretty brutal cold that weekend, and then Noah, Rosie, and I got pink eye. Right as we recovered from the last of the cold symptoms, we got the stomach bug. Ross and Noah had about 24 hours of discomfort, but Rosie and I had a solid week. I woke up that day in mid-November with a high fever and body aches that were so awful, I could barely walk. I hadn't even gotten the GI symptoms yet! Thankfully my mom was still in town. She was just about to leave after helping out over the weekend, but instead she was able to take Noah to school and hold Rosie while I slept and then went to the doctor. Aunt Karen came over later to hold Rosie, too. I've been sick a lot in the past year, but that Tuesday I was just truly incapacitated. Rosie started throwing up that afternoon, and continued to do so for the next 4 days! Days 2 and 3, she was basically projective vomiting after most of her feeds, and we were watching wet diapers to make sure she didn't have to go to the ER. At once point, she only had 2 wet diapers in 24 hours, which was fairly scary for a 3 month old. I had the fever and body aches for 4 days, and then finally got the GI symptoms right before leaving town for Thanksgiving.
So we were all healthy for about 2 days, and then... RSV hit. Noah stayed in Omaha for a few days after Thanksgiving, and came back with the sniffles. They very quickly progressed into him sleeping for hours and hours one Sunday, which is completely unlike him. He also had a high fever and I had a really bad feeling about it. Sure enough, Rosie started to get sick later that day. We were all congested and exhausted by Sunday night. Rosie's RR was in the 60s, so I FaceTimed my dad for some triage. We decided to just take her to the pediatrician first thing in the morning, which was good because he had a RR of 65 and temp of 101 overnight and I had to suction her a few times.
At the pediatrician on Monday, Rosie's O2 sats were 95-96%, HR 136, and RR 56. She was having some very minor retractions though, so they did do an RSV swab. It came back positive, and they gave us a script for the Respiratory Outpatient Clinic at the children's hospital. I took it but kind of shrugged it off. We'd been using the Nose Frida with decent success. By Tuesday morning, Rosie was either lethargic or fussy-- never engaged and happy like she'd been with previous illnesses. She didn't pee overnight, and her morning RR was 80 with some pretty noticeable subcostal retractions.
By 9am Tuesday morning, I knew she needed more suctioning and care than I was able to provide at home, so I drove her to the ROC. I was so stressed, and basically prepped for the worst, expecting to get admitted. Noah even drew a sweet little picture and rolled it up and put it into Rosie's hand before we left! Turns out, that the ROC doesn't even have a doctor, and they don't really triage. So they deep suctioned her (wow-- so hard to watch even though I've done it to smaller babies before at work), and sent us on our way with a RR of 43 and sats at 98%. The RT told me that days 4-5 of RSV are the worst, and this was the morning of day 4. She seemed more comfortable, albeit still pale and sleepy. Meanwhile, though, she just wasn't staying hydrated even though I was feeding her often. (Probably a combo between a fever, insensible water loss with such fast breathing, and just not eating well because she was so congested). She'd only had one wet diaper in 12 hours, so the pediatrician said if she didn't have 2 more by bedtime, she'd need to go into the ER. But by 2pm, she seemed happier and more active, had eaten 3oz pumped milk by bottle, and peed and pooped once.
At this point, we were all so sick. Noah was over the lethargic phase, but I was exhausted. All of us had fluid behind our ears and tons of congestion, so he'd say something, I'd respond (losing my voice), and he'd go, "what'd you say?" All day it was a constant cycle of, "why? what? what did you say? why? what? what did you say?" Aunt Theresa brought us dinner that night, which was SO SO appreciated. But seeing Rose through another person's eyes made me realize just how sick and sad she looked. Sadly, she was looking worse again after a 4 hour nap!!! RR 90, temp 100.9. She peed and pooped again, so we avoided the ER by a 5 hour margin! But she was retracting even more, and still had a RR of 80 an hour after Tylenol (aka not just breathing fast because of a fever) so we went back to the ROC. And the second visit was so much more stressful! We'd been the only ones there at 10am, but at 7pm, the waiting room was packed with sick babies. An hour and a half later, we finally got back to a room. RR 54 O2 sats 95%. After suctioning sats went up to 100% so we went home. That night, though, was rough.
I suctioned Rosie before bed, but in the middle of the night, she was so miserable. She wouldn't take Tylenol, she had refused bottles since her second round of deep suctioning, but was tiring easily at the breast, and she was working so hard to breathe. It was awful. I allllmost took her in then, but I was able to get her to sleep and I slept lightly while holding her . At 6am, her temp was 101.8, RR 80+, so we got ready to head to the ROC first thing. Thankfully she was still drooling, and her fontanelle felt normal, but I was afraid that if the respiratory symptoms didn't admit her, the dehydration would. At the ROC, they suctioned again, but she was already retracting so much by the time we got to the car. I called my dad to discuss options, I drove through at eCafe to grab a treat, some coffee, and some food for lunch, and drove back to the ER and walked in with my baby, which I had yet to do in 3.5 years of parenting.
Rosie ended up staying in the hospital for 3 nights and 4 days. It was hard. Really hard. Even though I knew she was going to be fine and it could've been so much worse! But sleeping 3 hours a night, being super sick myself, nursing and pumping and not being able to feed the pumped milk due to an oral aversion from all the suctioning. The first time they weaned her off her IV fluid, she was running too dry and they almost gave her an NG tube. Thankfully, we avoided that and just did fluids for another 24 hours and tried again. The third night, they went back and forth on discharge 3 times. They decided to keep her, so I went home for a real shower and a change of clothes, and Ross called at 10pm saying the new resident said we could go. By that point, I said I wanted to stay overnight because it was already so late.
The things that surprised me most about this whole series of events:
1. The reassurance I felt when my mom gut was validated. I knew she was getting admitted when I walked into the ER.
2. The relief I felt when they did admit her. I only slept 3 hours a night in the hospital, but I slept better than I had been at home, because she was on monitors and I knew I wasn't the only person responsible for knowing if she was having too much trouble breathing.
3. I thought I'd have time to read, so I brought books. This was shockingly not true at all! I did read for an hour one night, and I loved this quote from Lisa Jo-Baker's intro to a book called Anchored:
"I'm constantly surrounded by the fact that we consider motherhood 'ordinary.' When it's outrageous in its courage. When it, quite literally, bleeds life from the giver. Bleeds prayers and tears and blessings and terrible, holy faith. When it opens our eyes to the majesty of the world we have no control over, reminding us how vulnerable we are and how parenting is this living, breathing parable of surrendering control to the God who had the whole world in his hands all along. We just hadn't stopped to notice until we became mothers and discovered that most of what happens to our kids and our own bodies is entirely outside our control."
This so perfectly captures this season of sickness for me. Being a mother makes me more vulnerable, and I will fiercely protect my little ones and run myself into the ground doing so. But God is reminding me that he loves us, too. He bleeds for us, he cries for us, and he, unlike me, is actually in control.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
October in Review
October in the Midwest seems to be the March in reverse: in like a lamb, out like a lion. We started the month with a sunny, sweaty walk to the park, and ended it with flurries in the forecast and weather too cold to take a baby trick or treating. The changing seasons get me every time, and nothing marks the stark passage of time quite like having a baby. They change overnight, they grow like weeds, and before you know it, you baby is in her fourth month of life and you haven't quite caught up with all the ways life has changed in the past few months. In fact, in the past few days, I've been able to step outside myself a little bit (so much of my day is lived so UP CLOSE) and find myself incredulous that I have TWO KIDS. I'm, like, a grownup.
I have an app called Timehop, and every morning it shows me pictures that I took on that day as far back as 10-11 years! It's just been killing me for the past few weeks. We moved to Kansas City 8 years ago, we moved to a bigger apartment in the same complex 7 years ago. 5 years ago, I was working in the NICU, going to grad school, and teaching clinicals. I took a picture of my new planner, noting that "2013 is going to be a good year. Hard, but good." Little did I know that I'd be changing jobs, hating it, going through a really dark season, traveling to Canada, traveling to Haiti, traveling to Slovenia, and getting pregnant that year!
Four years ago, I was newly pregnant and took a picture of the bright orange tree in our apartment complex that I fell in love with every fall, musing, "I wonder where we will be next year..."
Three years ago, I was navigating life as a new mom in a new-to-us, under-construction house, dreading winter.
Two years ago, I was grappling with the repercussions of a surprise pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage.
Last year, I felt the most normal I'd felt in years: pelvic pain was more or less resolved, I was no longer breastfeeding, Noah was potty-trained and sleeping through the night, and I felt at home in my body, comfortable with our routines, secure in my relationships, and a nagging feeling that someone was missing from the picture.
So in the past year, we went through a full pregnancy and delivery and now here were are at the fall festival again, as a family of FOUR. The side-by-side comparison just blows my mind. So much has happened in a year!
When we found out we were having a "little but lively" sister bear of our own, I knew we had to be Berenstain Bears for Halloween this year. Noah was over the moon about this, and they both looked completely adorable in their costumes. Unfortunately, we were sick the day of the festival, so we didn't stay long at all. (Spoiler alert: It was the beginning of months and months of sickness). But, this is life now and I love these two little cubs.
I have an app called Timehop, and every morning it shows me pictures that I took on that day as far back as 10-11 years! It's just been killing me for the past few weeks. We moved to Kansas City 8 years ago, we moved to a bigger apartment in the same complex 7 years ago. 5 years ago, I was working in the NICU, going to grad school, and teaching clinicals. I took a picture of my new planner, noting that "2013 is going to be a good year. Hard, but good." Little did I know that I'd be changing jobs, hating it, going through a really dark season, traveling to Canada, traveling to Haiti, traveling to Slovenia, and getting pregnant that year!
Four years ago, I was newly pregnant and took a picture of the bright orange tree in our apartment complex that I fell in love with every fall, musing, "I wonder where we will be next year..."
Three years ago, I was navigating life as a new mom in a new-to-us, under-construction house, dreading winter.
Two years ago, I was grappling with the repercussions of a surprise pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage.
Last year, I felt the most normal I'd felt in years: pelvic pain was more or less resolved, I was no longer breastfeeding, Noah was potty-trained and sleeping through the night, and I felt at home in my body, comfortable with our routines, secure in my relationships, and a nagging feeling that someone was missing from the picture.
So in the past year, we went through a full pregnancy and delivery and now here were are at the fall festival again, as a family of FOUR. The side-by-side comparison just blows my mind. So much has happened in a year!
When we found out we were having a "little but lively" sister bear of our own, I knew we had to be Berenstain Bears for Halloween this year. Noah was over the moon about this, and they both looked completely adorable in their costumes. Unfortunately, we were sick the day of the festival, so we didn't stay long at all. (Spoiler alert: It was the beginning of months and months of sickness). But, this is life now and I love these two little cubs.
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