...sucks.
As a friend of mine at church pointed out, she sometimes wonders why God doesn't give new mothers a bit of a break. You come home exhausted from labor only to be faced with little sleep, crazy hormones, painful nursing, and a constantly needy baby. I know I am five months out and things should be better. They are to some extent. But the sleeplessness and crazy hormones can go away anytime they want. Really, they can.
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Five Months
Dear Baby Linus,
You must be my third child. You see, I have these lovely little blank books that I use to record letters to you and your brothers. I have been writing in yours every month since you were born, but when I went to find it for your five month entry, I couldn't. I found your brothers' books just fine, but yours is missing. I'm sure it will turn up eventually, just like I eventually remember to feed you and to change your diaper and to read to you, after Calvin and Hobbes give me a few minutes of peace.
But you are so very forgiving and loving despite my neglect, my beautiful, smiling boy. We all adore you, and you adore us. You squeal and shake and kick with delight whenever anyone is playing with you, especially your brothers. You are really starting to participate in life, rolling over, grabbing toys (or hair or brothers' noses), and trying so very hard to be strong enough to sit up. You would be walking and eating real food if you could; you are so eager to be like your brothers.
Our greatest source of amusement from you is watching you around food. I started feeding you rice cereal and some baby food at four months, much earlier than with your brothers, and you were very ready for it. You squealed and shook with delight at every bite, and you have not looked back. We have given you apples and pears and bananas, and today you tried sweet potatoes for the first time. You love it all, if I mix it with rice cereal to give it some substance.
I don't think you will eat baby food for long. If you had the ability to chew and swallow, you would go straight for the real stuff. You try at every opportunity. Yesterday I was eating a strawberry muffin while holding you. Your eyes got big and followed the muffin's every move. With mouth wide open, you took your hands and slowly tried to bring them together around the muffin. If I had let you grab it, I am certain it would have been in your mouth. You love food, no doubt about it. No one can eat without your eyes on them. It's hilarious!
You also love for people to sing and read to you. When we stop, you make little protest noises asking for more. You especially love "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider," and whenever I sing it to you, you squeal for more when I am done. You have started anticipating the end and making your desire for a sequel known before I even finish the song. When we read books to you, you often grab our hands and try to make us turn the page or point to the objects. Sometimes I swear you are reading along. With Calvin as a brother, you might just be. But you do love your books.
You are such a gift to us, little one, the most pleasant and loving baby yet. We all love watching you discover new things. Last night, you were in the tub with your brothers and discovered that you could use your feet to splash water. You were mesmerized, and so were we. You stop us all from taking life so seriously. You make us smile and laugh more than we did before. You shine little one, every moment you are awake. Well, every moment that you are awake and not screaming at me to feed you some real food. That is the only thing you are insistent about, and I am more than happy to oblige.
We have made it five months, Linus. This is the part where it starts to get fun. It's already been so good; we can't wait to see what's coming. We all love you.
-Mommy
I have since found the poor child's blank book and plan to write this letter in there. Hey, it's only a week or more late...
You must be my third child. You see, I have these lovely little blank books that I use to record letters to you and your brothers. I have been writing in yours every month since you were born, but when I went to find it for your five month entry, I couldn't. I found your brothers' books just fine, but yours is missing. I'm sure it will turn up eventually, just like I eventually remember to feed you and to change your diaper and to read to you, after Calvin and Hobbes give me a few minutes of peace.
But you are so very forgiving and loving despite my neglect, my beautiful, smiling boy. We all adore you, and you adore us. You squeal and shake and kick with delight whenever anyone is playing with you, especially your brothers. You are really starting to participate in life, rolling over, grabbing toys (or hair or brothers' noses), and trying so very hard to be strong enough to sit up. You would be walking and eating real food if you could; you are so eager to be like your brothers.
Our greatest source of amusement from you is watching you around food. I started feeding you rice cereal and some baby food at four months, much earlier than with your brothers, and you were very ready for it. You squealed and shook with delight at every bite, and you have not looked back. We have given you apples and pears and bananas, and today you tried sweet potatoes for the first time. You love it all, if I mix it with rice cereal to give it some substance.
I don't think you will eat baby food for long. If you had the ability to chew and swallow, you would go straight for the real stuff. You try at every opportunity. Yesterday I was eating a strawberry muffin while holding you. Your eyes got big and followed the muffin's every move. With mouth wide open, you took your hands and slowly tried to bring them together around the muffin. If I had let you grab it, I am certain it would have been in your mouth. You love food, no doubt about it. No one can eat without your eyes on them. It's hilarious!
You also love for people to sing and read to you. When we stop, you make little protest noises asking for more. You especially love "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider," and whenever I sing it to you, you squeal for more when I am done. You have started anticipating the end and making your desire for a sequel known before I even finish the song. When we read books to you, you often grab our hands and try to make us turn the page or point to the objects. Sometimes I swear you are reading along. With Calvin as a brother, you might just be. But you do love your books.
You are such a gift to us, little one, the most pleasant and loving baby yet. We all love watching you discover new things. Last night, you were in the tub with your brothers and discovered that you could use your feet to splash water. You were mesmerized, and so were we. You stop us all from taking life so seriously. You make us smile and laugh more than we did before. You shine little one, every moment you are awake. Well, every moment that you are awake and not screaming at me to feed you some real food. That is the only thing you are insistent about, and I am more than happy to oblige.
We have made it five months, Linus. This is the part where it starts to get fun. It's already been so good; we can't wait to see what's coming. We all love you.
-Mommy
I have since found the poor child's blank book and plan to write this letter in there. Hey, it's only a week or more late...
Friday, March 20, 2009
7 Quick Takes-Slugs, Bugs, In-laws, Bathrooms, and Mountains
You don't have to read all of these, but do go to #7 and help save my mountains!
1. Put this one in the "Clueless About Mothering" category. Apparently, there is this entire world known as children's music that I have never entered. (I guess I listened to it when I was a kid, but my introduction to adult music was more memorable.) Anyway, after an e-mail exchange with some friends about good kids' music, I decided to hit iTunes and buy some. Turns out, there are some really good CD's out there. My boys are loving "Slugs, Bugs, and Lullabies" right now, and so am I. My favorite line so far: "So I listen very carefully because He lives inside of me, which could be gross but it's not 'cause He's Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior!"
If you have any suggestions for children's music that adults can stand, let me know. Don't worry, my boys will still be subjected to plenty of Dylan, the Beatles, and bluegrass!
2. While I was researching the CD mentioned above, I saw that Andrew Peterson has a new CD out. Since I love his lyrics and own all of his other CD's, I went ahead and bought this one. It is proving to be good music for Lent, not because it is gloomy and focuses on sin and repentance, but because it focuses on redemption and grace in a broken world, on the need for resurrection. Great stuff to contemplate as I anticipate celebrating the Resurrection in a month.
3. Lent is going well, not because I am keeping the fast well, though I am trying. Mostly it is going well because I am slowing down enough to contemplate the spiritual significance of the things I do on a daily basis, of my relationships, of my life. I am working on a post about what I am learning. Let's just say I hope to achieve a perspective like this one day.
4. I mentioned in my last post how much I love Auntie M. Really, I love living near family in general. My in-laws are amazing, and my mother-in-law takes the boys one afternoon most weeks while I take a break. They have goats (who just had kids), chickens, ducks, and a German Shepherd with a brand new litter of puppies. My boys came home Wednesday dirty, tired, and happy.
5. And I had a gift of an afternoon free. I spent some good talking, cuddling, loving time with Baby Linus, and then, while he took a THREE HOUR NAP, guess what I did? That's right, I cleaned my bathrooms! And most of the rest of my tiny house. It was so very therapeutic for me. Now you are all welcome to come over and enjoy it while it lasts.
6. What?!? Your house is still clean from Wednesday?!? Yep, that's because the boys and I are in TN visiting my fam while hubby works a super busy few days at work. The drive here was enlightening...and frustrating. How can I not get angry when I see signs from developers ruining these mountains with fancy neighborhoods...signs that proudly proclaim, "We're at it again!" "Come live the mountain life you've dreamed of." "Mountain lifestyles at affordable prices." "Priceless views. Affordable Condos." You get the point! Reading Wendell Berry (no, I may never stop talking about him) has made me even more angry at the way land and place and heritage are thrown around so cheaply to make a buck.
7. While I am on the subject of mountains, there is more than one way to destroy them. Houses are nothing compared to Mountaintop Removal Coal Mining. I'm asking for your help again! Read over here and then contact your senators and representatives about the Appalachian Mountains Preservation Act and the Clean Water Protection Act. Help me save these lovely mountains!
Read more 7 Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.
1. Put this one in the "Clueless About Mothering" category. Apparently, there is this entire world known as children's music that I have never entered. (I guess I listened to it when I was a kid, but my introduction to adult music was more memorable.) Anyway, after an e-mail exchange with some friends about good kids' music, I decided to hit iTunes and buy some. Turns out, there are some really good CD's out there. My boys are loving "Slugs, Bugs, and Lullabies" right now, and so am I. My favorite line so far: "So I listen very carefully because He lives inside of me, which could be gross but it's not 'cause He's Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior!"
If you have any suggestions for children's music that adults can stand, let me know. Don't worry, my boys will still be subjected to plenty of Dylan, the Beatles, and bluegrass!
2. While I was researching the CD mentioned above, I saw that Andrew Peterson has a new CD out. Since I love his lyrics and own all of his other CD's, I went ahead and bought this one. It is proving to be good music for Lent, not because it is gloomy and focuses on sin and repentance, but because it focuses on redemption and grace in a broken world, on the need for resurrection. Great stuff to contemplate as I anticipate celebrating the Resurrection in a month.
3. Lent is going well, not because I am keeping the fast well, though I am trying. Mostly it is going well because I am slowing down enough to contemplate the spiritual significance of the things I do on a daily basis, of my relationships, of my life. I am working on a post about what I am learning. Let's just say I hope to achieve a perspective like this one day.
4. I mentioned in my last post how much I love Auntie M. Really, I love living near family in general. My in-laws are amazing, and my mother-in-law takes the boys one afternoon most weeks while I take a break. They have goats (who just had kids), chickens, ducks, and a German Shepherd with a brand new litter of puppies. My boys came home Wednesday dirty, tired, and happy.
5. And I had a gift of an afternoon free. I spent some good talking, cuddling, loving time with Baby Linus, and then, while he took a THREE HOUR NAP, guess what I did? That's right, I cleaned my bathrooms! And most of the rest of my tiny house. It was so very therapeutic for me. Now you are all welcome to come over and enjoy it while it lasts.
6. What?!? Your house is still clean from Wednesday?!? Yep, that's because the boys and I are in TN visiting my fam while hubby works a super busy few days at work. The drive here was enlightening...and frustrating. How can I not get angry when I see signs from developers ruining these mountains with fancy neighborhoods...signs that proudly proclaim, "We're at it again!" "Come live the mountain life you've dreamed of." "Mountain lifestyles at affordable prices." "Priceless views. Affordable Condos." You get the point! Reading Wendell Berry (no, I may never stop talking about him) has made me even more angry at the way land and place and heritage are thrown around so cheaply to make a buck.
7. While I am on the subject of mountains, there is more than one way to destroy them. Houses are nothing compared to Mountaintop Removal Coal Mining. I'm asking for your help again! Read over here and then contact your senators and representatives about the Appalachian Mountains Preservation Act and the Clean Water Protection Act. Help me save these lovely mountains!
Read more 7 Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Naming Day
Our third son received baptism today. The beauty of that moment, even the third time around, never ceases to amaze me. It seems appropriate that today, the day that he was baptized into the family of God, this little one finally gets his blog name. And so, without further ado...
...Baby Linus it is. I was really leaning toward Pascal, but Linus won out in the end since it fulfills the comic strip character as well as the real-life person of faith and/or letters. St.Linus was the second pope. (Thanks, Thomas, for reminding me of that. Glad you found my blog in time to help out.) The baby's real life name is that of a Pope, and Linus was my mother-in-law's nickname for my father-in-law! It seems meant to be.
Calvin, Hobbes, and Linus. Maybe one day we'll get a Susie or Lucy...
...Baby Linus it is. I was really leaning toward Pascal, but Linus won out in the end since it fulfills the comic strip character as well as the real-life person of faith and/or letters. St.Linus was the second pope. (Thanks, Thomas, for reminding me of that. Glad you found my blog in time to help out.) The baby's real life name is that of a Pope, and Linus was my mother-in-law's nickname for my father-in-law! It seems meant to be.
Calvin, Hobbes, and Linus. Maybe one day we'll get a Susie or Lucy...
Friday, March 13, 2009
7 Quick Takes-Just Around the Corner
"You found it!" cried Toad. "Yes," said Frog, "I was very happy. I had found the corner that spring was just around." "Look, Frog," said Toad. "You were right. The rain has stopped." Frog and Toad hurried outside. They ran around the corner of Frog's house to make sure that spring had come again. -from Frog and Toad All Year
1. I was out of town this past weekend visiting a dear friend in Illinois. Calvin and Hobbes stayed home with their daddy, so it was just me and the baby. The time to just be with another mom, sitting in her house and chatting (and enjoying her amazing cooking), was precious and refreshing. It is so good to live life closely with another woman for awhile and to gain perspective on parenting. We are all different creatures, and different mothers, and none of us is perfect. And that is okay. This was just the break the boys and I needed. Time for a fresh start.
2. When I got back, feeling reinvigorated, I found that North Carolina had also found some new life. Despite the snow last week, Spring was indeed just around the corner. The forsythia are blooming, crocuses and daffodils are everywhere, and trees are starting to show their color. Spring is my favorite season around here, even if I spend most of it stuffed up and sneezing!
3. It's seems the Spring weather (and reading Wendell Berry) has reinvigorated my husband, too. He has spent that past few evenings getting our small garden beds ready. They were sorely neglected last year when I was in the midst of morning sickness, but hopefully we can actually grow some things this year. The boys and I bought some seeds, and we are going to get our Spring crop into the ground. Nothing like a little dirt under the nails to make one feel alive!
4. The baby is coming to life, too, and has suddenly found his own voice. And, oh, is he ever charming! He has the most amazing dimpled smile and will talk to us for a long time if we give him some attention. He REALLY likes to talk, which might be a problem later, but for now it is adorable.
5. Things are growing all around me, babies and plants and boys. Hobbes turns three next week, and I can hardly believe it! I wonder where this third year went and when he turned into such a handsome looking guy. He is definitely not a baby anymore...or even a toddler...how did he become a preschooler so quickly! But the point of this is not how Hobbes is growing. The point is to mention that he wants a space shuttle cake for his birthday. Here we go again!
6. With all of this Springy-ness and growing around me, it is hard to focus on Lent. What little I am meditating on the season has been good, though. I think, above all, that I am coming to a place of accepting my life as it is and learning the importance of being faithful in the daily tasks that God has given me to do. I have spent so much time waiting for things to change, for life to get easier, for me to just get this thing or that thing under control. I am learning that we never reach that point and that we are just called to serve and love where we are, as we are, by His grace.
7. To go along with the work of Lent and preparing for Spring, my husband and I have picked up yet another Wendell Berry book. This time it is his essay on science and the arts, progress, and the general trend of our culture away from rootedness in a spot of earth. If you haven't read Life is a Miracle, I highly recommend it. I can't do it justice in a review. Really, all I can say is "Amen!" I have never been able to articulate it, but growing up in a small, rural town, I know what he says to be true with every ounce of my being. Amen and amen!
For more "7 Quick Takes" visit Jen at Conversion Diary.
1. I was out of town this past weekend visiting a dear friend in Illinois. Calvin and Hobbes stayed home with their daddy, so it was just me and the baby. The time to just be with another mom, sitting in her house and chatting (and enjoying her amazing cooking), was precious and refreshing. It is so good to live life closely with another woman for awhile and to gain perspective on parenting. We are all different creatures, and different mothers, and none of us is perfect. And that is okay. This was just the break the boys and I needed. Time for a fresh start.
2. When I got back, feeling reinvigorated, I found that North Carolina had also found some new life. Despite the snow last week, Spring was indeed just around the corner. The forsythia are blooming, crocuses and daffodils are everywhere, and trees are starting to show their color. Spring is my favorite season around here, even if I spend most of it stuffed up and sneezing!
3. It's seems the Spring weather (and reading Wendell Berry) has reinvigorated my husband, too. He has spent that past few evenings getting our small garden beds ready. They were sorely neglected last year when I was in the midst of morning sickness, but hopefully we can actually grow some things this year. The boys and I bought some seeds, and we are going to get our Spring crop into the ground. Nothing like a little dirt under the nails to make one feel alive!
4. The baby is coming to life, too, and has suddenly found his own voice. And, oh, is he ever charming! He has the most amazing dimpled smile and will talk to us for a long time if we give him some attention. He REALLY likes to talk, which might be a problem later, but for now it is adorable.
5. Things are growing all around me, babies and plants and boys. Hobbes turns three next week, and I can hardly believe it! I wonder where this third year went and when he turned into such a handsome looking guy. He is definitely not a baby anymore...or even a toddler...how did he become a preschooler so quickly! But the point of this is not how Hobbes is growing. The point is to mention that he wants a space shuttle cake for his birthday. Here we go again!
6. With all of this Springy-ness and growing around me, it is hard to focus on Lent. What little I am meditating on the season has been good, though. I think, above all, that I am coming to a place of accepting my life as it is and learning the importance of being faithful in the daily tasks that God has given me to do. I have spent so much time waiting for things to change, for life to get easier, for me to just get this thing or that thing under control. I am learning that we never reach that point and that we are just called to serve and love where we are, as we are, by His grace.
7. To go along with the work of Lent and preparing for Spring, my husband and I have picked up yet another Wendell Berry book. This time it is his essay on science and the arts, progress, and the general trend of our culture away from rootedness in a spot of earth. If you haven't read Life is a Miracle, I highly recommend it. I can't do it justice in a review. Really, all I can say is "Amen!" I have never been able to articulate it, but growing up in a small, rural town, I know what he says to be true with every ounce of my being. Amen and amen!
For more "7 Quick Takes" visit Jen at Conversion Diary.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
This Baby Needs a Name!
And I thought coming up with his real name was impossible! He is over two months old now and still doesn't have a blog pseudonym. It's time to vote. Here are the options:
A Real Life Nickname
I call him "Little Dude." Hobbes calls him "Cutie Pie," and Calvin calls him "Sweet Pea Cutie Pie Little Dude Floppy Head." (Let's assume that last one is too cumbersome to type all of the time!) There are also the names they chose for him before he was born, "Wall-E" and "Gandalf."
Another Theologian or Philosopher
Since Calvin and Hobbes are not just comic strip characters, I could go with this theme. I personally like calling him "Saint Francis," but my husband says I can't call him a saint and not the other two. "Merton" and "Augustine" have also been suggested. My husband wanted "Ambrose" as a real life middle name, so I could appease him with that choice. Of course, Ambrose came to a bad end. So did Merton, I suppose. This category could get complicated if I don't want a martyr!
A Comic Strip Character
We could stick with the comic strip theme. "Baby Moe" has been suggested, but this baby is not at all like the bully in "Calvin and Hobbes." If anything, he is more like Linus in the Peanuts. I don't really read comics other than C&H, so I am clueless on this one.
Those are my only thoughts. Please weigh in and let me know. Any suggestions are welcome, but I thought the categories might help to narrow things down.
A Real Life Nickname
I call him "Little Dude." Hobbes calls him "Cutie Pie," and Calvin calls him "Sweet Pea Cutie Pie Little Dude Floppy Head." (Let's assume that last one is too cumbersome to type all of the time!) There are also the names they chose for him before he was born, "Wall-E" and "Gandalf."
Another Theologian or Philosopher
Since Calvin and Hobbes are not just comic strip characters, I could go with this theme. I personally like calling him "Saint Francis," but my husband says I can't call him a saint and not the other two. "Merton" and "Augustine" have also been suggested. My husband wanted "Ambrose" as a real life middle name, so I could appease him with that choice. Of course, Ambrose came to a bad end. So did Merton, I suppose. This category could get complicated if I don't want a martyr!
A Comic Strip Character
We could stick with the comic strip theme. "Baby Moe" has been suggested, but this baby is not at all like the bully in "Calvin and Hobbes." If anything, he is more like Linus in the Peanuts. I don't really read comics other than C&H, so I am clueless on this one.
Those are my only thoughts. Please weigh in and let me know. Any suggestions are welcome, but I thought the categories might help to narrow things down.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Two Months, One Week
Where has it gone, this time? It has escaped us. But not you, with your simple, sweet, lovely smiles. Not you, with your excited squeals and precious coos. Not you, with your loving gazes into my eyes as you nurse. Not you, little one. You will be big like your brothers soon, because time does escape us. But these moments? We are catching them and holding on tightly.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Milk Madness
In the part of the country I currently call home, people get a little crazy around the month of March. In fact, some may describe their sickness as a sort of madness, March madness. Fortunately, I am not one of those people. I get crazy about sports alright, but my madness comes in the Fall, when the best sport of all is played. (And before my basketball loving readers can jump in, I do realize that football would be much better with a playoff system. Still, every game counts in football, which makes it much more exciting!)
But this post is not about basketball, or football. No, I am here today to talk about milk. It seems that the babe is not gaining enough weight as of his two month appointment. Our guess is that my milk supply is low. Now, I can't imagine why, unless having feedings constantly interrupted by two older boys fighting over toys has something to do with it. That, along with having a baby with mild reflux and serious colic, has led to some milk-flow issues. Thankfully, he IS still gaining weight, but his curve is dropping.
Isn't this every nursing mother's nightmare? I have had two good nursers who gained weight well, so this is new territory for me. I had cut out dairy in hope that it would help his colic, but that often left me feeling hungry and unable to get enough calories. In trying to help my baby, I may have actually hurt him. I am not sure the dairy thing is even the cause of his colic. I guess that means I am saying "so long" to the dairy fast for Lent.
While I stock up on ice cream and cheese, I am also settling in for what my friend calls "nurse-apalooza." We are going back to the newborn days of nursing every hour or hour and a half. Basically, whenever I can, I am going to have that boy eating in hopes of getting my supply up. I am not looking forward to all I will have to let go (cleaning, laundry, getting anything done, leaving the house), but he's worth it. I am not desperate enough yet to go with formula, and I am going to try my best to avoid it. If he really starts getting fussy or actually losing weight, then I will consider it.
In the meantime, excuse me if I don't write for awhile. I've got a baby to feed. Now if only there were some good sports to watch on TV...
But this post is not about basketball, or football. No, I am here today to talk about milk. It seems that the babe is not gaining enough weight as of his two month appointment. Our guess is that my milk supply is low. Now, I can't imagine why, unless having feedings constantly interrupted by two older boys fighting over toys has something to do with it. That, along with having a baby with mild reflux and serious colic, has led to some milk-flow issues. Thankfully, he IS still gaining weight, but his curve is dropping.
Isn't this every nursing mother's nightmare? I have had two good nursers who gained weight well, so this is new territory for me. I had cut out dairy in hope that it would help his colic, but that often left me feeling hungry and unable to get enough calories. In trying to help my baby, I may have actually hurt him. I am not sure the dairy thing is even the cause of his colic. I guess that means I am saying "so long" to the dairy fast for Lent.
While I stock up on ice cream and cheese, I am also settling in for what my friend calls "nurse-apalooza." We are going back to the newborn days of nursing every hour or hour and a half. Basically, whenever I can, I am going to have that boy eating in hopes of getting my supply up. I am not looking forward to all I will have to let go (cleaning, laundry, getting anything done, leaving the house), but he's worth it. I am not desperate enough yet to go with formula, and I am going to try my best to avoid it. If he really starts getting fussy or actually losing weight, then I will consider it.
In the meantime, excuse me if I don't write for awhile. I've got a baby to feed. Now if only there were some good sports to watch on TV...
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Morning Light
You crept into our room before daybreak and lay down on the floor by our bed. You know you aren't allowed in the bed with us until it is light outside, so you just stayed there, on the floor, so quiet and good that I didn't even know you were there. Then Daddy noticed you and pulled back the covers for you to climb in. You were so quiet, so gentle, looking at your baby brother asleep on my chest. I knew that you wanted him to wake up and look at you more than anything, but you held back, just smiling and not touching.
When Daddy went into the shower, I asked if you wanted the baby beside you, and your face lit up. You put your face close to his, giving him gentle kisses and soft pats on the head, being so very careful not to wake him up. But when he did open his eyes, you whispered sweet words to him, assuring him of your love and constant presence, as if he had any question.
Then Daddy came back in the room and you cuddled and hugged and begged for rides on his back. You skipped and jumped and smiled your way around the room until your brother started crying, then you ran right back to him. You always do run back to him when he is crying, telling me he needs milk or bringing him a pacifier. Your sweet spirit calms your brother, and your smile charms him and everyone else around you.
You crept into our room before daybreak, Hobbes, waiting for it to be light. What you didn't know was that you brought the light with you.
When Daddy went into the shower, I asked if you wanted the baby beside you, and your face lit up. You put your face close to his, giving him gentle kisses and soft pats on the head, being so very careful not to wake him up. But when he did open his eyes, you whispered sweet words to him, assuring him of your love and constant presence, as if he had any question.
Then Daddy came back in the room and you cuddled and hugged and begged for rides on his back. You skipped and jumped and smiled your way around the room until your brother started crying, then you ran right back to him. You always do run back to him when he is crying, telling me he needs milk or bringing him a pacifier. Your sweet spirit calms your brother, and your smile charms him and everyone else around you.
You crept into our room before daybreak, Hobbes, waiting for it to be light. What you didn't know was that you brought the light with you.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Initiation
I think I was in second or third grade when my dad announced he would be taking me and my brother to a concert. No, it wasn't a symphony concert or a children's concert or anything wholesome like that. My dad was serious. He was taking us to see John Cougar Mellencamp. On a school night! It was our initiation into the world of rock 'n' roll.
And what an initiation it was. I put on my favorite outfit and got ready to go. It was something totally inappropriate for a rock concert, I am sure, but my parents didn't let me wear black leather in elementary school. We parked and walked into our local concert venue, a huge place with stadium seating. It was dark and smoky, our seats were right under the speakers, and though it was way too loud for my little girl ears, I had a blast. Dad, my brother and I were singing along with the songs. Somewhere in my elementary-aged brain I thought I was as cool as all those older people there, and I couldn't wait to rub it in to my classmates that I had stayed out way past my bedtime at a concert. The only puzzling thing about the whole night was my mom's reaction when we got home. She sent us straight to the bathtub and scrubbed us down hard. Turns out I didn't know the smell of marijuana yet, but my mom sure did. She had lived through the 60's, after all.
In the years to come, my dad would take me to many more concerts. As I grew older, I worried less about looking cool and more about enjoying good music, even if my friends thought it was weird music. Most of the concerts weren't big rock concerts at huge venues. Usually, we opted for quieter, more interesting artists in small places, like the Down Home. Many of my favorite memories involve listening to artists like Gillian Welch, Iris Dement, Lyle Lovett, and Townes Van Zandt with my dad. His willingness to take me to hear live music from an early age definitely influenced my love of good folk, rock, and bluegrass.
It made sense, then, that I would do the same with my children. I still regret the fact that I didn't take Calvin to hear Doc Watson when he was just four months old. But he has seen him since. Hobbes was initiated at seven months, when we took him and then 2-year-old Calvin to their first concert. Who better than Earl Scruggs and friends to initiate my boys into the world of music? My boys hear more bluegrass, folk, and good rock at home than children's music. They love the Beatles and Doc Watson, the Wailin' Jennys and Eddie From Ohio. Although, just like me as a child, they insist that Bob Dylan can't sing at all. In time, dear ones, in time.
And so it is at our house. That's why I bought tickets this week to go hear the Cowboy Junkies with my sister-in-law. I never miss a chance to see them live. My husband is not a fan, so he will stay home and have some bonding time with the two older boys. Me? I'll be taking our newest music enthusiast in a sling and heading out to a small theater in my minivan, no more cool than I was in elementary school. But I don't care. Little dude will be six weeks old. Time to start the initiation.
And what an initiation it was. I put on my favorite outfit and got ready to go. It was something totally inappropriate for a rock concert, I am sure, but my parents didn't let me wear black leather in elementary school. We parked and walked into our local concert venue, a huge place with stadium seating. It was dark and smoky, our seats were right under the speakers, and though it was way too loud for my little girl ears, I had a blast. Dad, my brother and I were singing along with the songs. Somewhere in my elementary-aged brain I thought I was as cool as all those older people there, and I couldn't wait to rub it in to my classmates that I had stayed out way past my bedtime at a concert. The only puzzling thing about the whole night was my mom's reaction when we got home. She sent us straight to the bathtub and scrubbed us down hard. Turns out I didn't know the smell of marijuana yet, but my mom sure did. She had lived through the 60's, after all.
In the years to come, my dad would take me to many more concerts. As I grew older, I worried less about looking cool and more about enjoying good music, even if my friends thought it was weird music. Most of the concerts weren't big rock concerts at huge venues. Usually, we opted for quieter, more interesting artists in small places, like the Down Home. Many of my favorite memories involve listening to artists like Gillian Welch, Iris Dement, Lyle Lovett, and Townes Van Zandt with my dad. His willingness to take me to hear live music from an early age definitely influenced my love of good folk, rock, and bluegrass.
It made sense, then, that I would do the same with my children. I still regret the fact that I didn't take Calvin to hear Doc Watson when he was just four months old. But he has seen him since. Hobbes was initiated at seven months, when we took him and then 2-year-old Calvin to their first concert. Who better than Earl Scruggs and friends to initiate my boys into the world of music? My boys hear more bluegrass, folk, and good rock at home than children's music. They love the Beatles and Doc Watson, the Wailin' Jennys and Eddie From Ohio. Although, just like me as a child, they insist that Bob Dylan can't sing at all. In time, dear ones, in time.
And so it is at our house. That's why I bought tickets this week to go hear the Cowboy Junkies with my sister-in-law. I never miss a chance to see them live. My husband is not a fan, so he will stay home and have some bonding time with the two older boys. Me? I'll be taking our newest music enthusiast in a sling and heading out to a small theater in my minivan, no more cool than I was in elementary school. But I don't care. Little dude will be six weeks old. Time to start the initiation.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
A Christmas Birth Story
I never wrote the birth stories for Calvin or Hobbes, though every detail of those hours is still clear in my memory. Perhaps I will go back and write their stories one day, for them if no one else. Our beautiful baby (I still need a blog name for him) turns one month old today, I am coming out of the fog enough to write his story.
You weren't due until New Year's Day. Our "New Year's Baby" is what I called you, but all along I had a feeling you might come on Christmas Day. It wasn't just because nearly everyone who heard my due date commented that you might be a Christmas baby. It wasn't just because Calvin wanted a Christmas baby, though he definitely did. Even Hobbes said you were coming on Christmas, but I think he was a little confused between you and the Baby Jesus. (Don't let that get to your head when you are older.) Though plenty of people speculated that you might be a Christmas baby, something inside me, call it mother's intuition, seemed to know it for sure. I would be in labor on December 25th, thinking of Mary doing the same thing in a stable in Bethlehem.
I woke up at one o'clock in the morning with contractions. Since I had been having them on and off for a couple of weeks, I wasn't sure this was the real thing. But they kept coming every ten minutes, steady and just strong enough. I tried to sleep in between. I woke your daddy at around four to let him know what was going on. We decided to sleep a bit more then get up and get ready to go, hoping we could get in an early Christmas morning with your brothers before heading to the birth center.
It turned out that we didn't need to worry about the "early" part. After packing and getting showers at six, we slept a bit more, finally waking at around eight to call the midwife and to tell your Auntie __, who was staying with us, that this was the day. Contractions were still ten minutes apart, so we decided to let your brothers sleep. I cooked the Christmas breakfast, country ham and biscuits and cinnamon rolls, while I waited, for you and your brothers. Calvin and Hobbes woke up and came running out for their stockings. We opened presents, ate breakfast, and timed contractions while I sat in my rocker. Still ten minutes apart. Still steady and just strong enough.
By the time your Uncle __ picked your brothers up at eleven o'clock, I was starting to wonder if you would ever come. We had called Nana to let her know to head on over. We decided to walk and try to speed things up. It was a warm, sunny day for December, and I am thankful for that. We walked and walked and walked around the neighborhood, stopping to chat with our friends from church who lived nearby. Contractions sped up to five minutes apart with all of that walking, so your daddy, aunt, and I headed over to the birth center.
When we arrived at two-thirty, I was sure I would be pretty far along from all of those contractions. When the midwife told me I was only three centimeters, I almost cried. Instead, we went outside and walked some more...and walked and walked and walked. Contractions were four to five minutes apart after an hour of walking, so we went back inside. Still three centimeters. By this time, another midwife was on call, who was older and more experienced. She suggested we try going up and down the stairs. There we were, you daddy bearing my weight, your faithful aunt timing contractions, and me climbing up and down the stairs, fighting off tears and fatigue, wishing something would just happen. An hour of stairs, contractions two to three minutes apart, and still only three centimeters.
It was five-thirty. I was exhausted and frustrated. The midwife was wise and calm. It turns out you were making things complicated by having your hand up by your head. The midwife pushed you around a little bit and told you you could suck your thumb once you were out. Then she sent me home to lay on my left side to see if you would move your hand. I couldn't be checked in until I was four centimeters.
Turns out we didn't need to go home. On the way there, I started having serious, painful contractions. By the time we got home, I could barely get in the house and to the couch. Your Nana arrived at the same time we did. I lay there, unable to talk or breathe through the pain while your daddy called the midwife. She asked to talk to me and realized right away that we needed to get back. Immediately!
I am pretty sure your daddy has never driven like that, speeding and running red lights as I screamed in the passenger seat. There is nothing more miserable than having active labor on a bumpy road. Auntie ___ was following us in her own car this whole time, wondering if she would get pulled over by a cop and how she would explain it. She obviously had no pregnant woman in her car.
When we arrived back at the birthing center at six-twenty, I could barely get in the door. The midwife checked me, and I was only four centimeters. I didn't care. I was ready.
It was a blur from there. Your daddy started filling the birthing tub and got into his swim trunks. I got out of my clothes as quickly as I could and got into that hot water. Oh, the water! I could not have made it through this labor without it. The next hour was like one long contraction, pain upon pain upon pain, more than I thought I could bear. I could not focus to breathe through it all. There were times when all I could do was scream. I really just wanted someone to shoot me and end it. It was that bad. Worse than with your brothers. The midwife had to yell at me to focus a couple of times. She kept reminding me there was a baby at the end of this. I kept gripping your father's hands and leaning back into him, completely unable to think about seeing you, just wanting it to be over. Needless to say, I was not meditating on Mary and her labor with Jesus.
The pain. The pain. The pain. A second to float in the water then it all came again. I thought it would never end. I COULD NOT DO IT. And then, suddenly, I had to push. I didn't care if anyone wanted me to or not. I just did. I pushed and your head was there. I pushed again and you were out. So fast. Only two minutes according to the midwife. Only an hour after we returned to the center. At 7:22 p.m. your eight pound, four ounce, dark-haired, squirmy, red, beautiful self came up out of the water and into my arms. And, though I was just as overcome with love and joy at the birth of your brothers, I have never been more relieved in my life for something to be over.
Then I was shocked. Dark hair? You didn't look like one of my babies. In fact, you looked an awful lot like Auntie __. Oh, but you were so beautiful with those dark, alert eyes and that gorgeous coloring. You cried so loudly right away. We cuddled and admired and enjoyed you.
Then the family arrived. Nana, your brothers, Gram, and Auntie __. Your brothers adored you from the start, though Hobbes was a little sad to have to leave us at the birthing center. While everyone admired you and took their turns holding you, I rested. Oh, how tired I was. Gram had brought Christmas dinner with her, and turkey and dressing, green bean casserole, and candied yams never tasted so good.
Everyone left, and it was just the three of us and a nurse. We stayed at the birthing center for about four hours after you were born, just enough time to take care of the paperwork, get all of us dressed warmly, and enjoy being alone with you. We haven't had much time alone since, little one, except after your brothers go to bed. But we are enjoying you nonetheless. You are such a sweet, mellow, beautiful baby. Your brothers, especially Hobbes, love to comfort you and talk to you and kiss you.
We cannot imagine our family without you. You are here. We are five. Welcome to the world, my Christmas baby.
(And I promise to never wrap your birthday gifts in Christmas paper.)
You weren't due until New Year's Day. Our "New Year's Baby" is what I called you, but all along I had a feeling you might come on Christmas Day. It wasn't just because nearly everyone who heard my due date commented that you might be a Christmas baby. It wasn't just because Calvin wanted a Christmas baby, though he definitely did. Even Hobbes said you were coming on Christmas, but I think he was a little confused between you and the Baby Jesus. (Don't let that get to your head when you are older.) Though plenty of people speculated that you might be a Christmas baby, something inside me, call it mother's intuition, seemed to know it for sure. I would be in labor on December 25th, thinking of Mary doing the same thing in a stable in Bethlehem.
I woke up at one o'clock in the morning with contractions. Since I had been having them on and off for a couple of weeks, I wasn't sure this was the real thing. But they kept coming every ten minutes, steady and just strong enough. I tried to sleep in between. I woke your daddy at around four to let him know what was going on. We decided to sleep a bit more then get up and get ready to go, hoping we could get in an early Christmas morning with your brothers before heading to the birth center.
It turned out that we didn't need to worry about the "early" part. After packing and getting showers at six, we slept a bit more, finally waking at around eight to call the midwife and to tell your Auntie __, who was staying with us, that this was the day. Contractions were still ten minutes apart, so we decided to let your brothers sleep. I cooked the Christmas breakfast, country ham and biscuits and cinnamon rolls, while I waited, for you and your brothers. Calvin and Hobbes woke up and came running out for their stockings. We opened presents, ate breakfast, and timed contractions while I sat in my rocker. Still ten minutes apart. Still steady and just strong enough.
By the time your Uncle __ picked your brothers up at eleven o'clock, I was starting to wonder if you would ever come. We had called Nana to let her know to head on over. We decided to walk and try to speed things up. It was a warm, sunny day for December, and I am thankful for that. We walked and walked and walked around the neighborhood, stopping to chat with our friends from church who lived nearby. Contractions sped up to five minutes apart with all of that walking, so your daddy, aunt, and I headed over to the birth center.
When we arrived at two-thirty, I was sure I would be pretty far along from all of those contractions. When the midwife told me I was only three centimeters, I almost cried. Instead, we went outside and walked some more...and walked and walked and walked. Contractions were four to five minutes apart after an hour of walking, so we went back inside. Still three centimeters. By this time, another midwife was on call, who was older and more experienced. She suggested we try going up and down the stairs. There we were, you daddy bearing my weight, your faithful aunt timing contractions, and me climbing up and down the stairs, fighting off tears and fatigue, wishing something would just happen. An hour of stairs, contractions two to three minutes apart, and still only three centimeters.
It was five-thirty. I was exhausted and frustrated. The midwife was wise and calm. It turns out you were making things complicated by having your hand up by your head. The midwife pushed you around a little bit and told you you could suck your thumb once you were out. Then she sent me home to lay on my left side to see if you would move your hand. I couldn't be checked in until I was four centimeters.
Turns out we didn't need to go home. On the way there, I started having serious, painful contractions. By the time we got home, I could barely get in the house and to the couch. Your Nana arrived at the same time we did. I lay there, unable to talk or breathe through the pain while your daddy called the midwife. She asked to talk to me and realized right away that we needed to get back. Immediately!
I am pretty sure your daddy has never driven like that, speeding and running red lights as I screamed in the passenger seat. There is nothing more miserable than having active labor on a bumpy road. Auntie ___ was following us in her own car this whole time, wondering if she would get pulled over by a cop and how she would explain it. She obviously had no pregnant woman in her car.
When we arrived back at the birthing center at six-twenty, I could barely get in the door. The midwife checked me, and I was only four centimeters. I didn't care. I was ready.
It was a blur from there. Your daddy started filling the birthing tub and got into his swim trunks. I got out of my clothes as quickly as I could and got into that hot water. Oh, the water! I could not have made it through this labor without it. The next hour was like one long contraction, pain upon pain upon pain, more than I thought I could bear. I could not focus to breathe through it all. There were times when all I could do was scream. I really just wanted someone to shoot me and end it. It was that bad. Worse than with your brothers. The midwife had to yell at me to focus a couple of times. She kept reminding me there was a baby at the end of this. I kept gripping your father's hands and leaning back into him, completely unable to think about seeing you, just wanting it to be over. Needless to say, I was not meditating on Mary and her labor with Jesus.
The pain. The pain. The pain. A second to float in the water then it all came again. I thought it would never end. I COULD NOT DO IT. And then, suddenly, I had to push. I didn't care if anyone wanted me to or not. I just did. I pushed and your head was there. I pushed again and you were out. So fast. Only two minutes according to the midwife. Only an hour after we returned to the center. At 7:22 p.m. your eight pound, four ounce, dark-haired, squirmy, red, beautiful self came up out of the water and into my arms. And, though I was just as overcome with love and joy at the birth of your brothers, I have never been more relieved in my life for something to be over.
Then I was shocked. Dark hair? You didn't look like one of my babies. In fact, you looked an awful lot like Auntie __. Oh, but you were so beautiful with those dark, alert eyes and that gorgeous coloring. You cried so loudly right away. We cuddled and admired and enjoyed you.
Then the family arrived. Nana, your brothers, Gram, and Auntie __. Your brothers adored you from the start, though Hobbes was a little sad to have to leave us at the birthing center. While everyone admired you and took their turns holding you, I rested. Oh, how tired I was. Gram had brought Christmas dinner with her, and turkey and dressing, green bean casserole, and candied yams never tasted so good.
Everyone left, and it was just the three of us and a nurse. We stayed at the birthing center for about four hours after you were born, just enough time to take care of the paperwork, get all of us dressed warmly, and enjoy being alone with you. We haven't had much time alone since, little one, except after your brothers go to bed. But we are enjoying you nonetheless. You are such a sweet, mellow, beautiful baby. Your brothers, especially Hobbes, love to comfort you and talk to you and kiss you.
We cannot imagine our family without you. You are here. We are five. Welcome to the world, my Christmas baby.
(And I promise to never wrap your birthday gifts in Christmas paper.)
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
This Moment
Half asleep on the couch with a sleeping newborn curled up beside me. Looking down at tiny fingers in the early evening light. A quilt, pieced together by my grandma to warm my dad as a boy, now warming granddaughter and great-grandson. The sweet, milky smell of new baby. The feel of silky, dark newborn hair against my cheek. A quiet house save for the sounds of baby dreams. Long eyelashes fluttering against cheeks just starting to get chubby. A dinner lovingly prepared by a new friend who awaits the coming of her own babe. Doing nothing.
Rest. Quiet. Peace.
There is so much to do before Gram arrives to return older brothers and join us for dinner. Groceries still need to be put away. Laundry needs to be folded. The house is a disaster, and the Christmas boxes still need to be packed up for the year.
There is so much to do before this life looks like I wish. I have so far to grow in becoming a patient, loving mommy. My boys have so much to learn about being kind and loving and respectful.
My house is not how I want it to be. My life is not how I want it to be. Yesterday was terrible, full of yelling and impatience, no one happy. Today was rushed and busy.
But right now. This moment. This is where I need to be. This is perfect.
Rest. Quiet. Peace.
There is so much to do before Gram arrives to return older brothers and join us for dinner. Groceries still need to be put away. Laundry needs to be folded. The house is a disaster, and the Christmas boxes still need to be packed up for the year.
There is so much to do before this life looks like I wish. I have so far to grow in becoming a patient, loving mommy. My boys have so much to learn about being kind and loving and respectful.
My house is not how I want it to be. My life is not how I want it to be. Yesterday was terrible, full of yelling and impatience, no one happy. Today was rushed and busy.
But right now. This moment. This is where I need to be. This is perfect.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
On Choosing a Name
A conversation at our house last night:
Daddy: "What do you think of baby (first name)?"
Calvin: "I have told you guys thirty-seven times. His name is NOT (first name)! It's Gandalf Wall-E! Why do you keep calling him (first name)?"
Maybe I should call him Gandalf Wall-E on this blog? Nah...But what then?
Daddy: "What do you think of baby (first name)?"
Calvin: "I have told you guys thirty-seven times. His name is NOT (first name)! It's Gandalf Wall-E! Why do you keep calling him (first name)?"
Maybe I should call him Gandalf Wall-E on this blog? Nah...But what then?
Friday, December 26, 2008
Unto Us a Son is Given
Hobbes kept saying that Christmas Day was the day the baby would come out. We thought he was just confusing the baby Jesus and our baby. Turns out he was right.
After slow contractions from 1 am on and a quick and crazy 1-hour trip from 4 cm to birth, baby boy 3 arrived at 7:22 pm on Christmas Day. He weighed in at 8lb. 4oz, and has a full head of dark hair (completely unlike his blonde brothers). He is sweet and beautiful and seems to be a self-soother (also unlike his brothers).
What a Christmas Day!
Though I will not post pics or a name on this blog in order to keep it anonymous, I am happy to e-mail them to my regular readers. Just let me know.
Now off to rest. And Happy Second Day of Christmas to those of you celebrating!
After slow contractions from 1 am on and a quick and crazy 1-hour trip from 4 cm to birth, baby boy 3 arrived at 7:22 pm on Christmas Day. He weighed in at 8lb. 4oz, and has a full head of dark hair (completely unlike his blonde brothers). He is sweet and beautiful and seems to be a self-soother (also unlike his brothers).
What a Christmas Day!
Though I will not post pics or a name on this blog in order to keep it anonymous, I am happy to e-mail them to my regular readers. Just let me know.
Now off to rest. And Happy Second Day of Christmas to those of you celebrating!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Preparing the Way
I didn't intend for this Advent season to be one of silence on my blog, but I just haven't felt like writing. We have been so busy around here, in a good way, preparing for Christmas and for the new baby. Whenever I have had time to write, I have chosen something else instead...reading to myself or my boys or taking a nap. But I have been thinking. Here are some of my scattered thoughts.
Deliverance
Being this close to delivering a baby at Christmas brings an entirely new perspective to Advent. The hymns and scriptures we are using at church often have multiple meanings for me now as I sit uncomfortably in a folding chair feeling a baby push into my ribcage and wanting oh-so-badly for him to come already! In some strange way, it heightens my awareness of what it means to wait in the brokenness of this world for God's Kingdom to be fully ushered in, for all pain and tears and misery and weariness to end. As I say, "Come, quickly, Jesus!" my body is saying, "Come, quickly, baby!"
Mary
I have been thinking about Mary and how tiresome and difficult that journey to Bethlehem must have been. I can barely handle riding in a car on paved roads these days, and she was on a donkey on rough terrain.
3 A voice cries:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
4 Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
5 And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all flesh shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
Maybe when God issued this prophecy He was also making a literal command: "Someone get those roads smooth for that poor pregnant woman carrying the Messiah!" These are the crazy thoughts that go through my head at church.
Prepare Ye The Way
As I fold baby clothes and wash diapers and clean the house, I occasionally have the presence of mind to also prepare my heart for the coming of Jesus and for the celebration of His birth. I am not super-spiritual, and part of me wishes I had seized this chance for meditation and spiritual preparation more fully. Still, I am busy in the daily and seasonal tasks of cleaning and decorating and nurturing and resting. I suppose most woman throughout history didn't have time to meditate on the spiritual significance of these things, either. They were too busy just doing them.
Even so, the slow ordering of our home, the daily rhythms of our Advent traditions, and the gradual emergence of Christmas decor are preparing our home and our family for His coming. In the same way, whether I meditate on it or not, my body is doing the work of making a baby. With every stray contraction and sore muscle, my body is preparing the way for his coming, hopefully soon.
Now, if only we could decide on a name...
Deliverance
Being this close to delivering a baby at Christmas brings an entirely new perspective to Advent. The hymns and scriptures we are using at church often have multiple meanings for me now as I sit uncomfortably in a folding chair feeling a baby push into my ribcage and wanting oh-so-badly for him to come already! In some strange way, it heightens my awareness of what it means to wait in the brokenness of this world for God's Kingdom to be fully ushered in, for all pain and tears and misery and weariness to end. As I say, "Come, quickly, Jesus!" my body is saying, "Come, quickly, baby!"
Mary
I have been thinking about Mary and how tiresome and difficult that journey to Bethlehem must have been. I can barely handle riding in a car on paved roads these days, and she was on a donkey on rough terrain.
3 A voice cries:
“In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord;
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
4 Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
5 And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all flesh shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
Maybe when God issued this prophecy He was also making a literal command: "Someone get those roads smooth for that poor pregnant woman carrying the Messiah!" These are the crazy thoughts that go through my head at church.
Prepare Ye The Way
As I fold baby clothes and wash diapers and clean the house, I occasionally have the presence of mind to also prepare my heart for the coming of Jesus and for the celebration of His birth. I am not super-spiritual, and part of me wishes I had seized this chance for meditation and spiritual preparation more fully. Still, I am busy in the daily and seasonal tasks of cleaning and decorating and nurturing and resting. I suppose most woman throughout history didn't have time to meditate on the spiritual significance of these things, either. They were too busy just doing them.
Even so, the slow ordering of our home, the daily rhythms of our Advent traditions, and the gradual emergence of Christmas decor are preparing our home and our family for His coming. In the same way, whether I meditate on it or not, my body is doing the work of making a baby. With every stray contraction and sore muscle, my body is preparing the way for his coming, hopefully soon.
Now, if only we could decide on a name...
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Waiting and Preparing
Five weeks to go. Is that really all? I feel completely unprepared to welcome this little one into the world. We haven't even decided on a name! The baby clothes are still packed in the attic, along with the infant carseat. The crib, though set up in our room, is full of other projects that I have going on, evidence of my very feeble attempts at nesting. Thanks to my dear friends at church, I do have some of the essential baby supplies. If worse comes to worse, we have one new outfit that isn't packed in the attic and a few disposable diapers on hand.
Even more than that, I wonder if our family is ready to welcome this new baby boy. Calvin and Hobbes are certainly eager, asking nearly every day how long it will be until the baby comes out. But my husband and I are so busy and tired these days, him with classes and a huge deadline at work, me with church and the boring details of life that have to be taken care of...not to mention running around after two very energetic boys. On top of all of that, we have spent the past week being sick ourselves or staying up with sick boys. The weariness of life is weighing heavily on me.
In the midst of this exhaustion, I find myself more grateful than ever for the rhythm of the church calendar. While I enjoy the routine and work and growth of ordinary time, the coming of Advent offers a welcome reprieve, a time to slowly and intentionally prepare for the celebration to come. I am so thankful for the traditions that we established last year and for the experience that we had as we observed Advent as a family.
We will continue those traditions this year...
a lunchtime reading of scripture and placing of the Jesse Tree ornament as we follow God's own story of preparing for His child...
slowly enjoying our Christmas picture books and adding some new ones...
a Saint Nicholas Day celebration with gingerbread cookies, this year with some friends joining us for a little party...
evening prayer with the Advent wreath and the Story of His birth slowly unfolding...
gradually bringing out the decorations and assembling the nativities...
and decorating the tree on Christmas Eve...
As we observe these traditions, slowly preparing for His birth, making gifts and doing a bit each day in order to be ready for the celebration, I will be doing my own preparing. A bit each day. I'll pull down the tiny clothes, wash and fold. I'll pack a bag and make notes about whom to call when. I'll clean out the crib and finish the nesting and organizing. Just a little each day while beginning to imagine life with this new babe. I'll wait and prepare until my home and my heart are ready for that magical moment when a slippery, screaming new baby is placed in my arms and my heart grows even bigger to hold the love I didn't know I had.
And I pray that all of our hearts will find ways this season to prepare, a little bit each day, for the coming of the Babe whose life, death, and resurrection make all things new.
For more reflections on celebrating Advent, visit the Carnival of Anglican Advent Traditions at Kerry's blog. Posts will be up on Friday.
Even more than that, I wonder if our family is ready to welcome this new baby boy. Calvin and Hobbes are certainly eager, asking nearly every day how long it will be until the baby comes out. But my husband and I are so busy and tired these days, him with classes and a huge deadline at work, me with church and the boring details of life that have to be taken care of...not to mention running around after two very energetic boys. On top of all of that, we have spent the past week being sick ourselves or staying up with sick boys. The weariness of life is weighing heavily on me.
In the midst of this exhaustion, I find myself more grateful than ever for the rhythm of the church calendar. While I enjoy the routine and work and growth of ordinary time, the coming of Advent offers a welcome reprieve, a time to slowly and intentionally prepare for the celebration to come. I am so thankful for the traditions that we established last year and for the experience that we had as we observed Advent as a family.
We will continue those traditions this year...
a lunchtime reading of scripture and placing of the Jesse Tree ornament as we follow God's own story of preparing for His child...
slowly enjoying our Christmas picture books and adding some new ones...
a Saint Nicholas Day celebration with gingerbread cookies, this year with some friends joining us for a little party...
evening prayer with the Advent wreath and the Story of His birth slowly unfolding...
gradually bringing out the decorations and assembling the nativities...
and decorating the tree on Christmas Eve...
As we observe these traditions, slowly preparing for His birth, making gifts and doing a bit each day in order to be ready for the celebration, I will be doing my own preparing. A bit each day. I'll pull down the tiny clothes, wash and fold. I'll pack a bag and make notes about whom to call when. I'll clean out the crib and finish the nesting and organizing. Just a little each day while beginning to imagine life with this new babe. I'll wait and prepare until my home and my heart are ready for that magical moment when a slippery, screaming new baby is placed in my arms and my heart grows even bigger to hold the love I didn't know I had.
And I pray that all of our hearts will find ways this season to prepare, a little bit each day, for the coming of the Babe whose life, death, and resurrection make all things new.
For more reflections on celebrating Advent, visit the Carnival of Anglican Advent Traditions at Kerry's blog. Posts will be up on Friday.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
It's Keeping Me Up At Night
And I'm not talking about the baby, though his kicks are getting strong enough to wake me up and the reflux and aching hips of pregnancy aren't helping. Mostly, I have been unable to sleep at night because I am thinking about this post and this one and this one.
The abortion issue is one I have always felt strongly about, but for some reason, this election has brought it even more to the front for me. Perhaps it is my cynicism of politicians and government in general. I just don't see how any of them do much good for the economy or the environment or many issues. At least, what they do gets overturned by the next president and so often doesn't have lasting impact. But I do see that they could do lasting harm or good to the soul of our country on this one issue.
And then today I read this article. While I honestly don't know what I would have voted on Prop 8 if I lived in California, I do wonder what is wrong with our society. While many people I know would have voted "no" on Prop 8 and are also pro-life, I know even more who would have voted "no" and are pro-choice. How can one argue for the fundamental right of a gay couple to marry and not vote for the fundamental right to life of another segment of our society? A gay or lesbian couple might live a relatively happy, self-indulgent, carefree and safe life, even without marriage. I am not denying that there is real hatred and violence toward gay couples out there or that not being able to marry isn't painful. What I am wondering is how avoiding that pain is fought for as a fundamental right by the same people who fight for a woman and doctor's right to inflict immense pain on an innocent child?
Surely the rights of the most innocent of us not to be ripped violently limb from limb while conscious and to be left to die on a cold metal tray or suffocated in a hazardous waste bag is even more fundamental. (If you think abortion is less than that, then check out some of Jen's links on this post.) Surely without the right to life, the right to marry whom and when one wishes is not even an issue.
There is so much I could say to try to convince people of this, but I fear our culture has been too blinded to the evil of it. We are unwilling to look at the gruesome facts because the intense anger and false rhetoric on both sides of the argument blind us to the very simple truths at the heart of the matter: the truths that we have dehumanized and are systematically killing a portion of our population. I do ask you to take a look at the posts I linked to above. They say it so much better than I.
And if you read those and agree that this baby in my womb has a right to live, even if he were to be unwanted by me (because there are plenty of loving couples out there who would want him), then please go and sign this petition.
Lord, have mercy.
I realize that this post just skims the surface of a very big issue. I am not averse to answering counter-arguments, but please do not post them just for the sake of posting them. I have read some version all of the counter-arguments there are, I assure you, and I am still convinced, more than ever, of my stance on this issue. So feel free to ask respectful and thoughtful questions, but please keep it civil. Thanks.
The abortion issue is one I have always felt strongly about, but for some reason, this election has brought it even more to the front for me. Perhaps it is my cynicism of politicians and government in general. I just don't see how any of them do much good for the economy or the environment or many issues. At least, what they do gets overturned by the next president and so often doesn't have lasting impact. But I do see that they could do lasting harm or good to the soul of our country on this one issue.
And then today I read this article. While I honestly don't know what I would have voted on Prop 8 if I lived in California, I do wonder what is wrong with our society. While many people I know would have voted "no" on Prop 8 and are also pro-life, I know even more who would have voted "no" and are pro-choice. How can one argue for the fundamental right of a gay couple to marry and not vote for the fundamental right to life of another segment of our society? A gay or lesbian couple might live a relatively happy, self-indulgent, carefree and safe life, even without marriage. I am not denying that there is real hatred and violence toward gay couples out there or that not being able to marry isn't painful. What I am wondering is how avoiding that pain is fought for as a fundamental right by the same people who fight for a woman and doctor's right to inflict immense pain on an innocent child?
Surely the rights of the most innocent of us not to be ripped violently limb from limb while conscious and to be left to die on a cold metal tray or suffocated in a hazardous waste bag is even more fundamental. (If you think abortion is less than that, then check out some of Jen's links on this post.) Surely without the right to life, the right to marry whom and when one wishes is not even an issue.
There is so much I could say to try to convince people of this, but I fear our culture has been too blinded to the evil of it. We are unwilling to look at the gruesome facts because the intense anger and false rhetoric on both sides of the argument blind us to the very simple truths at the heart of the matter: the truths that we have dehumanized and are systematically killing a portion of our population. I do ask you to take a look at the posts I linked to above. They say it so much better than I.
And if you read those and agree that this baby in my womb has a right to live, even if he were to be unwanted by me (because there are plenty of loving couples out there who would want him), then please go and sign this petition.
Lord, have mercy.
I realize that this post just skims the surface of a very big issue. I am not averse to answering counter-arguments, but please do not post them just for the sake of posting them. I have read some version all of the counter-arguments there are, I assure you, and I am still convinced, more than ever, of my stance on this issue. So feel free to ask respectful and thoughtful questions, but please keep it civil. Thanks.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Name, Name, Bo-Bame, Banana-fana, Fo-fame...
So, we need a name for this baby. The trouble with having a third boy is that we have had a great girl's name lined up for awhile now (like four years or so), but we are running out of boy names that we like. Since you don't know that actual names of our other two (no, we didn't REALLY name them Calvin and Hobbes), you may have trouble helping us out. Though if you know us in real life, you have an advantage.
Just so you know, each of our boys has a Biblical first name and literary second name. We are thinking of going with the same idea this time around. I am sort of lobbying for using my dad's name as a middle name, so if you have a good literary and Biblical name wrapped into one that would help my cause.
So...feel free to leave your suggestions. While we're at it, I need a blog pseudonym for him, too. There aren't any other male characters with names in Calvin and Hobbes (except the bully), so I need help. The boys really want to name him Wall-E, but I don't think I can use that, even on a blog.
If you read this blog, you probably know me enough to know what I like for a real life name. Any good old Appalachian names will get top consideration, as will names from Southern literature. Just remember that we want our boys to be named for people whose characters are worth living up to. No Thomas Sutpens around here, thank you very much.
Just so you know, each of our boys has a Biblical first name and literary second name. We are thinking of going with the same idea this time around. I am sort of lobbying for using my dad's name as a middle name, so if you have a good literary and Biblical name wrapped into one that would help my cause.
So...feel free to leave your suggestions. While we're at it, I need a blog pseudonym for him, too. There aren't any other male characters with names in Calvin and Hobbes (except the bully), so I need help. The boys really want to name him Wall-E, but I don't think I can use that, even on a blog.
If you read this blog, you probably know me enough to know what I like for a real life name. Any good old Appalachian names will get top consideration, as will names from Southern literature. Just remember that we want our boys to be named for people whose characters are worth living up to. No Thomas Sutpens around here, thank you very much.
Friday, October 31, 2008
In Need of Your Opinions
Okay, my dear readers (if any have stuck with me during this period of silence), I need your help. As I prepare to bring home boy number 3 into this family, I am trying to get Calvin and Hobbes ready for the changes. I am not too worried about Calvin. Even though he often has difficulty with change, he has had plenty of time to get used to the idea of a baby, and he will settle well into the role of mommy's helper and protector of his baby brother. He may have some difficulties, but I am hopeful that the transition will be a joyful one for him.
Then there is Hobbes. Since Calvin was only a year and a half when Hobbes was born, I never had to deal with a sibling losing his status as "the baby." Calvin had not had too much time to get used to being the spoiled only child. He was so young that he quickly forgot life before Hobbes, and though he was slow to warm up to his brother, he never really acted jealous or seemed to feel threatened.
Hobbes, on the other hand, is definitely a mama's boy and the baby of the family. I think this transition is going to be super hard for him. I don't think he is terribly spoiled. In fact, it is easy to tell when he tries to pull the youngest card and act pitiful to get what he wants. It doesn't work. But there are ways in which I still treat him as my baby and ways in which our relationship is going to change. The biggest difficulty is our naptime routine.
You see, I rock Hobbes to sleep at naptime. I didn't always do this, but lately we have fallen into the habit. I do it partly because it is expedient: he goes to sleep quickly this way without eating up too much of Calvin's and my quiet time. I also do it because we both enjoy it. Calvin was not a cuddler and didn't like being rocked. Hobbes loves it. Because Calvin often takes up so much of my emotional energy and time, Hobbes doesn't always get the one-on-one time with mommy that he needs. He and I both crave those 15 or 20 minutes of rocking and cuddling and singing. It is our bonding time.
So this is where you come in. Should I start weaning Hobbes from this process before the baby comes? Part of me thinks there is no way I can keep doing it with a newborn in the house, but another part thinks it is worth a try, even if I have to rock with him beside me while I am nursing. I could try to come up with an alternative for us to have bonding time each day, but this is the best time. Hobbes is settled and Calvin is in his room with books. I am just not sure what to do. I'd love your suggestions, especially those of you with multiple little ones who have been through this.
Then there is Hobbes. Since Calvin was only a year and a half when Hobbes was born, I never had to deal with a sibling losing his status as "the baby." Calvin had not had too much time to get used to being the spoiled only child. He was so young that he quickly forgot life before Hobbes, and though he was slow to warm up to his brother, he never really acted jealous or seemed to feel threatened.
Hobbes, on the other hand, is definitely a mama's boy and the baby of the family. I think this transition is going to be super hard for him. I don't think he is terribly spoiled. In fact, it is easy to tell when he tries to pull the youngest card and act pitiful to get what he wants. It doesn't work. But there are ways in which I still treat him as my baby and ways in which our relationship is going to change. The biggest difficulty is our naptime routine.
You see, I rock Hobbes to sleep at naptime. I didn't always do this, but lately we have fallen into the habit. I do it partly because it is expedient: he goes to sleep quickly this way without eating up too much of Calvin's and my quiet time. I also do it because we both enjoy it. Calvin was not a cuddler and didn't like being rocked. Hobbes loves it. Because Calvin often takes up so much of my emotional energy and time, Hobbes doesn't always get the one-on-one time with mommy that he needs. He and I both crave those 15 or 20 minutes of rocking and cuddling and singing. It is our bonding time.
So this is where you come in. Should I start weaning Hobbes from this process before the baby comes? Part of me thinks there is no way I can keep doing it with a newborn in the house, but another part thinks it is worth a try, even if I have to rock with him beside me while I am nursing. I could try to come up with an alternative for us to have bonding time each day, but this is the best time. Hobbes is settled and Calvin is in his room with books. I am just not sure what to do. I'd love your suggestions, especially those of you with multiple little ones who have been through this.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Great With Child
I still don't have much to say these days. While writing is usually a good outlet for me, I feel like it is more of a chore lately. Reading, however, will never feel like a chore (unless it is trying to figure out our sample ballot for the election).
As I look toward the end of this pregnancy, (Can it really only be nine more weeks?), I have pulled out an old friend. Great with Child: Reflections on Faith, Fullness, and Becoming a Mother by Debra Rienstra is my favorite pregnancy book. In fact, it is the only pregnancy book I own or find worth reading. I have read it with each of my pregnancies, and I still find her reflections worth meditating on again and again. Each time I read it, something different strikes me. This time, I was surprised that she, too, was a little disappointed to find out she was having a boy.
Really, I cannot do the book justice in a review. You should just read it. Her weaving of the experience of pregnancy and motherhood with literary allusions, feminist theory, and theology is astounding. I will give you just a few lovely pieces:
On Creating Life
The longing to create life is elemental, on the level of fire, earth, and death. The steadily humming tissues and organs, as they play out their unconscious patterns, long to serve something spiritual, to touch the eternal. Perhaps the mortal body snatches out toward the immortal body. I believe that immortality is not a matter of disembodied spirits floating about in some cloudy afterlife, but of flesh, the carnal, renewed and perfected beyond our imaginings, reborn with all of creation. It does not seem strange to me, then, that our physical bodies lean hard, with our souls, toward the eternal (3).
On Blood
After all, we bleed because the world bleeds. Life is always paid for with suffering and blood. That is the way of the fallen world. Women know this in their flesh...if one must cycle through the sad and dark in order to perceive and receive the light, and if women's bodies are designed to model this same kind of cyclical movement, is that design a pain or a power?...We women don't shed our blood for sins, ours or other people's. But we do shed it, typically, amid some sadness, and we do shed it for the possibility of new life. Does this not give us a kind of connection to Jesus that has been very little discussed or appreciated...Because I see Christ's bleeding at the center of redemptive history, can I also see women's bleeding resonate outward from this, across all ages of history and races of women (16-21)?
On the Desire for Children, Fulfilled or Unfulfilled
Desire is the psychic engine that drives us toward God. It is not wrong to desire something good, to desire it deeply, earnestly, tenaciously. It is not wrong to grieve when this good thing is delayed or when it never comes. I believe God understands and honors desire, even when that desire will finally be answered with a "No."...Even in desire there must be an openness that is not exactly a welcoming of grief, but a sober acknowledgment of the possibilities, a willed acceptance of the risks (31).
On Mary and Surrender
Mary's task was the bearing and raising of a child, which can operate as a symbol of all things that require great effort and bear fruit far beyond the personal rewards involved. But the literal bearing and raising of a child is indeed a calling, a mission, and moments of joyous surprise and expectation have the shadow of a cost. I think this is why the first several weeks of pregnancy typically feature an assortment of discomforts: we need reminding...that if we foolishly imagine for a minute that parenthood is an accomplishment or achievement or right, sooner or later something will smack us with the realization that it is, above all, a surrender (41).
On Women's Work of Waiting
Nothing is so uncomplicatedly wholesome and holy as this. And how rarely in history has it been acknowledged as women's good work. Labor and delivery, obviously work because of the pain and danger, have received sympathy and concern through the ages, but too often, as the cursed analogue to Adam's sweaty toil in the soil, childbirth pain is celebrated in misogynist writing and talk as exactly what those vile women deserve. (How often have women written gleefully about how men deserve every weed they pull?) Nevertheless, the quieter work of pregnancy is part of women's massive and profoundly beautiful contribution to human history, and while its archetypal image is imprinted in human culture, the inner experience of it, the soul-work of it from the woman's point of view, has been passed over mostly in silence. Perhaps this, too, is why I write: to speak from out of that silent place (51).
On Fear and Nightmares
If I had greater faith, would the dreams not come? Would I awaken to stronger feelings of comfort and reassurance...If this is all a matter of hormone levels, then does that mean that hormones influence the state of our souls, tipping the delicate balances of fear and trust? As far as I know, this question represents completely unexplored theological territory. While I am waiting for theology to catch up to women's reality, what should I do with my fears? (65)
The book only gets better from there, exploring a theology of the body, what it means that our days are ordained by God, and so much more. It is such a lovely, honest piece of work that does not gloss over the difficult sacrifices of motherhood or the very real grief and fear that come with trying to conceive. Rienstra only begins to delve into some very interesting theological concepts that apply to the experience of women and have yet to be explored. She offers thoughtful alternatives to our culture's current views of feminism and sexuality. In my opinion, you should throw all your other pregnancy books away and just read this one.
As I look toward the end of this pregnancy, (Can it really only be nine more weeks?), I have pulled out an old friend. Great with Child: Reflections on Faith, Fullness, and Becoming a Mother by Debra Rienstra is my favorite pregnancy book. In fact, it is the only pregnancy book I own or find worth reading. I have read it with each of my pregnancies, and I still find her reflections worth meditating on again and again. Each time I read it, something different strikes me. This time, I was surprised that she, too, was a little disappointed to find out she was having a boy.
Really, I cannot do the book justice in a review. You should just read it. Her weaving of the experience of pregnancy and motherhood with literary allusions, feminist theory, and theology is astounding. I will give you just a few lovely pieces:
On Creating Life
The longing to create life is elemental, on the level of fire, earth, and death. The steadily humming tissues and organs, as they play out their unconscious patterns, long to serve something spiritual, to touch the eternal. Perhaps the mortal body snatches out toward the immortal body. I believe that immortality is not a matter of disembodied spirits floating about in some cloudy afterlife, but of flesh, the carnal, renewed and perfected beyond our imaginings, reborn with all of creation. It does not seem strange to me, then, that our physical bodies lean hard, with our souls, toward the eternal (3).
On Blood
After all, we bleed because the world bleeds. Life is always paid for with suffering and blood. That is the way of the fallen world. Women know this in their flesh...if one must cycle through the sad and dark in order to perceive and receive the light, and if women's bodies are designed to model this same kind of cyclical movement, is that design a pain or a power?...We women don't shed our blood for sins, ours or other people's. But we do shed it, typically, amid some sadness, and we do shed it for the possibility of new life. Does this not give us a kind of connection to Jesus that has been very little discussed or appreciated...Because I see Christ's bleeding at the center of redemptive history, can I also see women's bleeding resonate outward from this, across all ages of history and races of women (16-21)?
On the Desire for Children, Fulfilled or Unfulfilled
Desire is the psychic engine that drives us toward God. It is not wrong to desire something good, to desire it deeply, earnestly, tenaciously. It is not wrong to grieve when this good thing is delayed or when it never comes. I believe God understands and honors desire, even when that desire will finally be answered with a "No."...Even in desire there must be an openness that is not exactly a welcoming of grief, but a sober acknowledgment of the possibilities, a willed acceptance of the risks (31).
On Mary and Surrender
Mary's task was the bearing and raising of a child, which can operate as a symbol of all things that require great effort and bear fruit far beyond the personal rewards involved. But the literal bearing and raising of a child is indeed a calling, a mission, and moments of joyous surprise and expectation have the shadow of a cost. I think this is why the first several weeks of pregnancy typically feature an assortment of discomforts: we need reminding...that if we foolishly imagine for a minute that parenthood is an accomplishment or achievement or right, sooner or later something will smack us with the realization that it is, above all, a surrender (41).
On Women's Work of Waiting
Nothing is so uncomplicatedly wholesome and holy as this. And how rarely in history has it been acknowledged as women's good work. Labor and delivery, obviously work because of the pain and danger, have received sympathy and concern through the ages, but too often, as the cursed analogue to Adam's sweaty toil in the soil, childbirth pain is celebrated in misogynist writing and talk as exactly what those vile women deserve. (How often have women written gleefully about how men deserve every weed they pull?) Nevertheless, the quieter work of pregnancy is part of women's massive and profoundly beautiful contribution to human history, and while its archetypal image is imprinted in human culture, the inner experience of it, the soul-work of it from the woman's point of view, has been passed over mostly in silence. Perhaps this, too, is why I write: to speak from out of that silent place (51).
On Fear and Nightmares
If I had greater faith, would the dreams not come? Would I awaken to stronger feelings of comfort and reassurance...If this is all a matter of hormone levels, then does that mean that hormones influence the state of our souls, tipping the delicate balances of fear and trust? As far as I know, this question represents completely unexplored theological territory. While I am waiting for theology to catch up to women's reality, what should I do with my fears? (65)
The book only gets better from there, exploring a theology of the body, what it means that our days are ordained by God, and so much more. It is such a lovely, honest piece of work that does not gloss over the difficult sacrifices of motherhood or the very real grief and fear that come with trying to conceive. Rienstra only begins to delve into some very interesting theological concepts that apply to the experience of women and have yet to be explored. She offers thoughtful alternatives to our culture's current views of feminism and sexuality. In my opinion, you should throw all your other pregnancy books away and just read this one.
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