A Letter to the Little

I have my 20 week ultrasound coming up in two short weeks.  I couldn't be more eager to find out if it's a little miss or little mister currently residing in my belly.  

I don't, in fact, understand how people can wait and be surprised.  I need to mentally prepare.  Not that the gender tells you anything, I suppose. Silas loves baking and he is no less a boy than the average and I, myself was more or less a tomboy.  Somehow, though, I just want to know.

But until I know, here's a few thoughts for him or her:

Little Mister:

I think it's time I take some wise mom's advice (she had 6 boys), and get ripped.  I'm not kidding.  With the addition of your strong little arms I want to be strong enough for you: to pick you up when you've fallen off your bike, to manhandle you off the couch when the wrestling is over, and despite my short stature, for you to know safety within strong boundaries.  Not that I'm hoping you're a fighter, but the reality is that you have two bigger brothers: get your helmet on.  I hope that I can teach you about how to be strong, courageous, and take a stand, but to lean first towards kindness and compassion.  I want to teach you that life is an adventure and the world is yours to explore, but you don't have to trample over others to do it.   I want to be your biggest cheerleader but not just sit on the sidelines and watch, I want to be adventuring with you.  But I also want to teach you that you don't have to be afraid to be still and calm and that emotions don't need to be scary or feminine- I want you to feel safe to express yourself.

I hope and pray that you bring your brothers together in a way that I can't: that there will be a camaraderie and companionship between you boys that is built on respect, admiration and love (not competitiveness). I hope and pray you bring much joy and laughter to our home, and a new perspective that teaches the rest of us.  You are loved, you are welcomed, this home has room for one more boy and I didn't want a girl more than you- I just wanted YOU.

Little Miss:

I can't quite imagine you and I'm mostly afraid of you.  So far my Mommy skills include: learning to wrestle, run, throw and kick, tackle and tumble.  I don't know as much how to be gentle, soft, and tender.  I don't often have to flesh out feelings or consider the innuendos and nuances of my facial expressions.  But I will learn.  I hope that I can be a safe place to run with your emotions and fears, dreams and disappointments- or at least, that I can point you to the One who knows you even better than I ever will. I want to be able to teach you that being a woman is a marvelous and precious thing.  We can be strong and graceful, beautiful and mysterious, rough and tumble and caring.  I want you to, most of all, be confident in our love for you, your uniqueness and divine purpose, and in your place in this family.  I hope and pray you never doubt your worthiness of God's love and no matter what anyone in this world tells you or what you think the mirror tells you: you are beautiful and worth knowing.

I pray that you will bring peace in a new way to our home.  A new calm, a new balance.  I hope you never feel left out from your brothers- but that they will treasure and protect you as much as you respect and admire them. I can't wait to be best friends one day and Lord willing, chat about all the little things in life and all the big things too.  I plan on learning a lot from you, little lady.  How to be more carefree, how to be more cheerful, how to enjoy life more, how to do hair (?) and delight in womanly things.  You are lovely and you are welcome here in our home of boys: a beauty and a light already.

For both:

 I can't promise you I'll be more patient or wiser with you than when I first set out on this journey as a parent, but I can promise you that I won't give up.  I will fall down on my knees often, out of fear, desperation and sheer dependence on our only hope (Christ himself), but with His help, I'll get back up.  And I will continue to choose to be your Mom even when I am overwhelmed, run-down, and afraid.  With Christ, all things are possible and even though I don't know how to be your Mom, I trust He'll show me.

p.s. I love you and can't wait to know you

Transitions

"Does nothing ever stay the same, does everything change?"

from:

Transitions are the name of the game with small children.  Nothing stays the same. Milk to solids, naps to no-naps, diapers to underwear, strider bike to pedal bike, crib to bed... and so it goes.  It never ends. 

We are in the middle of a series of new transitions for our kids.  I realize, in the middle of it, that I'm simply impatient.  I was comfortable with the old and I want the new, but I don't want to go through the transition. Can Toby simply GO to Sunday school and not need us to spend increasingly less time there with him? Could Silas please stop getting so frustrated on his pedal bike and just get it already?  Could Toby just be completely potty trained so we don't have to go through the multi-stage process of the training?

I am so impatient.  I walk fast, I talk fast, I am efficient and I like getting things done.  Check.  I don't like the incremental, step-by-step that most processes take.  My whole life I have been like this: I am the hare who just wants to get there. I am no tortoise.  Slow and steady wins the race?  What kind of moral of the story is that? No thanks.  Practice makes perfect?  Nah- I just want to get better right now.

And so I've become the impatient bystander to my kid's transitions: hurrying them along, rushing through the motions, expecting outcomes that should not yet be expected.  The kicker?  I am frustrating my children and myself.  

This is especially the case with Silas.  It took us well over a year to fully potty train him.  It was a small form of torture.  He wants to be the one to decide the when and how of transitions he makes.  He is cautious, and he gets frustrated easily so requires much patience, repetition and encouragement.  And then there I am: cajoling, hurrying, and quick to get angry about the process this is taking.  I am the annoying kid in the car saying "Are we there yet?!"

But yet here we are: potty training Toby, trying to teach Silas to ride a pedal bike and Toby to ride a strider bike, getting Toby to sleep in a big-boy bed, getting both boys to sleep in the same room, getting Silas adjusted to pre-school, and getting Silas to be more independent with dressing and undressing himself.

Transitions are the trenches of character development for me and I don't like them.  Patience?  Diligence to the task? The grind and monotonous ambition of growth and learning?

Yuck, yuck, and yuck.

[We need to go through all these stages with another baby?  My ways are doomed...]  

And even though I hate it, I couldn't be more pleased.  It's about time that this girl learned how to be okay with discipline, commitment to a task, and endurance.  I plan on being a marathoner in the department of motherhood and it's gonna take some training but I'm willing.  

God change me to be more patient as you help me foster change in my children! [And get it done quickly, won't you?  By tomorrow would be good.  Or next week, I'm okay with that too...]

Third Pregnancy

I'm 16 weeks pregnant now.  I'm sure by this point in my first pregnancy I had posted 100 blog posts about all the finer points of pregnancy symptoms.   Even better, I had posted what size the baby was such as a 'lemon' or a 'measuring tape' or 'duck' sized. I was dreaming names, buying baby necessities, planning the room, [insert 'the sound of music' soundtrack here].

This time?  Well, it's my third time.  I am marveling more at certain things, desperately pleading with time to go a bit slower, and the MOST thankful I've been to pass the first trimester.  Most days I actually forget that I'm pregnant and then wonder why in the world I'm shaking and weak-kneed [because I haven't eaten in 6 hours] and why I'm huffing and puffing [because I climbed the stairs].

But, in case this baby accuses me some day of being negligent in recording what the experience of pregnancy was like with him/her, [if it's a 'he,' I kinda doubt he'll care...I mean, has any male you've ever known EVER asked his Mom what it was like being pregnant with him?] I thought I'd give a quick update:

I'm starting to feel the baby move.  At first I wasn't sure, but now those familiar flutters are present and I couldn't be more relieved and grateful.  Grateful to feel life stirring, thankful to know that this life is growing and excited about enjoying this miraculous feeling all over again.

Nausea is better, but still not totally gone. Blast.  

Sweets are out.  Oddly, every other day in the history of my life I have craved dark chocolate like the air I breathe.  However, this pregnancy the thought of sweet things turns my stomach.  Give me cheese, even better- give me cheese fondu, give me salted something but please keep the chocolate away.  I don't think I've reached for it once. Bizarre. 

I don't even bother with regular clothes.  Not that I'm "Gi-massive" [to quote Silas] but honestly, I'm so glad to be back in stretched topped jeans that I don't even care if I'm making some fashion-faux-pas.

I'm more anxious.  I mean, I'm trying not to be.  But, the reality of the fact that I have two healthy children and that this is a fact I have largely taken so, so for granted, has me really feeling the vulnerability of having another child.  The numbers of people I know who this isn't a reality for is increasing and I realize just how a child's health must never, never, never be un-appreciated.  Not that I'm planning on the sky to fall on us, but I realize the weight of many parents' suffering and don't want to act like a 'healthy' child is entitled to me.  I have yet to have my 20 week ultrasound too which is always a bit nerve-wracking.  May God give us grace for whatever lay ahead and a love for this child however he/she comes.

Okay, I'll admit it, I'm kind of rooting for a girl.  However, I'm trying my darndest to 'plan for' and 'set my mind on' a boy so that I'm not disappointed.  NOT THAT HAVING THREE BOYS would be a disappointment.  It would be a continued adventure and I love the lifestyle that having boys pushes me to have.  However, I'm less certain I physically want to have any more, so kind of want to pass on SOME of my womanly wisdom (?) to a girl. Or maybe, just maybe, I want ONE of my children to REALLY appreciate what I've gone through to be their Mom.  Ya know?  [There is a lot that is assumed here, but I certainly know that girls tend to be a lot closer to their Moms once they too become Moms].  And yes, we will find out what gender we're having, unless by some hand of heaven we cannot find out and then I'll be silently tortured for 5 more months.

The jury's still out, but I'm leaning heavily towards a planned C-section.  One side of my heart is so totally disappointed, but the other part is relieved.  No more self-induced pressure to have the natural delivery that I so admire.  No more beating myself up at another of my body's failings.  I will probably still see the v-bac specialists and seek out one more opinion but I think I know what they're already going to say...so maybe I'll say it for them: my body might not be able to deliver babies on its own.

I realize I've forgotten most everything about having a newborn.  It just gets so normal and lovely to put the boys to bed at 8 pm, for them to feed themselves, and to not have to worry about nursing, naps, etc.  But, alas, this lifestyle shall return to us.  I am determined to enjoy this newborn stage even more than Toby's and so....

The lists are already forming of what needs to be done before this child:

• the quilt just has to get done.  People, it's been over 4 years. 
• baby books need to be done for the other two
• our family photo yearbooks are 2 years behind [fascinating how time continues to march on and pictures continue to be taken but yearbooks are still left un-made!]
• Silas and Toby need to consistently sleep in the same room
• If I'm gonna do it all, Toby needs to make the leap and potty train.  He already tells me quite often, and loves enjoying sitting on the can, and he can sit himself on the big potty [if he fell in, it might be seriously dangerous cause he's so tiny] but I need to actually get up the gutso to put him in underwear.  But tell me, when, oh when is a good time for this?!  When I'm driving to and from preschool?  But it's now or months after the baby is born and I'm thinking now might be a better time.
• My oven needs to be cleaned.  Can you believe this fact is keeping me up at night?  
• My whole house needs to be sorted, and things discarded.  Like- the large freezer in our garage that hasn't worked for months?  Or the mattress on our boys' floor that we haven't taken to the dump?  Yikes.

Okay, I'll stop.  But nothing has me making lists more than having a baby.

The Real World

Sometimes we convince ourselves that the world of the internet is actually real, don't we? Our life can be captured so perfectly with cameras- but we only take the shots we want to.  Case in point:

It was a lovely fall morning: crisp, rainy, a bit dreary.  We had invited friends to do some fall crafts.  What was I picturing in my mind?  Hot coffee, warm & spicy starbucks pumpkin bread, beautiful pinterest button tree decorating, quiet gluing and painting, thoughtful conversation, and a cozy delightful morning.

{Forget that this endeavor was going to involve a 1.5 year old, two 2-year-old twins and my 3.5 year old}. 

This is what I was picturing:

See how I did that?  I took pictures BEFORE children were involved.  BEFORE.  See how I set the stage? The children were conveniently outside the room watching Bob while I got ready for our visitors.  Looks like it's real, right?  Tricky, tricky.  

But what this morning REALLY looked like was:

interrupted conversations

children throwing glitter pieces on the floor

an incident with a sharpie and our dining room table

potpourri flying

a toddler finding my stool softeners and deciding to give them a try (turns out they taste awful)

cold coffee

blown out candles

potty runs

glue on table tops

mixed up craft supplies

crying, gnashing of teeth...you get the point

But hey, it was memorable, and the kids made a craft (which was the point right?):

 

I have to laugh.  Cause this morning was an exact snapshot of life as a parent.  "Best laid plans" and the reality to follow...  I think 3 years ago I would have had a meltdown, or a fit, or fallen apart at the seems to see my precious morning go to the riot squad. However, I think I've grown {insert self applause here}.  I'm learned to go with the flow, and remind my expectations that they don't really belong in this chaotic world. Kids are messy, every day is an adventure, and real life happens in a sea of interruptions and imperfections. And without those things, where would good stories come from? 

But, I'll keep pretending, like the rest of this culture that in fact, I did exactly what I set out to do this cozy fall morning and made a pinterest-worthy craft.  {But, you'll know the truth, and so will I.  This craft was a barely-pulled-off miracle in a morning full of mishaps and disasters!}

The Journey into Motherhood: Reframing our Experiences

For any moms out there whose pregnancy, birthing, or postpartum experiences were anything but the ideal, this post is for you.  But, if you are the Mom who had it all- a glowing pregnancy, a quick and natural delivery, and an easy-as-pie recovery with an easily breastfeeding baby, please still read on.  I want to discuss what it might mean to re-frame how we talk about the journey that is new motherhood.  

I don't know if it's media, or if it's social media or what it is, but we certainly idealize the transition of a woman into motherhood.  There's the beautiful baby showers, the cute baby clothes, the incredible family photos... there is certainly some kind of pressure to have the best experience.  And I am no less guilty of perpetuating this false idea by the images I post and the experiences I share.

Thing is, most of us will most definitely experience something other than that image. Maybe it's that every day of pregnancy we are living in a cloud of nausea that we cannot escape from.   Maybe they found 'something' on the ultrasound and you're living with the anxiety and fear of the child's safety instead of enjoying the pregnancy. Maybe you're like me and there are risks involved with your pregnancy that need you to be monitored closely.  For me- I need to have daily injections that bruise and burn my belly.  

Maybe the delivery was agonizing, terrible, and just shy of horrific.  Maybe your baby was rushed to the NICU and you spent the first weeks of motherhood in un-washed clothes, taking vigil by your little one's side instead of walking your baby in a stroller with a latte in hand.  

Or maybe you're like me and you tried two times to have a natural delivery, only to have to go through the trauma of a long labor and emergency C-section both times.  Maybe you're like many women I know and breastfeeding was so challenging, painful, and emotionally draining that you just couldn't do it anymore and felt ashamed because you couldn't breastfeed your child and had to use formula.

The list could go on.  

Thing is, I wonder sometimes if we are truly idealizing the least important aspects instead of being in awe of the journey through it ALL no matter what all the details really look like.  So what if I had a C-section?  So what if your child was formula fed?  So what if you gained 40 more pounds than they said you should? Does any of this make us less able to mother?  Why do we judge ourselves so harshly?  Or each other? I was so distraught over my own disappointments that it set me up to be the least confident and most insecure new Mom- hurtling me straight for despair and disillusionment. Confidence should not be won or lost because of situations we could hardly control.  

This is just not how it should be.  

I think about my impending decision this time around.  The big question remains "will I try for a V-bac again, or will I just have a pre-booked C-section."  And again I'm left to cycle through the emotions of my last two traumatic labors.  I'm sad, devastated, and confused about how I could do so many things 'right' but end up with the same outcome. I feel like I just couldn't cut it as a woman because I couldn't just 'try harder' and do what my body's supposedly 'made to do.'  I certainly experienced great joy and relief in the birth of both my children, but I feel kind of robbed from the fullness of that joy because I was too busy mourning the loss of an experience I didn't have.  I feel fresh sorrow when I try to relate to women who seem to 'have it all' and I am left to wonder why my experiences were so challenging.  

The challenges didn't end with the delivery.  My incisions weren't healing properly and the recovery from the C-sections were very hard physically.  I went on to develop thyroid complications both times leading to incredible insomnia, anxiety and postpartum depression (both times).  It takes me a solid 8 months before I start to bounce back.

But the real tragedy, I'm beginning to believe, is that none of this should be a tragedy at all.  Maybe the problem right from the beginning is that I never expected hardship like that, when I should have.  I believed the lie that transitioning to motherhood is all Anne Geddes, smiles, and cuddles.   I believed that it would be 'picture-perfect' and that the majority of women have it pretty good, and so would I.  I mean look at hollywood?  All these beautiful people with beautiful children and beautifully easy lives.  And then there's facebook...

But I'm here to de-bunk the myth.  

Not to strike fear, not to remove the joy and profound wonder that is becoming a Mom, but to let other Moms know- we have got to start creating an accurate picture of what the transition to new motherhood is really like to new Moms.  Maybe the focus should be less on the highs in our experiences and more on the incredible journey of it all.

I would love to have a natural delivery. However, so many obstetrician's tell me that it's not a good idea to try, considering the events leading up to my two C-sections were so incredibly similar.  Part of me wants to believe that it will be different this time, that if I just try and breathe better, and be stronger, it will happen for me and I will get to join the ranks of 'normal' Moms.  Then I'll get to be in the cool 'vaginal delivery' club.  

But the other part of me is realizing that it's okay to understand that my body may not be capable of delivering babies.  It's okay to choose what might be the 'safer' route.  It's okay to be thankful that I was able to live and that my child was able to live - many women around the world in my same predicament would not have been so fortunate. And you know, it's okay that my story was rocked with hardship, that my journey into motherhood was fraught with incredible toil, poetic moments of beauty, and that my endurance could only be born of great difficulties.  It's okay.

I don't need to be ashamed, or consider myself 'less than.'  I don't need to cover up the story of my labors and say with a look of shame in my eyes "I had a C-section."  You don't need to hang your head low and say "he was formula fed."  We can stand tall and say that we braved many storms on our journeys into motherhood.  It wasn't easy.  It still isn't. But we're not giving up, we are loving our children through wastelands and jungles, and we are toiling and being changed by the worthiest of causes.

Can we start celebrating the joys AND hardships of new motherhood and stop idealizing the peak experiences?   Can we stop judging ourselves by what we couldn't do, and start rejoicing in what we could do?  Can we stop judging each other and instead learn to listen and be inspired by how every mother is sacrificing, enduring, and journeying through their own unique challenges?  Let's journey together instead of 'pinning' the best stuff and discarding the rest.

I hope one day we can show off our scars and war wounds as proof of a battle that we fought hard in.  "Look at this C-section scar?  See this Goiter I sport under my neck?  See the lines of worry in my forehead and the permanent bags under my eyes?  It was all part of my becoming stronger, it was all part of me fighting for my children with blood, sweat, and tears.  It was all proof that Mothers are not mothers because we have children, but because we choose to love them and raise them."

Church with Kids

Okay.  Does attending Church seem frustrating to any other mother with young kids out there?  Don't get me wrong, I love my Church.  I want to hear God's Word.  I want to participate in Worship, I want to be part of community.  Except, well, I can't.  With a 3.5 year old and a 1.5 year old, I can't quite remember when or if I've sat through a whole service.

It all begins with the babies.  They need to nurse, or they are crying, or they need to sleep.  So you're either hiding in the nursery to feed them, pacing in the lobby trying to get them to go to sleep, or you're shushing them and burping them, praying that they won't vomit on you in your seats.  Happily, you move out of that initial phase only to hit the morning nap stage.  Their nap always coincides with the service in some way. You have to sneak in late, sneak out early, or carry them strapped on all service while your back aches. 

Finally, they seem to be getting out of the napping stage only to need to transition to being in the nursery. And that takes weeks, or months.  Leaving them for greater increments in the nursery but inevitably having to rescue the nursery workers from their screaming and crying. It's a horrible but necessary transition.  Then, yay!  You think you're home free!  Enjoying a service- yes!  Oh, wait.  Then they are teething and won't go back.  Or the usual nursery worker isn't there so they won't go in.  Or you've been away for two weeks so they won't go back in.  

They finally seem to love the nursery but they're booted out to Sunday school and it's a whole new world of transition.  Meanwhile, they're also potting training so you have to stop in now and again to make sure they pee on the potty and not in their pants.

Enter baby #2.  And you're back at square one.

Then there's the stress of getting everyone out of the house in clothes that are in some semblance of cleanliness.  Showing up without spit-up on, or syrup smudges on your own clothes gets you bonus points. And of course, there's the inevitable starvation and fatigue that results from Church so that you go screaming out the front doors as soon as Church is over and you can't really connect with anyone anyways because your children are in full on melt down.  Need.  Food.  Now.

And is it just me, or does it seem that every time your child goes into Sunday school or the nursery, they come out with some new viral or infectious disease that you have to deal with for the next week until you do it all again?

I love my Church, I love all that they do for kids.  But one of these days I think I'm just gonna show up in pajamas and whatever state we are really in during the morning.  Or maybe J and I should just take turns going to a service in the morning.  Or maybe we should just wait until their all past the age of 5 and in the meantime just listen to the sermons online.

Anyone else feel like this sometimes?
Sigh.

The queasy pits

I forgot.  I mean, I completely neglected to remember that early pregnancy nausea is the pits.  I am literally hanging on by a thread, constantly wanting to hurl.  What is with the female brain?  How does one so conveniently not recall such challenging physical hardship? I even wrote down how nauseous I was with the previous two pregnancies but somehow I looked past it, "wouldn't it be nice to add to our family...?" Meanwhile, I am the walking dead.  I'm tired as soon as I'm vertical, I'm practically sleep-walking.  Then there's the need to eat constantly, trying to fight off the despair of the constant queasies.  

And of course, the needs of our current family march onwards.  Make dinner (gag).  Clean out the fridge (gag).  Stay in the bathroom for 10 minutes while two children stink up the place (gag).  I have to run in and out of the kitchen so that I don't, heaven forbid, get a good whiff of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher or the garbage can.  I was even found discarding perfectly good Tupperware into the trash because the mere thought of cleaning out the week old food in there and washing the dishes was enough to push me right over the edge.

This is insanity!

Take, for instance, a recent trip to Walmart   We were in desperate need of shoes for Silas as his have all literally fallen apart at the seams.  We also needed to buy some undies for Toby who has decided that this is the perfect time for potty training.  The boys had got a little rambunctious in the grocery cart and had careened into each other and were both screaming, Jason and I got separated, each with one screaming child, and somehow managed to stay totally lost from each other for a good 10 minutes.  What was I doing that whole time?  Literally hanging onto random merchandise stands with my head between my arms trying not to throw up.  I had to drag my sorry behind back and forth through the aisles, without resting Toby on my belly too long as the pressure alone made me sick, mentally screaming "I can't go on!"

Yes, my friends, when I'm pregnant I'm a real peach.  It really agrees with me.  I am a perfectly sane, beautiful, and glowing pregnant lady.  Meanwhile, I haven't showered because staying upright for a full 5 minutes sounds overwhelming and my house is a mess of crumbs and laundry.  Don't even ask me about shift work.  It's. Not. Going. Well. So, other pregnant Moms- I'm a haggard shell of the real Shannon right alongside you.  We'll get through it.  And don't expect high things from me world, I have little to bring other than the occasional groan, and dry heave.


[A serious aside: for those women out there who are longing to be a  Mom, or those who have lost a  child, or who desperately wish they could have a family of their own, please don't see this post as insensitive.  I bet each one of you would give your two good legs to feel nauseous because of being pregnant - forgive me for my above complaints.  I am deeply grateful for God's generosity towards us and I do imagine what it would be like to not even be given the chance.  I can't imagine the struggle you must face in reading a post like mine. I'm praying for peace in your circumstance, patience in your waiting, and for renewed hope.]