Let's just get this over with

My last post ended on a bit of a somber note. Before I explain, let me first make it clear that I LOVE LOVE LOVE my son so so so much. Parenthood may not be for everyone, and I respect and applaud those who have recognized that it might not be for them and have decided not to pursue it. This gig isn't for the faint of heart. I am daily in awe that I was allowed to journey this road and with such a precious companion. I am so grateful to be a mother (my heart breaks for those who seek this and are denied it), and humbled that I have been entrusted such a priceless gem. I love him more than I expected, more than I knew I could love at all.

Now with that said, I am ashamed to admit that I had a hard time feeling this way when I first met Little. I held him, fed him, and cared for him as any responsible parent would, but I didn't feel love. In fact I felt regret. I often joked about this with others, but it was, unfortunately, all very true. I hate myself for having had those feelings. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. I had honestly wished I had never gotten pregnant and given birth. Before me was a stranger that screamed at me all day long (the colic drama to come later), ripped up my nipples, refused to be put down causing incredible pain in my arm and back muscles (did I mention he was nearly 10 lbs???), refused all the comforts offered him (swaddles, pacifier, crib, car rides, etc.), and basically was just "take take take" with not a smidge of "give," not even a smile or an hour of silence so weak mom could rest.

Most of that is pretty normal for parents of newborns, but I had the added insult of postpartum depression. My hormones were so out of balance. That coupled with the lack of sleep and I was basically a zombie. I felt empty inside, hopeless. I wanted to run away. Leave the baby and my husband behind. They seemed content with each other after all, they would be fine. But I was drowning. I couldn't breathe and I just wanted out. I knew then that these were horrible feelings to be having so now I had guilt to add to my depression.

My mom also had struggled with postpartum depression, so she could tell immediately that I had it. She stayed with us for that tiresome, first week and witnessed my emotional madness as I would swing from anger and rage over the silliest things to fits of tears as I gazed at my screaming son. When she left we all cried. She told my husband to keep an eye on me, and tried to encourage him, because now he had the burden of taking care of our colic-y babe and me. In this story my husband is the hero. He is my hero. He is my son's hero. He is the this small family's hero. His perseverance and enormous heart rescued me, and sheltered my son. I praise god greatly for putting him on earth so he could fulfill this crucial role.

So many people surrounded me during this dark time, friends, family, strangers, childhood friends. They may never know how deep and profound their time affected me. The simplest phone call, or visit did wonders to lift my spirit, to remind me that I was still me. I put all my energy in making my outward appearance look as strong as possible. I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I did not want others to witness them. But I was not well, even if I looked it, and your time had a powerful impact, even if you thought it was not necessary, to me it was.

After about 13 weeks, I finally started to feel like myself again. Well not exactly. Nothing has ever been exactly the same, and it could never be, because now I am a mother, forged in the fire of trial and despair, but I came through, I survived, and I bear the the scars of that darkness both physically and emotionally.

I have this picture as my background on my phone. It isn't the cutest picture of my son. And it certainly isn't the most recent. But it is from that dark time. He was only a couple of days old. I look at it and speak to that tiny baby. I tell him how sorry I am for those first 13 weeks. I look at it and hope that my darkness did not leave scars on his spirit. I look at it and tell that baby "I love you" because I wasn't able to when he was actually  that small. I don't know how long I will keep this picture up, reminding me of that time and my terrible weakness. But for now I keep it there. I am not ready to forgive myself yet, but I am getting there.

More Than a Year Later

Welp, it's been a year since I stopped blogging regularly, and I am sure you are all (all 2 of you who actually read this blog) wondering what happened, so here it is: I had a baby at home with no complications. He is a big, beautiful, and healthy boy.

But the reason I haven't been posting is that things have been CRAZY this last year. So I would like to spend the next several posts reflecting on this past year, catching you up to life in our messy messy home.

First, off, let me respond to the last post I made while pregnant. The one where I rant about feeling like an ugly heffer. I would like to respond with this video:

Now that a year has passed I can look at these pictures and I understand the shock and surprise that greeted me everywhere I turned at the very end. I was GINORMIC!!! But I also watch this video and am transported back to that very tender and innocent time. That woman in that video had no idea what lay ahead, and if she did I wonder if she would have still smiled as much? Or if she would have spent more time sleeping, or gone to the movies more, or cuddled with her husband more (boy do I miss that),  but I am glad she had no idea what lay ahead, because what lay ahead was not pretty, was rough, and was sometimes was even dark and scary, but then eventually it was ok, then normal, and then funny and sweet. I'll share more about those early days in posts to come now that I am far enough away from it all.

One year ago today

One year ago today I finally met Little. Ten minutes later my husband and I came out of the haze of wonder and asked our midwife what we had, boy or girl. A boy. A beautiful, healthy, and big big boy!

Above are pictures of that intense and miraculous day. 

The other day our doula sent a birthday card for him. I have been laboring over how to describe that day, but I think her words are better than any I have tried to compose:

"Dear R

Happy Birthday sweet boy. It's hard to believe a whole year has passed since you were born. I remember that day well. I remember how strong and determined your mom was, even when things got beyond tough. She never gave up. Also I remember how loving and supportive your dad was to your mom. It was really beautiful for me to witness. Even though your birth was not easy (most amazing and valuable life experiences aren't) I feel it made everyone stronger. It's true that good things are worth the wait.

Love,

Your doula"

My son, your birth was tough, not easy, and you did make us wait (21 long hours), but you were worth it. 

It was one of the most amazing and valuable life experiences your father and I have shared together. Your entrance into this world empowered me in a way that I have yet to find the words for. You are changing the way I experience the world. I laugh and smile daily because of you. My life is full of wonder and joy. So much joy. Happy Birthday.

Well said

In just a few days my son will turn one year old. My husband and I will have been parenting and not sleeping for one year!?!?

The beginning was really hard for us, me especially, and I honestly felt like I would never make it this far. But here we are. Time has zoomed by these last six months. Things are easier now. Still a ton of work, and life has never been the same since R's arrival, but it is easier now. Not sure if this is because I have simply given in to these times, or if I have adapted to the new pace of life, or if R is indeed easier, but I think it's a combination of all of these. There are days when I feel like R may be an only child, and days when I can't wait to have a small army of kiddos.

The first year has been such a roller coaster! I am too exhausted to adequately describe this year's ride, but this video nails it! Every single word. Every. Word. rings true for me.

"I wasn't ready, but then you were here...Big fat love. You've made me rethink my sanity. You've made me want to fall on my mother's feet and tell her that I get it. But then you smile. And you say my name...We're growing. Together."

We've come so far. And we've got so far to go. Happy birthday little man. You've been the best ride of my life!

Bulging and Beautiful???

So I was talking with a friend recently about how much like a heifer I feel. She had great insight to share. There is this window of pregnancy when you just look so cute! You are that really cute pregnant lady and people can't get enough of how cute you look. Before that time is the awkward transition time when you know you are pregnant (hello?!?!? I never had a pooch like this before! It is so obvious that I am pregnant!) but no one else is brave enough to ask you. This is probably for the best. Because I would hate to be that woman who was asked if she was and she wasn't! 

Then you enter the blessed window of beautiful bulging belly. You are the cutest preggo lady! Everything you wear is super cute! You are glowing, you feel great, the baby is moving. Life is great!

But that is just a period. A good long period, but a period nonetheless. And as you get closer and closer to that much anticipated due date you leave that wonderful period and enter the world of cows. Yup! Bovine. That is what you begin to feel like. When getting in and out of cars is a struggle. When bending down to pick something you dropped is a chore. When you can NOT find anything to wear that is both comfortable and cute. So you have to make a choice: comfort or fashion. And if your midwife tells you that your baby is breach and it is better to not wear maternity pants to encourage him/her to flip then all that is left to you are dresses that used to look cute on you, but now just look like muumuus on you. And that is where I am right now. And I feel ugly.

I hate to complain. I mean, I tried for a long time to get pregnant, doubting my bodies ability to even be able to conceive. What right do I have to complain? I should be rejoicing at the wonderful miracle that my body is doing something I doubted it was even capable of. But I am still a woman. Still trained to judge myself by exterior beauty, even by my hippie, care-free standard of beauty. There it is- I am a product of this society that places way more value on outward appearance than inner strength.

So what is a girl to do? I don't know. I've never been here before. And not many have shared this experience with me, so I am wondering if I am just bigger than most women get when pregnant? I mean, I am a small frame, and my belly is something to marvel at. I suspect people are wondering at the physics of how it is I am able to actually stand with this ginormous belly! Still something must be done. Because I need to remind myself that I am beautiful. That what is happening in my body is beautiful and marvelous because I do not want to spend the last few weeks of this pregnancy bitter, but rather I want to relish in it, because who knows if I will ever be here again.

And so I found myself putting on eye liner these last two days. And making myself get dressed in the nicest outfit I can put together, even though I am on maternity leave and rarely leave the house. But I do this because when I walk into the bedroom and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, it makes me feel better. And better is much preferred over bitter.

And one last thing that I have done, I asked my partner in crime to take pictures of me so that I can remember this time. This amazing and special time.

I know that this is no Demi Moore or Brittany Spears level of beauty.

But it ain't no cow either. 

It is a miracle. A beautiful miracle. 

I am a beautiful miracle.

I Hate Finishing Books

Confession, I have purposely not finished reading a book series that I love because I hate it when books end. I have all the books in the series, and my husband has read them all and said that it was a good end to the series. But the fact that it is the end is enough to keep me from reading it... for 3 years!

I do this with allot of things. Like TV shows. I will watch nearly an entire TV series and when I get near the end will suddenly feel compelled to find some other show to watch. It will literally take me months and months to finish watching the last 3 episodes of a series. I just hate endings. I get so sad. Like I am saying goodbye to a dear friendship that I don't want to end. And while I know that all things on this earth have an end, I like to live in willful ignorance and ignore that fundamental detail.

Here I am at the end of this pregnancy, and I am sad. Isn't it funny? Most women are eager for their little one to come out, to be born, to give their bodies relief and to finally meet the beautiful baby. Don't get me wrong. I really do want to meet my precious Little, but I have enjoyed this pregnancy.

A friend recently asked me how this pregnancy has been treating me? Have I liked being pregnant? No one had ever asked me that in the 36 weeks I was pregnant. I needed a moment to reflect on this. I think I came up with a simple short answer for her, but later that I night I really thought about that question. And my answer is that I have LOVED being pregnant. My body has changed in so many ways, and it has had its challenges, but for the most part this has been a beautiful experience! I know that I am lucky, that things could have been much worse. That I was graciously spared the dreaded morning sickness. But I was spared of it and of so many other challenges. I am so blessed to have had such a wonderful time. I love feeling the little one inside me move, and how the movements have changed as the space inside has changed. I love having a beautiful big belly. I love how people are compelled to reach out and touch it. And I love how I make people laugh with my disproportionate belly size.

Today is my birthday, it is the last one that I will ever have where I can be selfish and make it all about me. It is, in a sense, an end, which makes me sad. Also, this week I am considered to be full-term. Another end. Another pang of sadness. I want to meet my baby, but I don't want this beautiful experience to end. If I am blessed to have another child, I know that I can look forward to this experience again, but it will be different. My husband and I were talking about this. This is the first time for us. It is full of first time surprises and joys. Next time there will be joy, certainly, but it will not be like the first time. It will be different.

So here I am, at the end of several things, trying to relish and savor the last of them, especially since in this situation I cannot simply ignore the event and spread it out over several months. The end is coming, no avoiding it, and with it a new beginning full of new joys I am sure. But an ending is still and ending, and my sentimental self is sad to loose such sweet a friend.

Brutal/Beautiful Holidays

Every year my church has a Living Nativity for the community to enjoy. It is really a beautiful event. There are sheep and a donkey, high schoolers dressed as angels and shepherds, elders dressed as the wise men. It is a bonding time for the church family, and a blessing to be able to share the wonder of the season with the neighborhood.

Last year (December 2011) my husband and I were asked to play Mary and Joseph. The Living Nativity had a twist that year in that Mary sang a song, and the shepherds also sang a song. The song I sang was the Magnificat, the prayer and praise Mary says in response to learning that she was chosen to be the mother of God. It is a beautiful prayer and one that shows the wisdom held deep within this young woman. 

So there I am holding a baby doll, sometimes I was handed a real baby to hold when one was available, but holding a baby and looking down at it in the iconic pose. And the whole time I held back tears, wondering if I would ever be blessed to hold my own baby. At that time I had been trying to conceive for about 6 months with no luck. And I was waffling between hope and despair. Trying to keep my focus on the miracle of the birth of my god, I struggled not to dwell on my own trials. I remember seeing a family come up and approach me, and they had a toddler with down syndrome, and my heart ached to see how much love that family poured on that cute little boy. I was jealous for that. For the opportunity to pour out love, no matter the circumstances. Yes, he had down syndrome, but it didn't matter because he was their baby, and I wanted that... a baby. It was all I could do to keep it together. 

On our way home, Jonathan told me that he could tell I was having a hard time. He reached for my hand and told me that we would be okay, that we would have a family one day. He was so confident and calm about it. I couldn't argue with him. The Holidays are brutal for a woman TTC!

Fast forward a year to December 2012. My husband and I were asked to be in the Christmas Musical at church. Guess who we were asked to play??? That's right, Mary and Joseph. In the musical, Mary sings a song about the hope of the world growing within her womb. It was perfect, because my own womb was growing and my own hope was and is being fulfilled within. 

Yes, I was holding another doll, but that bump under the doll is real. And this time I fought to hold back tears, but tears of gratitude and tears of joy. A year ago I had nearly thrown the towel in, tired of trying to do something that so many do accidentally. I never would have guessed that in a year's time I would be so close to realizing my dream of being able to pour out love on my own baby. Yes, tears of joy and excitement were indeed in order! The Holidays to a woman who has struggled with TTC can be overwhelmingly beautiful. So so beautiful.