A Mindful Christmas.

I don't know if you know this or not, but I've always been a little different.  I tend to notice things that others don't. Some would say I notice too many things, because they often distract me from what I'm told are the "important" things in life, like homework and housework and image and such. Regardless, I like to take the time to stop and think about the things I notice. I firmly believe that one must stop and "smell the roses"; if one takes the time to smell the roses, one might also find themselves admiring the beauty of their petals, the sleek curves of their thorns, and the sturdiness of their stems. The more we open ourselves to the beauty in one area of our lives, the more we notice the beauty in all the areas of our lives; and this, my friends, is what being mindful is all about.  Mindfulness allows you to actually enjoy the moment you're in, rather than longing for the past or worrying about the future. It's rather freeing.

A few weeks ago, I found myself out shopping for Christmas and I could just feel the stress starting to take over. You know the feeling - your heart rate goes up, you feel your skin getting flushed, the adrenaline starts pumping, and your brain begins shouting commands and consequences at you. You see, no matter how hard I tried to control it, it seemed like the gift list kept getting more and more out of hand - especially where it concerned my 5 year old. I don't make a habit of letting my kids give Santa a list a mile long. We go to a specific website, fill in the 3 blanks on a prefabricated letter, and then we wait for Christmas to come. In years past, we've been lucky that friends shared the big ticket items with us because they no longer needed them; a bike, a Power Wheels Jeep, stuff like that. But this year was different. This year we had 3 kids to buy for and the oldest had seriously upped her game.  As I stood in the middle of the store, cart overflowing, comparing prices and trying to control my outrage at certain items being sold out, something inside me (the Holy Spirit, perhaps?) said in a still, small voice: "Are you really going to blow the budget just because you can't tell a 5 year old 'no'? Just because you can't tell yourself 'no'?" Suddenly, I saw the ridiculousness that was my shopping cart. Then and there, I decided that this year, and every year following, was going to be different.

Yes, we were still going to do Santa, but he is only bringing one gift instead of three. Not only that, but he gets to pick which one of the three he is going to bring.  Instead of opening all our gifts on Christmas Day, we were going to actually observe the 12 days of Christmas and open a new gift every day. Maybe that gift will be a fun new toy from Grandma and Grandpa or maybe it will be boring new underwear from Mom because seriously, you need new underwear.  Feeling relieved, I started to smile as I put things back on the shelf, feeling the adrenaline rush secede with each step . So maybe she wouldn't get the FurReal GoGo Walking Dog thing and the LeapPad and the Frozen comforter set; but guess what, she would survive. You know why? Because she already has access to an iPad with a ton of games, a comforter set that she doesn't use, and tons of stuffed animals - both of the animated and the stationary variety. And you know what else? She would survive because Christmas isn't all about getting gifts; it's about the promise of receiving priceless things like hope, peace, joy, and love. It's about the Love that came down on the first Christmas, revealed first to those who were just a bit different, who noticed things like new stars appearing in the sky and sang songs of joy over being chosen by God; who were willing to give God a chance to do something new and life changing. It's why we give to missions and send shoe boxes with toothpaste and socks and toys halfway around the world; not because we'll get brownie points but because we actually think and care about the people who don't have clean water to drink or enough food to eat, much less iPads and comforters. It's why we give year round and not just in December.

Now, I know I sound a little nutty - and I assure you - I seriously don't have anything against presents. I really don't expect my kids not to get excited about presents, that's just not realistic, they're kids! And if we're being honest here, I still get excited about presents, because it's fun to see what other people get when they think of me. But maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the excitement of getting, I can introduce them to the excitement of giving. And you know what? It's working. Yesterday, all my 5 year old could talk about was the gifts she wanted to make for her siblings and her parents. Today, she wanted us all to open the gifts she so carefully wrapped because she was so excited about them. But I told her we had to wait. Why? Because that's what the season of Advent is about; waiting out the anticipation that seems overbearing at times, because when we wait, it makes the surprise of Christmas that much more delightful. It's a hard lesson to learn, but I'm hoping the season of Christmas (not what we consider the Christmas season, starting in August and then steamrolling straight towards Dec. 25th where it then crashes and burns in a blaze of glory and wrapping paper, but the season celebrated by the church that actually starts on Christmas and lasts for 12 days) will help in the learning process.

Kevin and I work to keep Advent and it's special meaning separate from the more secular part of actual Christmas that involves Santa and the like, but we don't shut Santa out completely. It bothers me when people rail against Santa, claiming he's just Satan with the letters rearranged. Give me a break, people, Santa is modeled after an actual saint. Last time I checked, Satan failed miserably in the "saint"' category. He doesn't care about or give gifts to anybody. However, I do not discount the reason many of them get upset; oftentimes they feel that the holiness of Christmas gets overshadowed by the sheer consumerism and political correctness that drives the season nowadays. I get it, it bothers me too. Only I don't see it as my job to force "holiness" onto others who will not own it for themselves, and that's where I differ from many; but I will call out my fellow believers when they're losing sight of the end goal - sharing the love of God with the world he created. If we remember the story correctly, God did not force himself on the world, storming in on a white stallion, sword held high, ready to march into battle. God came quietly into the world, by way of an unmarried virgin and her brave betrothed, heralded by shepherds and astronomers and a multitude of angels giving a private concert. Heaven itself spilled out, a little at a time, splashing out onto those who surrounded him. That's what Christmas has always been about and is still about; heaven spilling out, a little at a time onto those who surround the followers of this Jesus. To me, that means a smile and a sincere wish of "Happy Holidays" because I don't know what holiday you celebrate and I really don't want to endanger your job, but I do want you to know that love still exists in this world and that the Kingdom of God is at hand and that there is joy to be had. The joy that made John leap in Elizabeth's womb is still available for whosoever will. I don't want you to know I'm a Christian just because I say "Merry Christmas", I want you to know I'm a Christian because of the way I act, both at Christmas and the rest of the year. They will know we are Christians by our love. So to me, having a mindful Christmas means letting my kids take the time to enjoy the gifts that they do get, reflecting on the person who gave it to them, and knowing that they are so very loved by so many people - truly a season full of hope, peace, joy, and love.  I'm not worried about attending every party and decorating every part of the house and spending all of my time doing the "stuff" that I've been told is "important." Why? Because it's just not that important. Your kids will not remember the extra decorations you put up or the meticulously decorated sugar cookies but they will remember the time that you didn't spend with them because of the things that didn't really matter. I don't want a busy Christmas, I don't even care about having a "Merry Christmas" as that often implies that there is no room for heartbreak, grief, and dare I say anger during the holiday season. I simply want a mindful Christmas, to feel and experience what each moment brings my way. Why? Because without mindfulness, I might just miss the point.

Three is a Crowd.

For those of you who know me, you know that I'm the mildly neurotic, roll with the punches type of parent. (Say what? Let me explain.) Essentially, I'm as cool as a cucumber until things get so chaotic and out of control that I can't stand it anymore and I start yelling things like "WHY am I the ONLY person who EVER puts ANYTHING back where it GOES?!!??!" while stomping around like a deranged elephant on crack. You know the type.  Most of my insanity is due to the fact that I have three children, two of which are under two. Yeah.  So, for those of you who wonder if having three kids is really that different from having two, may I present the Top 10 7 Reasons That Three is a Crowd.

#1) You're officially outnumbered.

People often joke with us "Man, are your hands full!" or "Wow, three? Now you're outnumbered!", but seriously, this is no joke. There is ALWAYS someone who needs something; usually while the two other small someones also need something. And they don't just need it like I need a spa weekend in Jamaica, they NEED it NOW or they will DIE. So, due to the fact that there are only 2 of us and 3 of them, someone is always crying about something somewhere in our house - and sometimes the kids cry too. To top it off, we parents are usually sporting the always fashionable "death warmed over because I had 3 measly hours of sleep" look while our 3 small bundles of boundless energy who can't do anything for themselves run circles around us, leaving trails of household debris in their wake. It's exhausting.

#2) You're always tired. So tired.

Remember back in reason number one I mentioned that it's exhausting? That's putting it mildly. It seems like one of them is always awake for some reason or another, which means one of us is always awake for some reason or another. I swear they have a built in sensor that goes off anytime our heads hit the pillow. I can't prove it, but I know it's there, just like the eyes in the back of mom's head. Add to that the fact that parents aren't immune from things like colds and stomach flues and insomnia and you have a recipe for disaster, albeit comedic disaster.

#3) Your brain can no longer function normally.

Comedic, you say? Yes, we are our own live-action sitcom. Who needs television when you have us? I remember one time in our old condo, I watched as my husband walked from the kitchen to the bedroom and then back again, returning with the plastic wrap in hand. As I watched this, I found myself wondering why he was wandering about with the plastic wrap... when I remembered it was I who had absentmindedly placed the aforementioned wrap on the bookshelf in our room. Why? (And NO, it was not some kinky bedroom goings-on) I was interrupted by a child who needed something while I was cleaning up and apparently, I didn't realize I still had the plastic wrap until I needed two hands. Sigh. We used to be young and spry, able to leap Jeopardy! categories in a single bound; now we just bumble around looking lost while our children lob us incessant questions that are WAY harder to answer than any Jeopardy! clue. Alex ain't got nothin' on my 5 year old. ("Mommy, what is the opposite of brown?" I don't know, child, because my brain dissolved somewhere around the time the 3rd pregnancy test came up positive. Ask me again in 18 years.)

#3) A new definition of "opposites" and "sibling rivalry".

Speaking of opposites, did you know that things can have more than one opposite? Like the opposite of happy can be sad, or it can also be mad. Consequently, those are also the names of my children. (I kid, I kid.) For the (very) short time that I only had two children, I found their differences cute. I didn't grow up with a brother or close male cousins, so a little boy was a new experience for me. Fast forward a year and we found ourselves back in the ultrasound room, being told that we were having another girl. "Easy peasy," I thought, "I've already got one of those." Wrong. While I did already have one girl, the second one was vastly different than the first. Where my oldest would drink her bottle out of the fridge, this one would only drink it warm (like her brother). The oldest slept through the night (for the most part) from her first week out of the womb - not so with the other two. Where my little boy would do a "warm up" before he actually started crying, the youngest launches straight into the Armageddon battle cry. Then we have the sibling rivalry that's already starting between the two oldest - although I must say it's different than the rivalry I had with my own sister. My 5 year old first born girl thinks her baby sister hung the moon whereas her brother commonly gets left out of the pictures she draws of our "whole family." She always wanted a sister.

#4) "Perfect" is in the eye of the beholder.

So, many (most?) of us only planned on having 2 kids, preferably one of each gender, the "perfect" little nuclear family. Then came the oops baby, the surprise baby, or my personal favorite, the bonus baby.  Now, I know a few of those "surprises" in real life (my own mother is one!) and I sure am glad they came along, but I'll bet for a while there their parents felt like I did when they first learned of the new arrival-to-be; kind of a mix between shock, horror joy, and denial. I heard Jim Gaffigan say one time that having a fourth child is like drowning and then someone hands you a baby. I can totally relate with that. I often thought my "perfect" family would consist of two girls, 5 years apart, like me and my sister. Then for a while, I thought my "perfect" family would be either one or zero children, preferably a girl IF I did have one. Well, I got my two girls, (almost exactly) 5 years apart, but I also got my sweet little boy that I wouldn't trade for the world and everything in it.  One part of me believes that God sends us the children we desperately need and who desperately need us as well, but another part (and probably the larger part) believes that free will has a lot to do with it too - I could've chosen to have no children or gotten a permanent form of birth control after the first or second one.  Regardless, I never expected to have three children, even in my wildest dreams BUT if you asked me which one I would give up, there's just no way I could answer you other than to say, "None of them!" Each of them is so wonderful, unique, and special in their own way. I have a different relationship with each of them and I wouldn't give that up for anything. Kevin and I sometimes threaten to take them to the fire station when they're misbehaving, but it's just a joke. Most of the time.  That being said, when people tell me that my youngest one is here simply because "Oh, God has a special plan for her!" it makes me wonder if God just didn't care about my already existing and still recovering, traumatized body/mind/soul that was already stretched pretty thin between two kids, a husband, a church, and school. I know they mean well, but seriously, I was drowning and then someone handed me a baby. But that's another blog post.

 #5)  Your house is constantly a mess.

I don't care if you're Martha Stewart on steroids and meth, there is just no way to have a clean house and your sanity when you have three children. With two, it was hard, but it could be done - with three, it is impossible. As soon as I clean up one mess, another one has been made. What took 2 seconds to spill on the floor takes half an hour to clean up. Then there's just the general maintenance stuff and the Never. Ending. Laundry. And I'm a stay-at-home mom! I can't imagine what I would do if I also worked full-time, so kudos to those moms who do! That's why I absolutely love this infographic:

#6) You cannot get anywhere, on time, ever.

It literally takes a minimum of 2.5 hours to get ready for church and that's IF I get the kids' clothes ready the night before and don't bother with hair and makeup.  There's the outfits and the diaper bag and the thermos of hot water mixed with prune juice because we have a picky baby with constipation issues (All three kids have this issue. Yes, I have talked to the doctor. Yes, they drink plenty of water, eat plenty of fiber, etc etc... I am just thankful it's not something worse.) and the extra clothes and did we remember to bring the donuts for breakfast/covered dish for the luncheon/other random church thing?  Let's not even get into having to get the oldest up and ready for school THAT STARTS AT 7:40AM every single day after the baby FINALLY went to back sleep at 6:30. We should have a sign outside our door that says, "Welcome to Crazytown, USA; here's your hat, the parade is on Thursday!"

#7)  Going anywhere is (almost) not worth it.

Those of you with no children or only one, well behaved child: please know that we love you dearly and we would give our right arm to be able to go out with you to the cute little wine bar and then tapas and then dinner afterward but...well... we'd give both arms for an extra hour of sleep. Sorry. This reason is pretty much a given with children. We happen to have two pretty calm older kids, they sleep well, eat well, play well, and are generally content with what they're given. The youngest is still just a baby, so her personality still remains a mystery, but I'm willing to bet she won't stray too far the other direction.  Even so, we have to plan every minute detail in order to even get out of the house and into the car. When I go to the grocery store by myself (and yes, it does happen), I have to have a plan of action that would rival General Patton's at the Battle of the Bulge. Which store I'm going to defines which baby restraint devices I will be taking with me, most of which stay in the car all the time. In the back of my trusty white Jeep there are typically several of these devices: the Sit N Stand, an umbrella stroller, the Moby wrap, the Baby Bjorn type carrier, and the little owl backpack with a leash. Yes, I have a leash for my child, I am that mom. So sue me, he loves it.  Anywho, if I'm going to Wal-Mart (or any other place where the basket will only fit a single child up front), I know that the baby will go in the wrap, the older baby will go in the basket/buggy/cart seat, and the oldest will either walk, or she'll sit in the big part of the basket/buggy/cart ON YOUR BOTTOM FOR THE 37 THOUSANDTH TIME SO HELP ME GOD and play with my phone.

So, as you can probably tell, I was going to do the "Top 10" reasons but due to #2 and #3, 7 is the best I can do.  While writing this, I realized that I'm still such a newbie at this whole parenting thing, I mean seriously, I've only been a mom for FIVE YEARS. I should write another list when I hit 10 years. If I'm still alive and/or sane. No promises though.

Lead on Leave: A Labor of Love.

I try to steer clear of political issues, but this particular one has touched the lives of my family and my friends. The U.S. is the only industrialized nation that doesn't provide paid maternity leave. We're the only ones, folks. What does that say about the way we value our families and children? It says very little, my friends. 

Or maybe it says a lot. 

If parents (yes, Dad too) had the resources to be able to stay home while acclimating to life with a new baby, maybe having more children wouldn't be viewed so much as a hardship (or just plain crazy), but instead the blessing that it is. Whether it's the first time or the fifth time, life with a newborn (or a new child if you've adopted) is extremely hard. Kevin and I are blessed to have an employer who is willing to work with us when I need extra help at home, but so many do not have what we have. And I'm not picking on employers, I get it, who can afford that? But even then, if I would've known for sure that Kevin would be provided with a few weeks of paid leave after a new baby (I'm not even asking for 12 weeks, 2 would be awesome!), postpartum depression wouldn't have been as much of a concern because I would've been assured that I would have the help I needed in order to actually recover from childbirth. (Wait, you mean that recovering from 9 months of constant energy depleting work and then adding labor and birth and a screaming baby on top of it actually takes time? Mind blowing.) And just in case you didn't know, having a baby isn't exactly a vacation, in fact, it's pretty much the opposite of a vacation, so it kinda stinks to have to use vacation and sick leave in order to have some semblance of recovery. (By the way, did you know that men can also suffer from PPD? Yeah, it's not just a girl disease.) Women in the US (at least according to our media and celebrity culture) are expected to jump out of bed an hour after birth and run a marathon while exclusively breastfeeding with little effort and showing off their post baby body in a string bikini. It's ridiculous. Maybe if more women were encouraged to take care of themselves as well as their children, we would have healthier families overall. The UK sends midwives to new mothers' houses to check on them and the baby for 6 weeks after birth, but we're expected to make our own appointment with a busy doctor and initiate any serious conversation about postpartum issues, often being cut off at the pass by the receptionist. I kid you not, when I called to make my appointment after Jacob and mentioned that I had been struggling with PPD - diagnosed by a doctor!!! - she had the nerve to tell me that I couldn't have postpartum depression because I was too far past childbirth (6 weeks? Really? Studies show it can develop anytime within the first year and last for 2 to 3 years if not treated). When I asked what I was supposed to do, she stumbled and bumbled around until she finally said I needed to call my GP instead. Knowing the importance of getting help, I did just that, but what about the young single mom who is struggling with depression for the first time and may not have the presence of mind to know that receptionist had no idea what she was talking about and overstepped her bounds by giving out false medical information over the phone? Who will help her when she may be unable to help herself?

Businesses will clamor that they can't afford to pay for more leave, others will clamor that the government will raise our taxes in order to help cover expenses - and they will all have valid points - but could we, as a nation, at least start a conversation rather than an argument? Strong healthy families = a strong healthy nation. Check out the video below. #leadonleave 

http://www.dol.gov/featured/paidleave/

Third time's the charm, Part Two.

Okay, you've waited so patiently, so here it is!

So, we finished up lunch at one of our favorite local spots, Arden's, an all you can eat comfort food buffet. It's run by two local women as part of a ministry to recovering addicts and alcoholics who have been recently released back into normal life.  They give them a job and a support team as they get back on their feet - and the food is incredible.  I had a few "niggles" in church and at lunch, but no contractions to really pay attention to, and I enjoyed our time together with our good friends Janis and Stanley. We said our byes when we were done and headed back towards our house. On the way, I started having more noticeable contractions, getting a little painful, and getting pretty regular. At one point, Kevin was explaining the intricacies of the oil pressure sensor switch and how to test it and change it out when he noticed that I was grabbing the door handle and closing my eyes, not talking, but trying to nod politely as he spoke.  He stopped in the middle of a sentence and said, "Okay, I think I'll stop talking now."  Yes, yes, that might be a good idea. As we got closer to the house, I told him my plan was to go straight to the bathtub and if the warm water didn't help to slow down the contractions, that we should probably head to the hospital.  After about 10 minutes, I decided it was better to be safe than sorry and gave him the go ahead.  He called our dear friend and one of our resident Florida grandmas, "Grammy" Karon, so she could wrangle the older two and we would head up to the hospital.  At this point, I still wasn't actually in pain, but the contractions were enough to make me pay attention to them and they were definitely real labor.  We got to the hospital and were taken straight up to Land D.  When we arrived, all was quiet - apparently we were the only people there!  We conversed with the nurses and explained our situation, how I wasn't in full active labor yet, but since it was our third child and the second had come so quickly, we figured it would be better to go early.  They must have reviewed my notes from Jacob's birth because they told us to skip triage and to go straight into one of the labor and delivery rooms to be monitored instead.  This instantly relieved much of my anxiety since one of the worst parts of Jacob's labor was being stuck in triage with about 10 other women, almost no privacy, progressing rapidly, and not having anyone's undivided attention. They assessed me and I was between a 3 and 4, about 40% effaced, but having regular, good contractions.  Abigail was head down and low, but still not low enough to kick in active labor, so they called the CNM on call (Breana) from my OB office and asked what she thought.  She recommended having me "walk walk walk" to see if we could get Abigail to drop any more. She didn't want to send me home just yet, but since I was not yet 39 weeks, she didn't want to augment my labor right away either.  I was totally okay with this and so we started walking. I hadn't done a whole lot of walking on my own because I didn't want to tire myself out before labor actually started, knowing it could've still been days or weeks before Abbie was ready, but since I was on my way to established labor, I was glad to be walking and out of bed.  One woman arrived to be monitored and another arrived to be admitted, but other than that, all was still quiet on the floor.

Walking laps! Don't you love my hair-do, outfit, and accessories??

One of my favorite parts of the whole experience (Yes, I have a favorite part of labor...I know, I know, go ahead and roll your eyes. I'll wait...) was getting to fellowship with the staff.  I say "fellowship" because we truly were surrounded by fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, each with an obvious passion for helping others. I've seen my sister and other nurses I know go above and beyond for their patients, truly becoming the hands and feet of Christ, caring deeply about many of them when no one else does, not even their families. My sister remembered each one of her residents and grieved when they died. Nurses and doctors are who I think of when I read Matthew 25:40, "The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'" The L and D staff was sitting at the nurses station, talking and laughing, and we stopped every few laps to visit and get to know the people in charge of caring for us and Abigail. They saw on our registration form that Kevin was a pastor (that's always a big topic of conversation and questions) and this was the catalyst for many of them opening up and sharing their own beliefs with us. There was a younger guy sitting with the nurses who was talking about how it bothered him to see so much wasted food there at the hospital and at restaurants as well and how he wished there was some way to save that food but the laws seemed so strict. Kevin chimed in and shared how they encountered similar issues at the local food pantry (he's on the board) and that it was usually one person with a bad attitude, looking for a reason to sue, that ruined it for everyone else and that's why the laws are as strict as they are concerning leftover food, but agreed that it was unfair for everyone else. It was nice to see that these people not only cared about their patients, but that they cared about others as well.  We finished our conversation and continued to walk laps. As we rounded the corner to head back to the nurses station, the young man was waiting for us beside the desk. He introduced himself to us as the nurse anesthetist and he would be the one handling pain management for me - turns out these wonderful nurses had made sure that he was around just in case I needed him. He was on call for the night and so far, I was the only patient there, so he got everything ready for us in the likely case that I was admitted and told me once I was in the system, to just let him know when I was ready, and he would put in my epidural.  This relieved (almost all of) the rest of my anxiety as I now knew that pain relief would come quickly once I felt I needed it.  We told him about my previous labor and he told me not to worry, he had done epidurals at 9 and 10 centimeters and said as long as I could be still for long enough to get the needle and catheter in, he could do it with no issues.  I wanted to hug him, but since I had just met him, I decided a big smile, handshake, and thank you would suffice.  We made a few more laps and stopped so I could be checked again. Abigail was a full station lower and I was now a solid 4 cm.  They told me I could stay in the room and wait for them to call Breana again or I could walk some more; I chose to walk because being mobile really helped the contractions stay in the bearable range.  So we continued on our path, chuckling to ourselves over the "Quiet Zone, silence is healing" sign - our last experience had been anything but quiet! Right before the shift change, Karen, my nurse, wanted to check me one more time so she could update the incoming nurse on my progress.  Abigail was no longer "ballotable", which meant she was fully engaged and active labor would be starting any time.  She called Breana, who gave the go ahead for me to be admitted, and they started my IV to pump me full of fluids in preparation for the epidural.  Damien (AKA the angel in blue scrubs with magic drugs) came in and asked me if I was ready for my epidural.  I said sure, since he was there and I was already at a 4. I knew I could progress quickly and since I wasn't in much pain, I might as well start out ahead of the curve.  He asked me if I wanted an epidural and a spinal, or just an epidural, explaining that the difference was a spinal was fast acting and would provide relief in 1 minute, while the epidural would provide relief in 10 to 15 minutes.  He also let me know that the spinal being done first would help him be able to control my blood pressure level a little more and to bolus the epidural more slowly so that I wouldn't get nauseous.  Again, knowing how fast I could progress and the problems I had had with my blood pressure dropping with Karis, I chose the spinal and epidural. He also asked me how many church members knew I had a tattoo on my back, I laughed and replied that I honestly didn't know, I never attempted to hide it, but it's not in the most visible spot either.  As for the actual epidural, the only pain I felt was the needle with the numbing agent, which was little more than a pinch, and soon I felt my lower body growing warm and the contractions melting away. This was such a relief, especially since I had back labor with Karis - the epidural had helped, but it didn't take away the pain. This time, there was no back labor, just blessed pain-free pressure.

Regular, strong, and painless! Woot!

 He clearly knew what he was doing because I could feel the pressure I needed to feel and I could feel it getting stronger, but the pain was totally gone. Time went by and I tried to rest while Kevin read.  I knew I was progressing because the pressure slowly began to increase and get lower (although it still didn't hurt at all). I suddenly felt really nauseous and had Kevin grab the bathroom trashcan for me since I couldn't get out of bed. As I graced the trash can with leftover Arden's, I wished I hadn't eaten such a big lunch, but was relieved that I felt better once I was done instead of staying nauseous. My new nurse, Nadine, came in and brought me washcloths and a syringe full of Zofran to help the nausea. She checked me and I had progressed some more and was getting close to transition.  After a while, we heard Abigail's heart rate dip during a couple of contractions and soon Breana and Nadine hurried in to check my progression again. I was about to tell them about the dips when I heard Breana telling Nadine that the "decels" meant that her head was being compressed and that she had probably moved lower.  Sure enough, they checked and she had moved into a positive station, so Breana broke my water for me and they started a low dose of Pitocin - with our permission - to keep things moving in the right direction. We were all tired and there wasn't an on-call room available for Breana, so I thought moving things along was in everyone's best interest! Had I not had an epidural, I'm not sure I would've agreed to Pitocin, but in this case, it actually helped.  After another hour or so, I told Nadine that I was feeling "pushy" with the pressure and that I thought I was probably complete. She checked and sure enough, I was. Breana came back in, along with another nurse and the tray of instruments, just in case. The whole situation was a little surreal to me, it was so calm and pleasant, no yelling or grunting or panicking, just a peaceful "run of the mill" birth. Kevin wasn't turning green or swaying, I wasn't in pain, but could feel enough to be able to push, honestly, it was just perfect. Breana was relieved that she was coming so quickly because when we were done, she would be able to go home and sleep instead of trying in vain to find an on call room to sleep in. I laughed (apparently I laughed a lot) told her that I was not a great pusher and that I would need some direction, to which she laughed and said "Don't tell me that!"  She refreshed me on the "method" and we got ready. She told me to push with the next contraction and I did, but almost immediately she said, "Wait! Not that much!", so I backed off a little. I was waiting to push again when I heard Breana say, "Awww! She's just a little peanut!"  I looked at Kevin, who looked back at me, both of us a little confused as to how she could possibly know that - until we realized Abigail was already out!  Breana held her up and placed her on my chest and the first thing that popped out of my mouth was, "Oh Abigail! You're so tiny!"  She truly was a tiny little thing, 6 lbs even and 19 inches long. Her head was only 13 cm so it's no wonder she didn't need much of a push!

Happy mommy, tiny baby!

The whole labor and delivery experience with Abigail was similar to my experience with Karis, but more laid back and serene because we had done this twice already and knew what to expect (for the most part).  I'd been told many times that the third child is the "wild card" in many ways and that was true for me too, she was my smallest baby, earliest baby, but longest labor - clocking in at just under 12 hours.

There's a song by Phillips, Craig, and Dean that I love called "Your Grace Still Amazes Me". That's how I felt about this particular birth - I could honestly feel the hand of God guiding us through the entire labor experience and paving the way for us and Abbie.  My dear friend Julie had reminded me earlier in the week (when I was freaking out) that God had been faithful to honor my wishes with Jacob when I wanted to have an unmedicated birth experience, and he would be faithful to help us out this time as well, I just had to trust him.  I thought about it and realized she was right, he was faithful to my hopes last time and honestly, perhaps it was his grace that allowed Jacob's birth to be fast and furious and Abigail's to be slow and steady as he knows me more intimately than anyone else and knew what my body and mind could handle.  Now, I'm not saying that God isn't involved in other births (for example Karis' birth, he was present with us, but we controlled many aspects of her birth, like being electively induced because I/we just couldn't wait any longer, etc.), he definitely is - what I mean is I think there's something to be said for his followers who consciously invite God into every corner of their lives and then watch for him to show up instead of trying to control it themselves. Any of us who have experienced this know that we are not disappointed - and often blown away by his provision as it turns out better than we could have imagined. It may not be exactly what we expect, but that's the beautiful thing about trying to pray the way Jesus prayed and not how we often want to pray - thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven; not my will, but thy will be done.  There's a scary and refreshing lack of specifics in those prayers, giving God the type of wild freedom that often scares us.  Think about what it means to give someone freedom - it means that you are relinquishing control of that person, that they can make their own choices and do their own thing.  I believe that when we give God that freedom (and he does not take it from us, it is something we choose to give), we ourselves are freed from anxiety and expectations and our eyes are opened to what God is really doing - and really, where else would you rather be than right in the middle of God's work?  Even when it includes things that were not in my plans (like 3 children), I know that I would not want to be anywhere else. My heart overflows with love for these sweet babies that have taken my life by storm; they are my miracles, my blessings. Thanks be to God.

Third time's the charm, Part 1.

(Disclaimer: If you get grossed out or offended by pregnancy and birth stories, I would recommend that you not read this.)

At 12:31am this past Monday morning (or as Kevin likes to say, "Zero Dark Thirty-One"), our lives changed forever - again. Abigial, meet world; world, meet Abigial.

Me and my squishy!

Our gestational journey this time started back in October, when Jacob was just 7 months old. After three home pregnancy tests, it was time to face the music and schedule an ultrasound.  I was still in denial, thinking perhaps the two blue lines, pink plus sign, and clearly digital "Pregnant" display were merely some sort of cruel joke my hormones were playing on me. Perhaps leftover hCG from my previous pregnancy or a cyst of some sort...or maybe even early menopause... As funny as it sounds now, all of these options seemed just as plausible to my dazed mind as the possibility of another pregnancy. But sure enough, as I laid on the ultrasound table and stared at the screen, there it was - a beautiful and terrifying little heartbeat, pumping wildly, singing a song of wonder and possibilities.  Not even in our craziest dreams had we entertained the actual possibility of having three kids. We barely ended up with two after my awful pregnancy and delivery with Karis prevented me from exploring the idea of planning any more children.  My pregnancy with Jacob wasn't much easier and my labor and delivery experience with him was enough to leave me shaking in terror at the thought of doing it again.  I lived the first 4 months of the pregnancy in fear, chaos, and the ever present denial.

My sanity-saving grace?  The Gethsemane prayer - Father, not my will, but your will be done.

I knew that if God wasn't going to change my circumstances that I would need a heart change in order to be able to deal with a new pregnancy.  Deep down, I didn't really want God to change my circumstances, I was just scared, and what I really needed was a new lease on life.  My plans had been turned to rubbish - my classes, degree, and dreams were being put on hold, again.  Suddenly, it became quite clear to me that my role at this particular time in my life was that of a full-time mom and wife and I wasn't totally sure how I felt about that.  So, I did the best I could and took it one day at a time.

Months passed and around 34 weeks, I started feeling contractions - real ones, not Braxton Hicks, as they were causing changes in dilation and effacement. They would start and stop daily, often reaching the "5-1-1" rule, but never strong or regular enough for me to go to the hospital. My test was if I could go to sleep, I would either wake up in real labor or they would be gone. I remembered going through the same thing with Jacob and knew that this was "prodromal" labor/irritable uterus, which was later confirmed by my doctor's office.  My greatest fear now was that these early contractions would progress me slowly to the point of active labor -- and then all hell would break loose again. About 4 days before I went into labor for real, I had a massive panic attack and breakdown over the prospect of having another precipitous labor. The truth is while it is "short and sweet", it is also intensely painful as your body is taken by surprise and loses it's ability to produce endorphins effectively. I called Kevin, who came home and listened to me blubber about what all I was feeling and how scared I was. He hugged me and asked, half jokingly, how many emotions I was feeling - 10? 1000? Eleventy billion?  I laughed weakly and said, "All of the above." He then asked, on a more serious note, "Which emotion is the strongest?"  "Fear", I said, instantly feeling the blood in my veins run cold.  His response was this: "I know you're scared, but remember, fear is just an emotion, you don't have to let it be reality." I remembered a conversation earlier about how Jesus probably didn't feel  that he was being faithful when he cried out to God on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" - but that didn't mean he wasn't faithful. Our emotions are not always reality, even though they may feel that way.  I knew he was right. I am so thankful for my kind-hearted, loving, funny husband who not only understood my needs in that moment but was able to help me wade through them. I was most afraid of not making it to the hospital in time for pain medication - my experience with Jacob was too fresh in my mind to intentionally attempt natural childbirth again, and scenes of an over-filled triage room and too busy to listen nurses filled my mind.  I texted back and forth with my friend Julie (who was also so encouraging!), discussing various things, when it suddenly occurred to me that instead of just freaking out, maybe I should turn to Scripture and find my comfort there.  Not having my actual Bible with me, I went to the next best thing - Google! - and typed in "scriptures for new moms".  That led me to a blog post of 10 scriptures for new moms and a link to a previous blog post that included 10 scriptures for surviving pregnancy.  They were all good ones, but the one that reached out and grabbed me was from Isaiah 43.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze...

You are precious and honored in my sight...

I love you.

Forget the former things;

    do not dwell on the past.
19 See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland."

As I read it over and over and prayed (again) for God to take the lead over labor and delivery, a peace washed over me. I broke down and cried tears of repentance and joy. I knew God had heard me and that he would be faithful. He created me and he created Abigail, he knew us both more intimately than I could imagine, and only He could see into the future and determine the right time and place.  So, I waited.  Over the next several days, I could sense labor was drawing close, but I was no longer obsessed with trying to control it. I tried to relax and carry on as normal, knowing that when the time was right, I would know what to do.  On Sunday, I went to church with my family, but since the kids in my Sunday School class were either at camp or in Orlando, I was able to visit the Lillies of the Field class, a multi-generational class of women taught by a retired lawyer who also happens to be one of our deacons, Carol.  It was wonderful to sit and listen and be taught instead of teaching and I loved being in the midst of women older than I who had the experience and wisdom that I needed to hear.  They encouraged and commiserated with me, prayed for me, and listened to me.  We went to church and heard a wonderful message from my wonderful husband from Romans 8 (one of my favorite passages). He pointed out that Romans 8:1 is just as true as Romans 6:23, but that we tend to forget that.  He placed a large red trash can at the front of the church and had us fill out small pieces of red paper with things that we still held in our hearts that we felt deserved condemnation - those little sins that seem to hold on and guilt us into not forgiving ourselves and others - even when God has.  I wrote down several things, two of which were "emotional desperation" and "fear". Along with my fellow church members, I threw them away and walked back to my seat, accepting that God did not condemn me and I would not condemn myself.  Feeling lighter and freer than I had in weeks, I left church with my family and went to lunch.

To be continued...

To be or not to be, who really knows?

'An article by Marv Knox has sparked an interesting conversation on Facebook. I didn't want to hijack my friend's post, so I thought I'd move some of my musings to my blog. Here's the original article:  http://www.baptiststandard.com/opinion/editorial/16108-editorial-knowing-and-claiming-god-s-will and here is the question my friend posed:  What do you think about, worry about, and struggle with when it comes to discerning the will of God? The conversation included many people telling about friends or people saying "God told me" followed by something self-serving or contrary to what Scripture teaches us about the character of God and how discernment often relies on what Scripture teaches us to be true about God.

Honestly, the few times in my life I feel I heard directly from God, it had to do with overcoming sin in my own life - and that's the difference between the obvious and the murky for me, what I know is His will (overcoming sin) and a "declaration of intention" based on feelings or leanings (like "I've been called to ministry!"). (For the record, I'm not picking on ministers, you'll understand later why I used that example.) Feelings can be so misleading. My pastor (and husband) pointed out just how misleading in a Bible Study discussion the other day. He asked if Jesus felt faithful when he cried out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!" on the cross. Boy that's a question that will stop you in your tracks. I can't speak for Jesus, but my guess would be probably not, I know when I ponder the same question, I certainly do not feel faithful. But then he followed it up with another question: whether or not Jesus felt faithful - was he faithful? To that, we gave an emphatic "Yes!"  I guess we'll have to wait to ask Jesus what He was actually feeling in that moment, but for me, it was encouraging to hear that I can doubt and still be faithful even in the midst of my doubt. We give Thomas such a bad rap, but seriously, if all the disciples didn't have some sort of doubt, then why were they hiding? Doubt is not the point. Someone once said that the opposite of faith is not doubt - the opposite of faith is certainty. It's an interesting point. Certainty is found in proof and faith does not, cannot rely on proof - otherwise, it's not faith - right? (Again, I'm not claiming an answer as much as I'm pondering many answers.) We will doubt, but even in the midst, we must still push on towards the light.

I know all too well how my emotions can get the best of me. In my deepest darkest times, I can convince myself that literally no one cares about me and I'm completely alone. The last time I tried this, a church member drove by the parking lot I was in at that very moment - the very same church member who filled in for me in Sunday school when I was sick and was ready for the lesson the next week too - just in case. I realized how stupid I was being - here I am feeling alone and loveless when living proof of the opposite drives right by. Feelings are not truth - they are feelings. Isn't doubt a feeling? Sometimes it's validated, sometimes it's not. What about faith though...does faith go beyond feeling? I think it does. 

Was it God's will for that church member to drive by? What if I had chosen to go to a different store first? Would I have gone against the will of God? What if that church member had gone a different way? This leads to the next part of the discussion - are we discerning the specific or general will of God?  Is there a difference?

As for a direct, specific will for my life, that's tough for me to swallow at times.  Almost a year ago I had what I felt was an epiphany in a worship service that had been surrounded by various workshops and experiences. I felt that God was leading me to a life in ministry - specifically in worship (not just music - worship. There's a difference.). I knew that the best way to accomplish this was to go back to school, so after seeking the counsel of those older, wiser, and more mature than I, I transferred my credits to a four year university and proceeded to finish the undergrad degree I started many years ago. I am pursuing a BA in Psychology because I love psychology and understanding what drives people to do what they do. I took 3 classes, managed to get A's in all three, and signed up for 3 more the following semester. About a week before my final exams and projects, I discovered that I was pregnant. Again. 

I was blindsided. We were done having babies and had taken steps to ensure this wouldn't happen. We followed all the rules and even took extra steps, we were so responsible. But apparently, being responsible doesn't always matter. Suddenly, I was in the shoes of the people I'd only read about and (gulp) openly criticized - the "pregnant again within a year" shoes. How could we afford another child? We were still paying astronomical bills from my son's birth only seven months earlier. I was in the midst of battling postpartum depression and had finally began to emerge from my sleep deprived, panic driven state of mind. I had had an epiphany for crying out loud! I was ashamed of my thoughts: God, how could you allow this to happen?  

The will of God. The power of God. The control of God. Faith. Name it and claim it, move mountains and cast them into the sea...right?

What was the truth? How did this news fit in with what I was so sure was the plan for me? Had I gotten too bogged in specifics? Is my true calling as a follower of Christ already outlined in Jesus' words to his disciples passed down to us - The Sermon on the Mount, caring for the least of these, love God and your neighbor, love one another as I have loved you - regardless of whether I'm a mother or a minister or a mogul or a mobster? Do I ask the wrong questions, like,"God, which house should I live in?" while God is going, "Feed the poor, love your neighbor, and quit worrying about houses!"? Maybe I complicate it by being "me minded" and not "kingdom minded". Maybe it was God's will to give my kids a sister and I was standing in the way. What do we do when our idea of God's will opposes someone else's? Who wins?

But, even then, I could still argue with myself and say there is a specific will and there are times I felt led by God to a specific place and time and person as well and looking back, I'm still sure of it.  Maybe God does both, tells us in Scripture not to worry about clothes and food and houses, but still leads us to the home that will help us be better stewards or have caring neighbors or whatever because we're human and we're often dumb and faithless and we just need help. This is all an example of my human limitations - I just don't know sometimes. Maybe if Adam and Eve had eaten from the other tree, we wouldn't have to worry about it. Who knows. But even in my blindsided, heavy doubt, I still chase God and try to figure out where I fit in His Kingdom. Maybe I need to learn something from my three kids before a BA in Psychology could help me in worship ministry. Again, who knows?

So what about limitations? We know we are limited - but what about God? Is He limited? Some say yes, others say no.

Consider the gift of free will. Is it a limitation?  Maybe. A limitation put on God by God himself and if so, is it really a limitation? Can't God overcome it whenever He wants? How could God be limited and sovereign?  Do the words "limitation" and" sovereign" mean to God what they mean to us? My best guess on that one is probably not.

I think the case could be made that Jesus got frustrated with the disciples because of this "self-limiting" - He obviously desired (willed?) for them to have more faith but he did not (could not?) force them. Again, where does sovereignty fit in? If Jesus was fully God and fully man, was he still sovereign? Scripture seems to teach that he was, he could've called down angels to deliver him at any point. But wasn't He still limited in some things? If not, why then would he cry over Jerusalem? It's an issue that has perplexed us for centuries.

The conclusion that we came to was that God is capable of speaking in many different ways and that we shouldn't be so quick to shut down someone simply because they hear from God differently than we do - but we must still use the plumb line of Scripture to determine if it seems like something God would say.  A little reminiscent of "judge not lest you be judged", with a healthy dose of "shrewdness" and "love" thrown in, don't you think?

Strike three, you're out?

Since we are now expecting child numero tres, I've been giving some major thought to discipline techniques. I really believe the key to effective discipline is love, respect, and consistency and I have such a hard time being consistent. I get frustrated and yell or discipline for a behavior that is simply annoying me when that behavior may simply be childish, but not wrong.  Even worse is when the behavior is perfectly normal and it's my stress level that's causing me to be annoyed and I yell anyway. Struggling with postpartum depression has not made this particular part of life any easier, but I am determined to try my best in preventing my own personal struggles from negatively affecting my children, if at all possible.

Our oldest is 4 1/2, she'll be 5 in July, and she's really been testing boundaries lately.  She's a lot like me in that she is very sensitive and her strongest love language right now is "words of affirmation", she needs to be told "Good job", "I love you", "I'm so proud of you", etc; but she can also be a tad stubborn and a little dramatic (she obviously gets that from my husband. Just kidding, that part is from me too...).  So the other day, I caught myself scolding her for the eleventy billionth time that day, and suddenly, I heard myself through her ears. I felt like I did nothing but gripe at her and I hated that, and if I feel that way, how is it making her feel? I was doing the exact opposite of what I know makes her feel loved. I knew that something had to change and that something was my attitude towards my daughter. This sort of behavior from an adult towards a child can be very damaging, not just in the moment, but in years to come - especially when that child needs love and words of affirmation like they need food and water.  Psychology has proven over and over that reward systems do a much better job of encouraging good behavior than constant negative comments or physical punishment, but I (and many others) still believe that we need to teach our kids about consequences as well, because the world certainly will when they're adults.  I've seen several posts on Pinterest that advocate consequence jars, which I think are a great idea, so I took the idea and modified it a bit for our family.  Here's a picture of what our system looks like:

The Strike Jar, the Good Job Treat Basket, and the Good Job Jar.

Many of the systems only include a consequence jar and one of the most popular consequences is having to do a household chore. I see household chores as a part of every day life and using them as a punishment can backfire, so I didn't include any chores in our "Strike!" jar.  I also think rewarding good behavior is just as important, if not more important, than disciplining bad behavior, so I've included a "Good Job!" jar in our system.  Basically anything that makes us spontaneously say, "Good job!!!" counts, whether that's taking a good nap at preschool or cleaning up her room without having to be asked.  Each jar works the same way: Get 3 "strikes" and you draw a consequence; get 3 "good jobs" and you draw a reward. Each jar includes three clips so that we can keep up with how many she has.  The basket in the middle is the "Good Job Treat Basket", there's several slips of paper in the "Good job" jar that allow for a choice from the basket, which is filled with all sorts of goodies.  I leave it out to serve as a reminder to think before we act. Other rewards in the jar are getting to go out for ice cream or a treat, or getting to rent a movie from Redbox. Some of the consequences we included are losing TV/iPad time, losing a toy for a few days, or losing a skirt (she LOVES wearing skirts to school, so this is a good motivator). There's also a few "grace" slips in the "Strike!" jar, that was the part of the whole idea that originally appealed to me.  These are the things that work for our family and they may not work for everyone, but reading a few examples helped me form my own. Since our daughter is only 4, I keep the rewards and consequences pretty immediate, otherwise, it loses it's effectiveness. As she gets older, I'll introduce letting her earn money to buy treats and other things like that in order to encourage patience and perseverance. 

Do you have a discipline system in place? How does it work for you?  Has it changed as your kids have gotten older?