On motherhood

Before and after this, there are accomplishments. Awards. Degrees. Tests passed. Jobs offered. Promotions given. Papers published. Goals reached. Mine for the taking, and keeping.

But in this strange, sweet stretch of my life there is no credit for my work. There is no public praise. My efforts are sometimes rewarded with hugs from tiny arms. "I love you"s spoken in sweet baby breath. The laughter of little boys. But these treasures are gone like a mist the instant they appear. Poof. No proof. I cannot hold on. Hard as I try, I cannot pile them up and keep them.

Every day I write an epic story in disappearing ink. Holding. Feeding. Cleaning, diapering and dressing. Encouraging. Drying tears. Instructing. Teaching. Prodding. Planning. Thinking ahead. Anticipating their needs. Teaching them to anticipate their needs. Reading. Pretending. Imagining. Comforting. And feeding and washing and dressing again. When I do my job well, all that's left at the end of the day is two little boys clean, fed, and tucked safely into bed. The work, and their growth, is unseen by everyone but the Lord. It all falls away. The only thing that remains is them and their precious hearts. And the next day we begin again.

To the casual (ignorant) observer I am losing years, and one day will have nothing to show for this time I spent at home "just raising kids". There will be a yawning gap in my resume and a noticeable lag in my professional skills. Sometimes I worry that playing in the yard or cuddling on the couch, or reading the same book for the fiftieth time is not the best use of my time. And by my old selfish standards it isn't. But it's the best use of their time and reminding myself of that soothes my pride and calms my worries. For the first time in my life I work purely for the good of someone besides myself. Only the Lord is here to witness my work. But He will hold on to them. He will keep them. This is no accomplishment. This is the care of souls.

Samuel Randall

He's here! Little Sam surprised us and arrived three weeks early on August 18th at 8:09 pm.

He was a tiny little thing - 7lbs 5oz and 20 inches - born healthy, strong, and screaming mad.

It's been the most overwhelming blessing to watch our family of three expand to four.

All three of us love him to pieces.

36 weeks and dating my Michael

Friday morning I woke up to my weekly pregnancy update on my phone:

Congratulations! You are 36 weeks (9 months) pregnant!

Even when you feel 9 months pregnant it's a little shocking to see it in print like that. Over the last couple of weeks I've been doing a great job of nesting and checking to-dos off my list, but I haven't been appreciating these last days alone with Michael as much as I should. So, I decided we'd go on a date that morning - no errands, no chores, just me and Michael doing things he loves. 

When the heat index is 108* (as it has been here for nearly a week), nothing sounds as good to me as the nice cold mall. It probably wouldn't have been Michael's first choice, but on this particular day I decided we'd go to the fancy mall - the one with a carousel, and a pet store, and a Disney store, and fountains and a giant fish tank - so I knew he'd be happy. Also, I had birthday money from my parents burning a hole in my pocket, and the fancy mall has the closest Anthro, so that settled it. We put on our fancy mall clothes and off we went. 

We were only there for two hours, and I didn't buy Michael anything but a pinkberry, but we had a great time. He took his sweet time and chose just the right animal to ride on the carousel (a frog). We spent 45 minutes at the pet store - Michael chattering away to the birds and rabbits, both of us fawning over a feisty little pup who looked just like my childhood pup, Patty. We tested the entire line of Toy Story toys at the Disney store very thoroughly. We shared our first pinkberry - good! - and rode the elevators. Michael ran along beside the stroller most of the time. I didn't rush him or direct him too much, I just kept snapping pictures and taking in his happiness.

Once we were back home I started to feel a little sad that this chapter is coming to an end. Most of the time I'm so focused on what's ahead with the new baby, I only feel excitement. But our morning together was so sweet and fun, and Michael has been my little sidekick for so long now, the realization that change was right around the corner made my stomach turn. Then I remembered that when I was a girl (in a family with four children) my Dad made time to do special dates with each of us. I loved those dates and they always made me feel so special. They were never fancy or expensive dates, but I got to choose what we did and the emphasis was on spending time together - going to the beach and taking pictures, going to an art museum, and going to the movies stand out as some of my favorite memories. 

So, instead of feeling sad I've made a resolution to start having regular dates with Michael. I'm hoping Tim and I can each have one special date with him per month - no baby brother, no pressure to get things done, no agenda - just enjoying some one-on-one time and letting Michael's happiness be our guide. It's such a simple concept, but one that gets lost in the day-to-day bustle far too easily. 

A big brother for bun

22 weeks

My pregnancy app tells me that at the end of this week I'll be six months pregnant (six months!) and I have yet to write a true pregnancy post about this sweet little nugget on the way. I could feel guilty about this - I want to celebrate every checkup, every kick in my tummy, every craving and every little thing that makes this pregnancy special as I did with Michael - but I don't feel guilty. Not at all. I'm pouring myself into my first baby right now.

I've been praying and, at times, hanging on by a thread through these "terrible twos" (which actually started around 20 months) and I think we're finally emerging on the other side. God heard my exasperated prayers for patience and guidance and whatever it was that Michael needed. And after a while when I didn't know what else to pray for I just hugged him, and loved him, and let him cling to me and push other people away for a while. I stopped trying to force Michael to grow out of that phase, and loved him through it instead. Then, one day after months of him refusing to talk to strangers without getting upset, he struck up a conversation with a woman in the grocery store, grinning and telling her about "fishies". A few days later at church, he ran through the door into Bible class without me and didn't look back. He started playing pretend games with his Dad in the evenings that didn't include me. Just like that, a piece of the terrible twos was over.

Just like when he finally started sleeping through the night, and when he stopped nursing - he did it when he was ready. I couldn't make it happen, and I couldn't have predicted when it would happen. And, I'm sure there will still be rocky times ahead, but he's ready and he has let go of me a little bit more. Where once there was a timid, demanding, clingy toddler, now there is a happy, confident, independent, funny, loving little boy. Just the kind of kid who is meant to be a big brother. Just the kind of big brother I want for our second baby.

So I'm going to keep covering him in love and attention and adventures outside and trips to the zoo and all the things that make him come alive with excitement. I'm going to build him up as strong as I can for all of the changes that will come with the arrival of his little brother. There probably won't be a lot of blog posts or an elaborate baby book awaiting this baby when he is born, but he will have a big brother ready and waiting to love him. And he will have a mama who is just a little more peaceful, a little more sure of herself than she was the first time around.

Mother's Day - 23 weeks

~linking up with Jellibean Journals~

Two

It's getting harder and harder to write about Michael. Tomorrow he will turn two. My heart is so full of love for this boy I don't even know where to begin. When he was a baby, I used to keep track of his stats for each month - weight, new teeth, new skills, consecutive hours slept, etc. It's easy with a baby. You meet their needs and you cheer with pride at every new milestone reached. It's so much fuzzier now. His personality becomes more distinct every day, and he's constantly learning and absorbing. Every day we're thrilled by his mind, his humor, and his abilities. But he's changing and growing so fast. Even the monthly updates and funny things he says just barely scratch the surface of this little individual who shares our home. How do I describe him at two? How do you keep track of a real live person?

A seasoned parent might read this and chuckle (or snort?), Of course he's a real-live person. But it's all still a little bit shocking to me. Just the way I was shocked when, at the end of labor, a baby came out of me. The same way I was shocked the first time he laughed. When he started sleeping through the night. When he started to defy us. When I realized we would have to teach him (!) to sit still for meals and Bible class. I've always had trouble understanding things unless I've experienced them personally, so of course I'm astounded that our two year old is becoming his own person. Heaven help me when he reaches the teenage years. And adulthood. Yikes. Tim, as always, is the steady voice of reason on this journey of parenthood. He has more than enough sense for both of us, and when I can't understand why Michael won't sit still, or won't obey, or doesn't want to do what I want to do, Tim gently reminds me that we aren't dealing with a robot, but a person who has his own thoughts and opinions. I've been a parent for two years now, and revelations like this still have me in a perpetual state of amazement. Maybe I'll have a better handle on things for baby #2.

Someone recently asked me, with eyes shining full of love, if I could even remember my life before Michael came along. I think my response surprised her. I could feel my face light up as I recalled our lives before we became parents: lazy Saturday mornings sleeping in, an abundance of time and energy for each other, long dinners at good restaurants with good friends, naps, exercise, international travel, shopping in peace alone, concerts, hours spent in bookstores and coffee shops, unlimited time and energy devoted to our careers...the memories are as clear as if it happened yesterday. Yes, I remember life before Michael and sometimes I really miss the freedom and indulgence.

But Michael has brought an entirely different kind of abundance to us. And if there is any way I could possibly define him, or measure his growth at this age, it is by the blessings he brings to our lives. In the dim light of early morning, the way he climbs into our bed grinning and says, "Good morning Mama! Bed so nice! Snuggle up." The way he touches my hair and kisses my cheeks. The way he kisses "Baby Brudder" in my belly. The way he runs, flying into Tim's arms at the end of the day. The way he asks Tim to put on a record, and dances with his Daddy to the music. The way he shares his cookies with his friends in Bible class. The way he marvels at flowers and lizards and bugs. The way he will walk outside on a sunny day, look around and say, "beautiful!" His singing voice. His laugh. His sweet, strong hugs. The crinkly eyes and dimples when he smiles. The way he wants the three of us to be together all the time. Nothing compares to the purity of these gifts. And I'm convinced no other child could have blessed us the way he has. I'm so thankful that God, in his wisdom, made Michael a part of our family.

It's been two years since you came into our lives, and every day is still a miracle. An adjustment. A precious gift.
Happy birthday to you, Michael. We adore you with all our hearts. 

Thank you for two years of love and sweet, sweet blessings.

xoxox

23 months

Oh, this boy. He has my heart. Here he is showing me his shark teeth - 

the only reliable way to get him to "smile" for the camera these days. I'll take it. 

He's always been busy, and that's still true. He's happiest when he has a job: working in the yard, watering the plants, running to the park, helping me take out the trash or do the laundry, fixing things with his Dad, going to get the mail, roaming our yard gathering treasures...he likes to move. It's not easy to get him to sit still, but he's getting better and some days at home he even asks to sit down and color with me. So, although I'm inclined to teach him numbers and letters on paper, we're learning numbers by climbing stairs and we sing the alphabet and talk about letters as we see them instead. It's a better system for a boy on the move. He counts to sixteen with us on the stairs, and he sings the alphabet song pretty well! He loves to sing, and it's been such a sweet surprise over the last few weeks, hearing him sing out.

He talks a lot, often in 4-5 word sentences. He tells stories about his favorite characters from books and movies. Some of my favorite new phrases are "sweet dreams", "I'm excited", "delicious!", and "be careful, Daddy" when Tim leaves for work. That one really melts my heart. He also says "no" and throws tantrums several times a day when he doesn't get what he wants. He's got strong opinions, this one. That has also been true since he was small, but he's getting more and more assertive. It's a daily challenge to teach him to be patient and accept our answer when it is "no". I don't feel as overwhelmed as I felt when I wrote this post a couple of months ago (after all, I was eight weeks pregnant - blerg) but this is a challenging stage, and when the days seem especially long I count on plenty of support and pep talks from Tim.

Michael's favorite things are: wearing his boots, playing outside, working in the yard, climbing at the park, playing with water and his ocean creatures, animals, whale sharks, cartoons, hunting for lizards outside, watching the bees in our lemon tree, wrestling with his Dad, playing with other kids, eating, and when the three of us are together. (He puts out his arms and says "guys" when he wants all three of us to have a family hug. I die every time.)

Some things he does not like (that we're working on): waiting, being told "no", going to Bible class (or anywhere) without me, being quiet, going to sleep, getting lots of attention from people he doesn't know, and being cooped up inside. It's not a long list, but we've got our work cut out for us.

We love you, little nugget! xoxo

21 months

Well, hello there, little blog of mine! So nice to see you again! I apologize for the neglect, but the holidays were so crazy, and we were in and out of town for a few weeks, and then we started watching Downton Abbey and I turned into a bit of a fiend, insisting that my husband spend every spare minute watching every single episode with me until we were caught up....

You know how that goes. 

Actually, the biggest thing keeping me away is that little guy up there. If it's possible, I think he needs me more now than he has ever needed me before. At the moment we live in a bewildering transition somewhere between sweet, loving toddler and big, independent toddler. He's bright and curious, but he needs direction and someone to play with him all the time. He's active and full of energy, but pretty resistant to my attempts to direct his focus. He can say almost anything, and he can often tell us exactly what he wants or needs, but sometimes the words leave him and he's just so whiny. I can see him struggling to make his own choices and be more independent, but then he's so clingy he won't let me out of his sight. 

I guess this is what the terrible twos are all about? Teaching independence. 

One way or another, my eyes have been opened: caring for a two year old is so much more difficult than caring for a baby. And to think that we haven't even attempted potty-training or sleeping in a real bed. I just keep trying not to get ahead of myself, and on the tough days I cling tightly to this promise from Isaiah 40:11 - 

"He tends His flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in His arms

and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those that have young." 

I don't mean to keep posting bathtub pictures, but the light is so nice in there, and more importantly, when he's playing in the tub he can't run away from the camera. And, he's just so cute splashing around in there all naked. So it's kind of a magical combination for us. (I promise, we do play outside of the tub. Sometimes.)

So, this little nugget will be 19 months old on Friday. I find it hard to believe for a lot of reasons. Sometimes it seems like in an instant he changed from a little ball of a newborn into a boy who wipes his hands on his shirt and tries to catch lizards and loves to sit up front and "drive" the car. It seems, at times, like he's growing up faster than he should. He repeats everything - this morning I told him I loved him and he said "I love you" right back for the first time. I was impressed with how well he is talking, but before I could even get out a "good job!" he grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me on the lips. I was instantly the happiest and most heart-broken woman in the world. 

He loves me. And he's growing up. And I can't do a thing to stop it.

Not that I would want to stop him from growing up. It's just a shame that this precious version of him will be gone soon, and replaced by another and then another....

~ linking up with Monday Mom Musings ~

Some days with a toddler are hard. Like, you wonder if you're doing anything right at all. 

Thankfully, other days are magic. Like today. 

He jabbered away all day long, telling stories and (I'm pretty sure) telling me what to do. 

He went around the house naming things with a serious expression, as if he was giving me an important lesson.
"Door!" "Ball!" "Puppy!" "Ice!" "Pumpkin!" "Football!" "Moon!" "Apple!"

He pointed at Ella's wagging nub of a tail and broke down laughing. He grabbed my face with his two little hands and kissed me on the mouth with those sweet puckered lips. At dinner he counted the lightbulbs in a lamp, "two, two, two, two".
He played a game of hide and chase with Tim after dinner,
running with a huge grin on his face and his arms wrapped around his favorite football.

We had a last-minute appointment this afternoon and while I got ready he played in the tub beside me, happy as could be.
If I had let him, he would've played right there in the tub for the rest of the day. He loves the water.

And I love him to bits.

~ linking up with lowercase letters ~

welcome change

     To say that life around here has been crazy lately is an understatement. (Here's an important tidbit about me: I don't handle chaos very well. Put me in a disorganized house with a demanding toddler who is bent on destroying order and I'm really not a happy girl.) I totally recognize that what I'm dealing with here is not a tragedy by any stretch of the imagination, but the last couple of weeks have felt a little bit like treading water (with a very small, very opinionated little person snapping at my heels). Exhausting. Two weeks in this house and we're still surrounded by piles of random things that haven't found a place, my keys are missing, the kitchen sink sprung a leak, Michael is throwing another tantrum...you get the idea. Two steps forward and a few steps back and all that.

     But a couple of days ago the tide seemed to turn a little bit. Michael and I got out of the house  - I went to Bible study and he went to play with some other little ones his age. We had lunch with Tim and had a really good time. We're finally carving out some comfortable, liveable, Michael-proof spaces in the house. This morning Michael and I made a fall wreath and ate apples while a soft storm rolled overhead. He's napping, there's a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove, and I've got a few minutes to sit and think and write. It's so refreshing, this assurance that a new season is coming just like it always does. That God's word abides and, once again, He's provided us with a sweet family of believers to love. That order is there, under the stacks of mismatched cables and old school notes, waiting patiently as we work our way down to it.

~ linking up with lowercase letters ~

Little things

I pinned this almost a year ago with the caption 'note to self'. 

At the time I had an infant and I was in the throes of the most disorienting year of my life: no longer working outside the home, missing my friends and colleagues, sleep-deprived, adjusting my expectations about life with a baby, trying to build relationships with other stay-at-home-moms, adjusting to the changes in my relationship with my husband, overwhelmed with love and adoration for my baby, and sleep-deprived, sleep-deprived, sleep-deprived. 

Even in that fog where everything was so unfamiliar, I knew this statement was true. And it helped me remember that those baby days would pass. I pinned it to remind myself to stop dwelling on the things I wanted to accomplish, and find joy in the quiet (or not-so-quiet) everyday moments with Michael. The short fuzzy hair right above his forehead. The way he cooed at us in the mornings. How it felt to hold him and nurse him to sleep. The way he grinned when Tim tossed him into the air. How he smelled like soap and baby cereal when we put him to bed at night. Even during all those months when I didn't write a single blog post, I took pictures to remind me of those precious things I wanted to remember. And I still do that, especially when the days are long and my patience runs short. 

Today I enjoyed the way he wakes up all warm and snuggly from his nap, calling for Ella. The way he devours his yogurt and dips his crackers in peanut butter. The way he tries not to smile when I take his picture. The way he holds his finger in the air and scolds Ella for barking, and how she waits patiently next to his chair, confident that the food will fall. Our routine of eating and talking, cleaning up, then running off to play again. They are little things, but they're the things I want to remember when these toddler days have passed.

~ linking up with picture me {im}perfectly and monday mom musings~

Picture me {im}perfectly

>:

image

"She's up before dawn, preparing breakfast for her family and organizing her day....

First thing in the morning she dresses for work, rolls up her sleeves, eager to get started. 

She senses the worth of her work..."

Proverbs 31

I don't know how many times I've read Proverbs 31 and marveled at the woman described there. She is everything I want to be. If I knew this woman in person I might be tempted to compare myself, and I would not be happy with the contrast. But, thankfully, I know none of us are perfect and God put this in His word because we need the inspiration. There is so much to learn here, and I'm sure I'll spend my life trying to be like this godly woman. 

Right now the passage above really speaks to me. 

Because I love to sleep. Like, really love it. Since Michael started sleeping through the night I love it more than ever. When I have a choice between an extra few minutes of sleep in the morning and...just about anything else, I choose sleep. Which isn't so terrible, but I'd like to be more 'eager to get started' in the morning. To get a little exercise. To spend some time in Bible study. A few quiet minutes with Tim before Michael is up and ready for action. 

Maybe it's time for me to start embracing the early mornings again. With eagerness.

I've never liked looking back. I've always preferred to focus on the future. The possibilities of what lies ahead make me happy, so putting the past behind me is usually easy. But I'm a mom now, and sometimes I feel like I live in the past, present, and future all at once. Sometimes it's impossible not to look back. 

At 13 months old, I'm finally weaning Michael. I had planned to stop nursing him by the time he was a year old. But when he was 11 months old we moved. When he was 11 1/2 months old we changed locations again. And when he was 12 months old we moved again. So I kept putting it off to give him some consistency and to ease the transition for all of us. But it's finally time. And my heart is breaking. 

I never expected to like breastfeeding. In fact, if it wasn't so highly recommended by physicians I probably wouldn't have done it, but I felt like I should at least give it a try. Then, he was born and from the very first time I nursed him he loved it. He was instantly peaceful and happy. It usually put him straight to sleep. I could calm him at any time. Sick, hurt, scared, tired, cold, hungry, day or night - I had the solution for all of it and it was fantastic. I wasn't born a nurturer, but in an instant I learned the joy of giving this helpless creature what he couldn't give himself. Nursing him was like giving the most fantastic mama-hug I could possibly give. And I got to look at him and feel him breathing and smell his sweet smell the whole time. I loved it.

I'm not trying to rewrite history here. There were plenty of struggles along the way. There were the usual discomforts for me. There were many nights spent mostly sitting up nursing, crying and praying that he would just sleep for a few hours without needing me. I had planned to do regular per diem work on weekends at the hospital where I had worked previously, but Michael wouldn't take a bottle and consequently I was only able to work for 3 or 4 hours at a time. I gave what seemed like every minute day and night, making myself available to nurse this baby, and now it was taking over the small scrap of what was left of my professional life. I felt tied down, and then I felt guilty when I needed to get away sometimes. The sheer pressure of someone needing me that much was overwhelming.

Sometimes I felt pushed to my limit. But all I had to do was think about weaning him, and I would find the strength to continue. I just couldn't imagine voluntarily cutting that bond with my baby. Not when it brought him so much comfort. Not when so many other mothers struggled to nurse. Not when it connected us. I was grateful and I didn't want to let it go.

Months passed, and we settled into a comfortable nursing and sleeping pattern. By the time he was 9 months old he even started sleeping through the night sometimes. And for the last several months that is where we've been - he would nurse four times during the day and sleep through the night. And I could do that forever. 

Except he's not a baby anymore. So we're moving on. 

Instead of nursing him to sleep I hold him and rock him and sing 'You are my Sunshine'. Instead of praying while I nurse my baby, I pray while I hug my little boy. He puts his sweet head on my shoulder and wraps his arms around me and sometimes he pats my back. A glimpse of all the hugs I will get from him in the future. That makes my heart happy. But a piece of me will always dwell in the past too. As I sing I feel the weight of his little toddler body in my arms and my voice breaks every time.

What makes him mine

I spend all of my days (and sometimes my nights) with Michael. He gets the best of my energy, my humor, my work, my play, my kindness, my patience...my everything. And although I know he is mine - I carried him for 38 weeks, after all, and I gave birth to him - I don't really feel like he's mine mine. That is to say, I don't feel like I can take credit for who he is and I definitely don't feel ownership of him. Most of the time I'm kind of in awe of him.

Where did this little spark of life come from??

Why were we chosen to be his parents?

How can I possibly be up to the task of being mom to such an amazing creation?

Well, I know the answer to the first question. I believe with all my heart that God put this little person together. Every single molecule of him. But that doesn't make it any less astonishing when he catches on to a joke, or shares his snack with me, or dances to a song, or points to a cow and says "mooooo". The other questions are harder because I believe that God put our family together on purpose. This is no accident - God meant for Michael to be with us. And I believe that when God gives great blessings, He expects much in return. The magnitude of the responsibility is just huge. It makes me tremble.

These thoughts live in my head every single day, so this sweet post over at rockstar diaries really hit home with me. It's nice to know I'm not the only mama who feels "unworthy of the task", but it also got me thinking about what makes Michael mine - what makes any child belong to any parent. I'm so thankful that I carried Michael and gave birth to him, but I've arrived at this conclusion:

Even more than the shared DNA, or the pregnancy, or the birth story, 
Michael is mine because I love him.

He's mine because I give him my energy, my humor, my work, my play, and so on. He's mine because I know which sippy cup is his favorite. Because I do the animal sounds that make him laugh. Because I recognize the first traces of words in his babbling and because I cheer when he lets go of the furniture and walks across the room. Because I know how he likes to have his back scratched, and how he likes to be held when he falls asleep. Because I'm there when he's sad, scared, tired, frustrated, happy, excited, curious, hyper, and ornery.

He's mine because I love him. 

And I pray that love makes me worthy of the task. 

"Are you ready to go to the store, baby?"

I chatter with Michael as we get ready to go run our errands. I hold him on my hip. I push all of the carseat straps out of the way and straighten out his clothes so there won't be any uncomfortable bunching during the ride. He listens intently, smiles sweetly. He pats my face. What an angel. 

I lift him into the Jeep, bending him at the waist so as not to bump his head or entangle his feet in the seatbelt. I gently lower him into he carseat and...he arches his back and howls like there's a fire under his bottom. 

His hat slides down over his face and his jacket twists around him. He marches in place for a moment and the carseat straps end up right where he is going to be sitting. I keep my cool. I tell him it's time to buckle up because we have to be safe while we're in the car. I manage to pry the straps out from under him and fold him at the hips to sit him down in his seat but in the struggle he ends up sitting crooked in the chair. 

Now he goes limp. He is 18+ pounds of completely dead weight as I try to position him correctly in the chair. As I put one of his arms through the strap he leans forward, and with the free hand he un-velcros and removes one of his shoes. I tell him we have to leave our shoes on because it's cold outside. I put the shoe back on and he has gotten his arm back out of the strap. I can't decide if it's more funny or infuriating and I laugh through gritted teeth.

I manage to get both straps over his shoulders but they are too tight to snap. That's because in the melee they have become twisted. Michael clamps his mouth shut and makes sounds like a threatened cat. I untwist the straps and snap them in place.

He sneezes and an outrageous amount of snot gets all over him and the carseat straps. I reach into the front seat for a wipe and when I turn around he has again removed his shoe. I clean up the snot, put the shoe back on, finish buckling him in, and apologize for torturing him in this grizzly manner. I give him his sippy cup and a toy. He promptly throws both of them out of the carseat. The sippy cup lands on the ground in a puddle of I-don't-know-what. I bend down to pick it up and when I stand up I whack my head on the open car door.

At this point I really need to take a deep breath and calm down. I'm sure I must look like a crazy woman. My face is contorted with a mix of anger, laughter, pain, and frustration. I'm talking out loud to myself as I close Michael's door and turn to walk around to my side.

And that's when I see my neighbor sitting in her car watching us and laughing. 

We've been at it for about ten minutes and she has been watching the whole time. 

True story.

~linking up with Monday Mom Musings~

Rites of motherhood (and a date with my love)

From the moment Michael was born I loved him with all my heart and knew he was mine, but it was a while until I started to feel like a real mom. I had enjoyed all of the wonderful, beautiful parts of motherhood - giving birth, feeding my baby, seeing his smile, holding him and breathing his sweet smell, talking with him and singing to him - but I knew there was another side to this motherhood thing.

Then, when he was six weeks old he had a medical procedure - nothing serious but it was painful and scary. I had to swallow my own tears and hold him as he went through the pain and then do my best to comfort him. In the car on the way home I cried and thought, "I'm a real mom now." A few weeks later I woke up in the middle of the night with a stomach bug. Between trips to the bathroom I would nurse my eight week old and try to rest. I was laying on the bathroom floor when I realized that the day would start as usual in just a few hours - nurse, change, play, nurse, nap, repeat - regardless of how I felt. Again I thought, "This is real motherhood." In a weird way I felt proud. I was joining the ranks of all the mothers who had gone before me. 

I had another one of those experiences this weekend (the circumstances were a lot more pleasant, though!) For the first time we left Michael with someone who was not my Mom or my sister and went on a date. I'm blessed to be able to stay home with him full-time, and leaving him in someone else's care has been surprisingly hard for me. As I was getting ready for our date I had a flashback to one of the families I would babysit for as a teenager. Just before the parents would leave, the mom would come out of her room looking and smelling pretty. Her three kids would gather around her to say goodnight. She smiled brightly giving hugs and last minute instructions, and when she got to the baby she would kiss the back of his hand and her lipstick would leave a kiss for him to look at. I've never forgotten the way that baby would smile proudly and look at his mama's kiss on his hand. He was so young, and I was so young, and she was leaving her kids with me!? How must she have felt about that? And how did I become the mom who is leaving her baby with a babysitter?! "I'm becoming a real mom now."

I packed his favorite books and snacks into a bag, kissed him and smiled as I left him with our (wonderful, capable, awesome) friends. I cried a little in the car. Just for a minute. Then my husband put his hand on my arm and told me it would be okay. Through my tears I saw his smile and I knew he was right. And we had an amazing time together! 

I know there will be so many more of these challenges along the way. 

But I'm taking them one day at a time.

Michael takes his baby steps and I take mine :)

My handsome date :)

We even had time for coffee and dessert!

And Michael did great! 

He played the whole time and didn't cry at all (until we walked in the door). 

Then he passed out cold on the way home :)

Just a little applause

Remember how much I love Design Mom? Well it turns out her mom has a blog too! And she recently wrote the best post about how meaningful blogging is for moms and how it has changed motherhood in wonderful ways. I couldn't have said it better. 

Here's to all the moms out there past and present - I applaud you!!

Michael's birth

When life is most exciting and full there is no room for blogging. Terrible but true. I can't count the number of times in these last two weeks I've wanted to stop and document something precious about Michael or his Daddy, but over and over again I have decided that precious times deserve my full attention and so nothing gets written. 

I finally have a quiet, rainy morning - baby sleeping peacefully in his chair, hot cup of coffee in front of me - and before I forget the details I want to record our birth story. Too personal for a blog? In the past I would have said yes, but now that I have been through it and experienced this aspect of God's amazing design I have to write about it. 
My story is one long praise.

After a very comfortable pregnancy I had a very uncomfortable final month. Mostly because I wasn't sleeping and the baby was so low it was hard to walk or do housework or do anything. The night before my 38 week checkup I woke up with contractions. I lay still in the dark, got out my phone and started timing them. Eight minutes apart...then seven minutes apart...then five minutes apart. I woke Tim. We got up and started getting ready to go to the hospital, and the contractions slowed down and became less intense. We went back to bed and the next morning I went to my appointment. 3 cm dilated and the baby was very low! My doctor told me to go home and take it easy and come back in the afternoon if the contractions became more frequent or more intense. Her words: "I think we may have a baby today! Or, of course, you could have a few more days of pregnancy."

Michael didn't come that day. Or the next. I was discouraged. At 38 weeks it was possible I could carry him another month. It seemed like an eternity. Another day came and went and Tim and I began to relax after several days on edge waiting for labor to begin. We stayed in that friday and he cooked dinner and made me some cake, we watched a movie, and at 11:15pm as I lay there on the couch snuggled up with Ella I heard a *pop*. I knew right away - my water had broken! Tim said he thought I had just remembered something important - I sat up and said "Oh!" We got Ella settled for the night, threw a few last minute things in our bag and were on our way to the hospital by 11:30.

Because the baby was so low and I was already dilating I knew labor would escalate quickly once my water broke - and it did. I walked into the ER with wet pants (there is a lot of amniotic fluid in there!) and was whisked up to Labor and Delivery. By the time we checked in at midnight my contractions were so uncomfortable I had trouble giving my information to the nurse who admitted me. I was hot and restless, and it scared me how fast and hard the contractions had become. Tim was by my side with calm encouraging words and ice chips and whatever I asked for - his presence, and the twinkle of excitement in his eyes, gave me the strength to keep it together. What a blessing he is to me! I'm so glad he's in my corner in this life.

I had planned to have an epidural from the very beginning and one was ordered for my by 12:30, but first I had to have a couple bags of IV fluids which took about an hour. That was a very long wait. My contractions were getting so strong and frequent I was nauseous and unable to be still. I was at my limit when the anesthesiologist walked in. Hallelujiah! I gave my complete medical history (for the third time that night) in between contractions and at around 1:30 I finally got my epidural. Sweet, sweet relief! I must have started smiling a lot because Tim started smiling a lot, and I remember apologizing to my nurse for not being more friendly before - haha! With the epidural in place, we were instructed that it would probably be several hours before things progressed and that we should get some rest. I lay on my side facing Tim, who sat in a rocking chair next to me, and we closed our eyes. 

I was too excited and nervous to sleep. I was comfortable but quickly became aware of pressure that made me feel like pushing. It hadn't been long since the epidural and I figured I would just wait - someone would be back to check my progress soon. But no one came. We waited and waited. Finally around 5:20 I called my nurse, she checked me and was surprised to find we were fully dilated. She called the doctor and around 5:50 the pushing began. 

I know God's hand had been on us the whole time, but in that moment it was so clear to me. All my life I had dreaded the thought of childbirth - the pain, the anxiety, the drama, the screaming, etc. But as I started pushing I realized our room was dark and quiet and serene. I felt no pain. With Tim's encouragement and the calm presence of my doctor and nurse there was no anxiety. I looked over at the window which was starting to brighten and realized that our son would be born with the sunrise. I felt surrounded with love, I felt strong, and I felt excited. Thanks to God for giving us what we need! 

It seemed like no time to me - I pushed and rested, pushed some more, and at 6:13 he was born all red and screaming. I couldn't believe it! Tim says I looked totally shocked, and I was! I just couldn't believe this baby came out of me! And that he was half Tim and half me! It was an incredible moment. Tim cut the cord, the nurse put Michael on my chest, and Tim and I spent the next hour laughing and grinning and just taking him in. He made the sweetest little cries and squeaks and I just kept thinking how rough delivery must have been for him. I was so proud of him for being so tough, and I was so amazed at God's design. This little creature had been breathing amniotic fluid until a few hours before, and here he was out in the world breathing air, crying, looking at us, looking for food...it was the most amazing, awesome thing I had ever witnessed. 

Over and over I thought of Psalm 139:14:

I praise you because 
I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 

   your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

Our baby boy just a few minutes old

Proud Daddy - he didn't leave Michael's side for hours

One of my happiest, most thankful moments

~linking up with Monday Mom Musings~