You Surprised Me

Those muscles fibers pulled tight in the middle of the night and I thought if I sipped water, repositioned, let the magic of water relax as it flowed, those fibers would let go.

For twelve hours I tried to believe it to mean something different. Because sometimes the obvious isn't so obvious. Sometimes the obvious sits in silent whispers, just still enough to leave room for doubt.

I wasn't ready to let go. I knew it was too early to let go.

I needed to hold on.

My fears raged for seven months straight. Those tightened muscles that medicine had a hard time relaxing confirmed my fears that I would have to let go . . . again . . . in a way that no mother should ever have to let go.

I needed to hold on tighter just a little more.

For four weeks, those fibers pulled tight enough and often enough and just enough to keep my fears dancing.

But you surprised me.

Those fibers tightened once more, with more time that had gone by and at the right time, those fibers tightened and I needed to let go. One slow breath at a time.

I let go and you entered our world.

You entered with lungs full of life. A sweet surprise . . . a sweet sound that interrupted the deafening silence of doubt that raged deep within me.

Four seasons have come and gone. Time has a way of letting go to let more be. Infant grunts and sighs let go for smiles and coos to full on belly laughs. Lying still in arms to rolling over to pulling up and moving on.

You surprised me.

I didn't think my broken heart was capable of filling up once again. But you came and it over flowed.

You surprised me.

My cup runneth over and my heart spills through.

By nature, I want to hold on. It's a mother's reflexive response. I want to hold on because it is so hard to let go.

A full year has come and gone. You have transformed a little body into a giant personality.

My heart fills up and overflows.

My soul needs to sit in the reverence of the bittersweetness of motherhood.

Motherhood is full of laundry, dirty dishes, washing dirt off feet, reminding them for the hundreth time to say please and thank you but what wears a mother out and fills her up all at once, more than anything else, is trying to perfect the art of holding on and letting go.

Motherhood is full of muscles pulling tight but the pain ensues when we let out those long slow breaths. Those breaths we learned to breathe in and out to ease the pain of childbirth are the very breaths that hurt after.

We were designed to hold on to that which we desire to keep. But that's an illusion. We have to let go so we have something to hold on to.

I need to grieve the newborn onesies that have been folded, the blankets that swaddled and the sweet scent of new on you.

I need to inhale deep and then let it go so more of you can be. So I can breathe in worn out knees in your jeans, building forts with those blankets that swaddled and the scent of dirt, mischeviousness and you exploring the new.

I need to let go so you can be.

I may grieve the time that has gone by but I know I can only grieve because it was. I am grateful that I had it at all.



















Stephanie

A Way To Mark Time, To Keep Memories

I have a TON of pictures! I love taking them. I love having them. But that is where the love stops. 

All of those pictures I have taken over the years sit in my computer. They are not in an album. They are not in a scrapbook. They just sit, all lonely, with no one to view them but my husband and I, in our computer.

I like the idea of scrap booking but to actually do it . . . the thought alone overwhelms me. Just thinking about doing it, causes me to get all anxious. 

I will do it though, one of these days, I will get around to putting all of our pictures in a pretty little book. Where I can sit curled up in a ball on the couch, with child in lap and flip through the pages, looking at the years that have already been lived.

I have always been a lover of history. I have always been a lover of books. I have also always been a lover of a pen and a blank page before me.

I love to write. Somehow, I can communicate better through writing than through speaking.

I don't have a photo album for my daughter to look through.

I do, however, have some things for my daughter. Right now, she is too young to appreciate them, but it is my hope, that one day, she will.

When I became pregnant with her, I immediately went out and bought, The Pregnancy Journal. I wanted a way to document every detail of that time with her.

I filled in all the spaces it allows for such pregnancy things like morning sickness, cravings and that dreaded weight gain.








I also filled in a lot more. I wrote her little notes. I told her how excited I was. I described doctors visits, maternity clothes shopping and my baby shower with her.

I wrote it all down because that is something I have always done and because I want her to be able to look through it when she is older and know how much she was loved before I ever got the chance to hold her in my arms. I want her to know that I loved her before first sight.

And, right before she arrived, I bought a Baby Book. Again, I filled in every detail of her, every milestone she reached and much more. I am still writing away in that book. A way of documenting the history of her. A place to describe who she was at two months . . . at two years.

Now, I write her little notes, long love letters, what amazing thing she did, and about the ups and downs of motherhood. This journal that is mine and hers is something sacred. I won't share what is written in this because it is hers and that is for her to decide. I write because I love her. I write because I want to always remember her at every stage. I write because life moves fast and I need to keep up but I also need a way to preserve the moments too.

I don't know when I will give these three things to her. So, for now, I will keep them safe for her and continue to jot down the ways I love her. I would like to give these to her when Motherhood awaits her because that is when she will fully be able to appreciate the ways of a Mom. But one never knows, I may hand the journal that is mine but ultimately hers when she is a teenager, driving me crazy and doubting if I really love her. Maybe I'll give it to her then, and she'll know, be reassured that I'm not out to ruin her life and that I do, always, love her.

Stephanie

Homemade Yogurt Parfait

When my daughter was a baby, I made all of her food. All of it except for prunes. The prunes just seemed like too much work. And if I had been in my right mind when I bought the blueberries, I would have bought the baby food jars of that too. Making the blueberries into baby food was a JOB.

I loved doing it. When I was pregnant with her, my husband bought a cookbook on making baby food. Me, being the book lover and reader that I am, read it front to back before she was born. I'll read anything. If I go in to get my car worked on and all they have are mechanic (or whatever you call them) magazines, I'll read it. Every article. Anyway, I decided, right after I got done reading the cookbook, that I would make her baby food. I did it not because I am one of those, "only organic, blah, blah, blah, food" moms, I did it because it was cheaper than buying the jarred smelly stuff.

So I made her baby food and I loved it! And it didn't have the stench the jarred stuff has. My husband was surprised by this because I hate to cook! Seriously, despise it. I would rather scrub toilets than cook a meal. My husband is the chef in this family. I was surprised too, that I enjoyed it so much. I loved going to the grocery store and strolling through the produce section and choosing food that I had never heard of before. My daughter ate like a queen. She had been exposed to almost every kind of food out there. Every food other than boxed and packaged artificial food. Oh my, I became one of those snobby food mommies, after all.


I truly received a lot of satisfaction from making her food. I felt like it was another way I could pour my love out to her, in a tangible way. I think that is one of the reasons I loved nursing her as well. I didn't choose to breast feed because "breast is best" but, just like the homemade baby food, it was a lot cheaper. So cheap, it was free. When I first made the decision to nurse, I thought it would be something I would girt me teeth through but it turned into a great a way to bond with her. I treasured that time of closeness and knowing my body was doing something amazing for her. I believe, as mother's, we have an inherent desire to give our babies the best of whatever we can offer. I was just a mommy trying to give my baby the best start possible, in any way that I could.

This morning, as I was making my daughter her breakfast, I experienced that same exact satisfaction I did two years ago. She wanted yogurt with fruit in it so I made her a homemade yogurt parfait. She was so excited at what I had done for her and my heart swelled as she expressed her thanks.

That child of mine, she is such an appreciative girl.

So, I realized that I receive a feeling a satisfaction from feeding her well. As any mother of a toddler will tell you, that is huge! The baby that ate so well two years ago, barely eats anything of substance now and I sometimes feel like it would be easier to go into combat then try to have a meal with her.

But I wonder, shouldn't I desire more to feed, to nourish her soul?

Do I feed her soul?

Do I give her words that truly nourish to chew on? Do I give her behavior that is worthy of imitating? Do I give her words of Truth to live by?

Isn't what I'm doing as a mother go far beyond her nutritional status? Deeper to the soul to give her more, teach her more that will truly be the nourishment of growth and morsels to sustain?

Doesn't parenting go far beyond the food and the home and the school and the sports?

Doesn't it go far beyond the satisfaction I feel from doing good for her?

For a few years now, every child, when participating in a sport, receives a trophy or some type of medal. Whether or not they win or lose.

I don't think that is right. I actually don't like that at all.

If you win, then you deserve recognition. If you lose, you don't deserve the same as the winners.

Life is not about the hardware.

Here is the reason I dislike how a child receives a trophy if they come in dead last: it is an opportunity missed.

Life doesn't always go the way of our plans. We don't always get what we worked so hard for. We often times don't even get what we really wanted. There are wrongs done that are undeserving. There are hearts broken and dreams shattered.

If a child does not receive a trophy when they come in last, good. Grab that opportunity and your child and do something with it.

Teaching your child that life is hard and then how to handle that when you are disappointed because things didn't turn out the way you had hoped . . . because your heart is broken . . . that is hard.

It is hard but very necessary. If you don't teach or show your child how to handle those small disappointments that seem huge when they are small, how will they ever know how to handle those earth shatterings later?

Trophies for everyone, homemade baby food, homemade yogurt parfait . . . that's easy.

Teaching, demonstrating, living when a moment, a phase is ugly . . .  that's hard.

I want my daughter to be healthy, I want her to enjoy those moments of winning. To savor those moments of satisfaction and accomplishment. But I also want more for her.

Someone told me recently that all they really want for their children is for them to be happy.

That is good. That is what I wanted for her before I didn't receive my dream of bringing my girls home.

Now? Now I want her to know true joy. I want her to know that she can withstand the winds that bang and rage when broken dreams rain down. Because they will come at some point in her life and I won't always be able to make it better, to offer her a trophy.

I want her to be happy, but more than anything, I want her to be able to see her God when the storms cause blindness and for her joy to rest in her Maker.

Happiness and trophies, they are fleeting and based on circumstance.

When you hold the Promise of the King, you can have joy, regardless of winning or losing . . .

. . . with or without the homemade yogurt parfait.








Stephanie

Guilt? What Guilt?

I came across a post from a mommy blogger the other day. I loved it! Since becoming a mom almost three years ago, this is the first time I felt another woman was being a hundred percent honest about
Motherhood. It was refreshing.

For those of you who won't click on the post to read it, I will give you a brief overview. But seriously, if you don't read it in her words, you are really missing out. Anyway, the gist of the post is that a lot of people (mainly, women, whose children are grown and out of the house) will tell those women who have small children still at home in the throes of being raised, to hold on to and cherish EVERY moment. Glennon went on to say that parenting is hard. And since it's hard, it's hard to enjoy every second of it.

Seriously, just read the post yourself.

It is no secret (actually, there are very few secrets I have. I tend to be an open book) that for five or six years, my husband and I struggled with infertility. Those tests, medications and the waiting really got to me. I became bitter. I couldn't stand to see pregnant women. I wondered what I had done in my past that was so awful that God was punishing me. I dreamt of Motherhood before I dreamed about my wedding. I didn't understand why I couldn't get pregnant but women who were really girls and at that, addicted to drugs, could. Side note, if you are struggling with infertility or have lost a baby, I don't suggest working as a nurse in a NICU or OB unit. It doesn't help. Anyway, during that time, I dreamed of what Motherhood would be like and how my husband and I would parent. All I heard for all of that time we spent trying was, "Being a Mom is THE BEST thing that ever happened it to me", "I feel so complete now" and of course, this, "I love every second of it. Just wait! You will too".

Guess what? I didn't love every second of it. I still don't. But the guilt! I punished myself when I became frustrated when she wouldn't go to sleep because, I myself, was so tired. I consumed myself with guilt when I would daydream about running errands . . . ALONE! And I felt like a terrible human being, undeserving of having a baby when I just wanted a couple of hours to myself, no interruptions. 

I felt like I had failed. I felt like there was a reason we were unable to get pregnant and that reason was because I was not cut out to be a parent. Do you see where that sense of failure came from? No one ever whispered to me how hard it was. No one ever told me that time to yourself becomes a thing of the past. No one dared to say how you would wish for your old life. And NO ONE told me how you would cry in frustration because you just wanted the day to end. 

All the mothers I saw (or noticed) were put together, declaring that they "relish every moment because it goes by so fast". They had it all together and they would say how they "can't stand to be away from their child for a second!" Nope! Sorry! They couldn't recommend any sitters to me, because their children go everywhere with them. 

Ugh! Seriously?! What am I doing wrong?

The sleeplessness of the infant stage passed and then she didn't need to be nursed as much and things got a little easier. I relaxed a little. I wanted to freeze her in certain moments because I didn't want the moment to pass. But please know, I am emphasizing the word moments more than I am the word relishing. There were just as many moments that I couldn't wait to end.

About a year ago, we moved, there was a job change, a pregnancy and then another job change, Stay-At-Home-Mom. Pow! That's one for the resume.  

A lot more changes to adapt to. I found that working outside of the home gave me some time away from my child and therefore, enjoyed more moments with her. They were, for the most part, quality moments. That all changed when (due to a lot of discussion and what would be best when the twins arrived) to stay at home. My days, EVERY. ONE. OF. THEM. were consumed with home and child. There was no break. Just monotony. And when your husband is gone for days on end, the days just mesh into one another and there isn't even that break in the day, when your husband walks through the door and you are able to go to the restroom by yourself. 

So, naturally (for me anyway) the guilt came. "Why am I not enjoying every second of this?" "Most women would kill to stay at home with their children." "What is wrong with me?" "Why do I need a break from my own child?" 

And there was more guilt, from other areas that compounded it. I quit a job I had just recently started. Why was I letting my nursing education go to waste? Even though, my husband and I had decided that it would not be beneficial, financially or otherwise, for me to keep working and put three children under the age of three in daycare just so I could work. My other source of guilt was as my pregnancy with the twins progressed, I counted down the days until I wouldn't be pregnant anymore. With my first pregnancy, I loved every second of it. Seriously, I really did. I annoyed other pregnant women around me because I loved it so much. It wasn't that I had a perfect pregnancy. I didn't. There were aches and pains and sickness but I still loved it. My pregnancy with the twins was a difficult one. At the beginning, I had the normal pregnancy symptoms but by the time I was 8 weeks along, everything just started getting worse. I was in a lot of pain. I'm not really a complainer so the only one who was really aware of this was my husband. It was becoming difficult for me stand and do dishes and fold the laundry, let alone, work a 12 hour shift where I was always on my feet. That was just one of the factors that went into me quitting my new job. All of this made me feel awful that I was not enjoying the pregnancy like I had with my first. Again, what was wrong with me? I knew just how fortunate we were to have gotten pregnant completely on our own, so why was I not enjoying it? 

Here I am, ten months later and everything as I once knew it has changed. My world, my life, my sense of time, everything. Everything, that is, except the guilt. I am a Stay-at-Home-Mom and I have days where all I want to do is scream. I have days where all I want to do is to run and hide. I have days where I count down the hours until bed time. 

I must add that I am grieving and I know many of these emotions are due to the grief.

This makes me feel awful. This brings on a whole new category of guilt that I never knew existed. How can I count down moments to when I get to put her in bed and have a few moments to myself, without her, when there are two little girls I will never have moments with again? How? How could I be so blind and rude and selfish to want to have moments without my living daughter? It hurts me when I need or want time without her but it is an honest feeling.

I hear things like this a lot: "Well, at least you have one, some people don't even have that." "You think you would be ever so grateful just to have her." "Aren't you thankful for what you do have?" 

I know these people mean well but I really want to slap them! I have yet to hear something like this from one who has buried a child. I am very grateful for what I do have. But as everyone knows, there are always two sides to every coin. Just as I am thankful and grateful for my husband and living daughter, I grieve and am sadden by the loss of Emmerson and Vivienne. 

And could someone please explain to me why people who have never suffered the loss of one of their children, treat other's children like an insurance policy? Since when, when you lose one, does your living child replace the one that was lost? Isn't everyone unique with their own souls? I sometimes want to look at those who say things like that to me and ask them, "Well then, let's put your theory into practice, shall we? Give me one of your children. After all, you still have another one."

Yes, I know, sometimes I think cruel thoughts but I also desire to make a point to these well intentioned but ignorant people.

I'm going to hop back on the topic of guilt. I have felt a lot of guilt since I lost Emmerson and Vivienne. Enough guilt to last me the rest of my life. I have guilt over losing them and I have guilt concerning my living daughter. When people say those well meaning things to me, they don't help. They make me feel worse. Like I said, I am fully aware of what I have. I don't need someone to point that out. I'm mourning. Not stupid. And I truly believe, you don't know how much you stand to lose until you stand in the middle of what was lost. 


When people say well intentioned but hurtful things like that to me, I have to resist the urge to punch them (even though it would make me feel great) and put it into perspective. They have never stood before a freshly dug grave and said goodbye to one of their children. They are ignorant in the ways of grieving. They have no idea what its like and for their sake, I hope they never do. 

I thought for the longest time after my loss, that I should make my whole world about my living daughter. I couldn't. I still can't. Mainly because all of me doesn't reside in her alone. I love many and so there are many pieces of me with those loved ones. I felt guilty when I didn't cherish every second with her.

I don't anymore. I allowed myself awhile ago to release all of that. I have allowed myself to feel the magnitude of gratefulness when it comes, to allow His mercy to wash over me when it doesn't and by His grace, I am learning how to be grateful in everything. 

That last one is tough. How can you be grateful when your child is screaming in a store and you just want to beat them? (By the way, I don't beat my child.) My coping mechanism in public, when my daughter is throwing a fit, is to cast a glance in her direction, like everyone else, give a disapproving look, make that "tsk, tsk" sound and ask, "Where is that child's mother?"

In all honesty though, why are women, especially other mothers, so mean to each other? By mean, I mean, not being honest with one another? Why do we lie and act like our children never act up? Why do we act like we have it all together when we see another mother struggling? Why is it when a child is acting up in public that it is always another mom who shakes her head with disgust?

Maybe she's the one mom who got lucky and her children actually are angels.

I really don't think Motherhood would have so much guilt and shame attached to it if we were just honest with one another and extended grace to the other.

After reading Glennon's post, I'm going to feel the full weight of those, I-could-keep-you-like-this-forever-moments and take in a deep breath in the midst of ear piercing screaming, let it out slowly, before I tell my daughter for the fifth time that morning, that M&M's are not cereal, and rest in the knowledge that this too, shall pass. 

Stephanie