The Amazing Supermom Rides again, sort of
17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
The Show
Summer 2007
1, bad, 2, 3, 4, good, 5 horrible, 6, 7 great, 8 not great. I talked to a midwife and researched the internet - what can be done about high blood pressure. I was put on a very strict diet, lean meats (not processed - basically didn't do pork), vegetables, 30-50 grams carbohydrates per day (I did have whole wheat pancakes at least once a week, with blueberries and almonds, butter, no syrup), 120 oz water a day and a boatload of vitamins (C, juice plus, garlic, and I honestly don't remember what else).
Probably the main thing that was different is that I gained no weight. Actually I lost a bunch and gradually worked my way back up until, on the day he was born, I weighed the same as the day I found out I was pregnant.
My blood pressure was borderline near the end, but I didn't have to be induced and went into labor on my own, a few days BEFORE my due date. And I was bleeding. That day was my most typical labor, starting very gradually, writing the contractions down with times and seeing them get closer together all day long.
My husband was working, finishing our retaining wall, and I had the pleasure of telling him to hurry up because it was almost time to go the hospital. My doctor was not on call, and I had no relationship with the guy covering for him.
So I went in with contractions around 5 minutes apart, still feeling okay, but with bright red blood. I was afraid, and prayed, and gave the baby to God, again. The middle name we had for a boy meant "he belongs to God" and I just kept telling Him that, over and over, praying for the next kick. But he seemed to be okay.
When I got to the hospital I was 7 or 8 centimeters, still in a good mood, doing well. My bp was probably a little high, and I got in bed, thinking we were almost there. Then began the worst hour and a half (or 10 minutes or 6 days - I have no idea how long it was) of labor in my life. It was horrible and nothing I did helped. And this doc didn't know what to do with me. Here I was at 8 centimeters, not progressing, writhing, changing positions, wanting to die, bleeding, and all the while the baby's heart tones are slowing and slowing and slowing.
Finally, the doc says, I need you to try to push. And I did, and I did push that baby out, knowing we were very near a C-section.
He was fabulous. 8 lb 4 oz maybe - I am not sure. It was supposed to be triumphant, but didn't feel triumphant. It felt like a failure because I couldn't handle the pain, because my placenta was abrupting, because even without pitocin or an induction, even going completely natural, it hurt like, well, worse than anything I'd experienced.
Maybe having had the epidural with the last baby, I had forgotten? Maybe I'm getting old? It was unnerving. I lost my nerve. I lost my confidence, my pluck. And for the first time, I was afraid.
Too good to be true
Almost 2 years later
Spring, 2009
There were an additional 5 months between 9 and 10, as compared to the other children's spacing. And each month I would relinquish to God my right to have any more children. If 9 was it, that was fine. If there were more, that would also be wonderful. I was grateful for the set we had and was okay either way, to add more or be done.
So when I found out I was pregnant, I was ecstatic - this baby was not a foregone conclusion, not an assumption. I knew God didn't have to give me any more children - and I was grateful that somehow He had chosen to bless me again.
I think because, even though my ob considered the last baby to be a success for me, I felt like a failure somehow - I didn't try to eat as well during my next pregnancy. I just gave up. My placenta had started to detach, a symptom of high blood pressure, and my blood pressure had been high, not enough to induce, but high nonetheless. For all my sacrificing, I had avoided an early induction, but I had not had a "good labor" like I'd had with 6 & 7.
So I crapped out. I did walk on the treadmill for a while, and kept it under control (maybe), but then I got sick and stopped that too. And when my bp was high at 37 wks, I said, I don't want to risk waiting and having my placenta detach again, let's go for it. The previous labor was scary, why wait.
At 37 weeks and 1 day I went to my check up, my pressure was high, I went to the WEU, it didn't come down, and they sent me upstairs. My stomach was empty, it was mid morning, and that was not in my favor. I had another long haul ahead of me, and my body wasn't ready.
So, just like with Bibith, I had a super long slow tedious unproductive induction, and gave in to an epidural more from exhaustion and hunger than actual pain. I just didn't think I could do it.
Another all day of imaginary labor (that's how it feels), with a little jello maybe, and at some point started to bleed. WHAT? Another abruption? Not good. Not good at all.
The baby did fine, heart tones good, no distress, but not coming down. Finally, a nurse suggested a position change that seemed to help and our baby girl was born, 7 lb 2 oz, after 17 hours of seeming futility. She didn't nurse well, had a bruise covering the top of her head (poor presentation) and became quite jaundiced.
So even though I have these 10 amazing children, all healthy and strong, all of whom who went home from the hospital on time and nursed for at the least 4 months, even though all that, I look back on my last 3 deliveries as relative failures. I probably shouldn't, but compared to how great and confident I felt after the earlier ones, I do.
The next birth story is not mine, and has had some attention already, and really deserves it's own post.
But, heading into the next delivery, having gained 40 or more lbs, with swollen ankles and feet and calves, knowing my blood pressure will most likely be high, knowing our little person may have challenges of his or her own, I don't know even what to hope for.
I think I'll be induced. Either my bp will be high, or the baby's growth will necessitate a delivery. I do not want to have an epidural. I think my labors with epidurals and especially stuck in bed do not progress, baby gets stuck, labor is long and often hard on baby, and potentially affects the health of the baby after, including blood sugar and jaundice.
My plan is to go to every ob appointment with a very full stomach and schedule all my appointments early in the morning. If I get sent to the WEU I'll have a snack on the way. I have a friend who is going to help me get through the hard parts, only allowing me to have an epidural if I say the secret password. I have to lay down if I can to conserve my strength, use heat, massage, anything available to get through the parts that I can stand to be in bed, so that I have strength to be up when it gets hard.
And I need to find that secret place again, that place where I find the Lord, praying and seeking His face and basking in His presence during my most sacred moments. In my weakness, He shows Himself most strong - hasn't that been the theme of this season.
I have to give my best labor this time. More than ever, my baby might need it. And I need it. I need to not feel like a failure again. I need one more good story. I need to find that place of communion with the Creator, Womb-Wonder-Worker, the Knitter in the secret place. I need to link arms with Him again, as together we bring another life into His world for His glory.
So help me God.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Getting closer
I am 33 and a half weeks pregnant. Not sure if that's any kind of milestone, but it feels like getting closer to me. I was looking at one of my youngest, who is, today dressed in layers - a really loud purple, pink, orange and white paisley dress, a dark purple velvet dress up dress, pink long johns, the teal butterfly print skirt of a swimming suit, and a red shirt with royal blue sleeves and small white polka-dots (don't let yourself imagine that any of those pinks and purples compliment each other, either)and enjoying the uniqueness of her. She has pale blue eyes, dimples that rival the perfection of a cabbage patch kid, fair skin, and blond whispy hair that explodes into a puff of curls on the back of her head (reminds me of Sally from Peanuts). She is delightful.
She is still nursing, which for me is bizzaro, since none of my other children made it past 10 months nursing, and she has kept going through a week without mom (Bermuda:) and another 2 when we went to get our precious #11. But she is, and I think there is good in that - maybe helping get my body ready to deliver a little early.
I'm pretty convinced that this baby will be early because of my blood pressure (and the irresponsible way I've managed it this pregnancy, gaining much, exercising little) and potentially because of my potential to have a potentially chromosomally enhanced bundle of potentiality.
As I look at her, I find myself counting up in my head, then on my fingers, and at last breaking down and getting a piece of paper, how many of my darlings have blue eyes, hazel, chocolatey brown; how many have curls; and all the varying statistics that quantify the uniqueness of God's creation in my house, and wondering . . .
Who will this baby, this #12, this Doze (Portuguese for 12, hence the nickname Dozer) be? Will we have a boy, a girl, blue eyes, brown, green, blond, brown, curly, straight? Who is coming to meet us? Dozer is very busy these days, moving, kicking, hiccupping, rolling, exercising for his or her debut.
And I wonder, even though I think I've found some peace either way, boy or girl, 46 or 47 chromosomes, what manner of child is God giving us? Do we have the typical model, or the enhanced? I don't know. Some 50% of women who have a baby with Down syndrome had NO markers whatsoever on their ultrasounds. And I've never had any, until now. On the other hand, there are women who have all the markers I have and deliver babies who have the typical # of chromosomes. I don't know.
But I'm getting closer to knowing. I am 33 and 1/2 weeks today. 2 of my last 3 were born at 37 and 1/2 weeks. Four weeks left, maybe? I will start having non-stress tests at my next visit. Never did that before.
One thing I've done on my little journey with Down syndrome is read blogs of women who have had babies with Ds. Here are my 3 favorites. Not easy to read, but worth reading, worth knowing, worth feeling.
www.theblessingofverity.com
www.babynumber10.blogspot.com
www.kellehampton.com/2011/01/pay-it...
The third one is doing a fundraiser for the national down syndrome society (at least I assume that's what NDSS stands for). I'm not asking you to give, not sure I'm giving, but I am passing it on. Whether my baby has 46 or 47 chromosomes, I don't think God has called me to be an advocate in the way some moms are. But I do have eyes that are opener than they were, and I think it is worth giving you the chance to have your eyes be opener too. (I know that's not proper grammar, just being funny)
She is still nursing, which for me is bizzaro, since none of my other children made it past 10 months nursing, and she has kept going through a week without mom (Bermuda:) and another 2 when we went to get our precious #11. But she is, and I think there is good in that - maybe helping get my body ready to deliver a little early.
I'm pretty convinced that this baby will be early because of my blood pressure (and the irresponsible way I've managed it this pregnancy, gaining much, exercising little) and potentially because of my potential to have a potentially chromosomally enhanced bundle of potentiality.
As I look at her, I find myself counting up in my head, then on my fingers, and at last breaking down and getting a piece of paper, how many of my darlings have blue eyes, hazel, chocolatey brown; how many have curls; and all the varying statistics that quantify the uniqueness of God's creation in my house, and wondering . . .
Who will this baby, this #12, this Doze (Portuguese for 12, hence the nickname Dozer) be? Will we have a boy, a girl, blue eyes, brown, green, blond, brown, curly, straight? Who is coming to meet us? Dozer is very busy these days, moving, kicking, hiccupping, rolling, exercising for his or her debut.
And I wonder, even though I think I've found some peace either way, boy or girl, 46 or 47 chromosomes, what manner of child is God giving us? Do we have the typical model, or the enhanced? I don't know. Some 50% of women who have a baby with Down syndrome had NO markers whatsoever on their ultrasounds. And I've never had any, until now. On the other hand, there are women who have all the markers I have and deliver babies who have the typical # of chromosomes. I don't know.
But I'm getting closer to knowing. I am 33 and 1/2 weeks today. 2 of my last 3 were born at 37 and 1/2 weeks. Four weeks left, maybe? I will start having non-stress tests at my next visit. Never did that before.
One thing I've done on my little journey with Down syndrome is read blogs of women who have had babies with Ds. Here are my 3 favorites. Not easy to read, but worth reading, worth knowing, worth feeling.
www.theblessingofverity.com
www.babynumber10.blogspot.com
www.kellehampton.com/2011/01/pay-it...
The third one is doing a fundraiser for the national down syndrome society (at least I assume that's what NDSS stands for). I'm not asking you to give, not sure I'm giving, but I am passing it on. Whether my baby has 46 or 47 chromosomes, I don't think God has called me to be an advocate in the way some moms are. But I do have eyes that are opener than they were, and I think it is worth giving you the chance to have your eyes be opener too. (I know that's not proper grammar, just being funny)
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Birth Stories, part 4
17 months and 2 weeks later . . .
Jambo, Fall of 2004
Having experienced the nearly perfect birth of number 6, I had finally figured it all out. There was the meconium thing, and waiting for the doctor, but having a baby without pitocin, in God's timing was definitely the way to go, and I was committed to it.
So, as #7's due date came and went, I was not troubled. As we approached the 41 week mark, I was at peace. At my 41 week appointment, I was not concerned. Until my doctor took my blood pressure.
Up until that appointment, my bp had only been high when I was in labor. Not a big deal. We had since come to an understanding that if my blood pressure was under a certain number, I could still get out of bed to labor, so I wasn't worried about it. But that Monday afternoon at my appointment, my doc said, I'm sorry, but we need to have this baby, I can't let you leave with numbers like this.
I cried. But my husband came, I got hooked up, and from the first drop of pitocin until they said it's a boy it was only 2 and 1/2 hours. Not only that, but I did almost all of it out of bed, and the pain was manageable. I love watching that birth video. It was a real struggle deciding whether to get in bed and be checked, but when I did, they said I was pretty much there. My doctor let me wait until I wanted to push this time. It was quiet and peaceful, no stirrups, the doc, a nurse, a couple friends taking pictures and video, just waiting. Each contraction came and went. (it hadn't taken much pitocin, by the way, being 41 wks) Finally there was a contraction that lasted maybe 3-4 minutes. In the video you can see the people checking their watches. But by the end of that contraction, we had a baby boy, God's gift, and he was perfect and marvelous, 8 lb, 7 oz.
So I thought, okay, maybe pitocin isn't the devil, just trying to have a baby early is the actual devil. Hmmn.
17 months and 2 weeks later (same spacing to the day) . . .
Bibith, Winter, 2006
Like any pregnant woman with children, I enjoy a little break now and then, so when my OB began sending me to the Women's Evaluation Unit (hereafter referred to as the WEU, pronounced Wee-U, which is what my daughter calls the Wii) to be observed, it didn't bother me too much. It was exciting, knowing baby would happen soon, the pregnancy was almost over. I would be okay, I'd stand up during labor, it would be fine. And at 37 weeks 3 days, when my blood pressure was causing my liver enzymes to elevate (that's all I know, don't know which enzymes or how high or anything else) and my ob said we have to do this, I was okay with it.
The problem was that it was the middle of the night, I hadn't eaten, or slept, and I was being induced 3 and a half weeks before my body really wanted to have a baby. And it protested. For hours I would have contractions, get up, and not have them. On. Off. Frus. Trating. Finally, I agreed to an epidural, I thought so they could turn the pitocin up higher and speed things up. But they didn't. I had a sweet little nurse who could see that I was having contractions (It's my 8th baby - I have contractions all the time - means NOTHING!) so she didn't want to turn it up. So nothing happened.
It was morning, the cotton candy nurse left, I had an epidural but was not in labor. I was not progressing, not nothing. Finally, the getturdone team showed up, including Val from my 4th labor, to make things happen, turn it up. I had way too many people there for that baby, which doesn't help with progressing. I was hungry and bored.
Blah, blah, blah, eventually contractions picked up. I should mention that in the 10 or so years since my first, the epidural has changed and now does not take away all feeling, and this is good. Eventually I was feeling them, and finally felt like pushing. right. now. Again, Val trying to keep me from giving birth, again waiting for my doctor to get there, but finally (about 16 hours after we started) we pushed out a tiny 6 lb 2 oz baby girl. She was so tiny we called her baby for years.
She also had a hard time nursing, maybe because she was sleepy, maybe because she was little, maybe because my body was no more ready to make milk than it was to give birth at that point, maybe because she was jaundiced. But she only became more jaundiced because of not eating. And eventually Roberta, the old battleax from the newborn nursery, came and let me know that we had to give her bottles or she couldn't go home with me.
And I wept long and hard and looked like crap. It was the final straw in the labor that didn't go my way. Not my due date, not my labor, not my baby - they were taking it all away. Melodramatic? Maybe, but I also think when you jump start labor weeks early it throws the hormones into a huge lurch and the emotions run wild. I was a mess. Eventually I pumped and worked through it, but it was really rough.
I did not want to do that again.
Jambo, Fall of 2004
Having experienced the nearly perfect birth of number 6, I had finally figured it all out. There was the meconium thing, and waiting for the doctor, but having a baby without pitocin, in God's timing was definitely the way to go, and I was committed to it.
So, as #7's due date came and went, I was not troubled. As we approached the 41 week mark, I was at peace. At my 41 week appointment, I was not concerned. Until my doctor took my blood pressure.
Up until that appointment, my bp had only been high when I was in labor. Not a big deal. We had since come to an understanding that if my blood pressure was under a certain number, I could still get out of bed to labor, so I wasn't worried about it. But that Monday afternoon at my appointment, my doc said, I'm sorry, but we need to have this baby, I can't let you leave with numbers like this.
I cried. But my husband came, I got hooked up, and from the first drop of pitocin until they said it's a boy it was only 2 and 1/2 hours. Not only that, but I did almost all of it out of bed, and the pain was manageable. I love watching that birth video. It was a real struggle deciding whether to get in bed and be checked, but when I did, they said I was pretty much there. My doctor let me wait until I wanted to push this time. It was quiet and peaceful, no stirrups, the doc, a nurse, a couple friends taking pictures and video, just waiting. Each contraction came and went. (it hadn't taken much pitocin, by the way, being 41 wks) Finally there was a contraction that lasted maybe 3-4 minutes. In the video you can see the people checking their watches. But by the end of that contraction, we had a baby boy, God's gift, and he was perfect and marvelous, 8 lb, 7 oz.
So I thought, okay, maybe pitocin isn't the devil, just trying to have a baby early is the actual devil. Hmmn.
17 months and 2 weeks later (same spacing to the day) . . .
Bibith, Winter, 2006
Like any pregnant woman with children, I enjoy a little break now and then, so when my OB began sending me to the Women's Evaluation Unit (hereafter referred to as the WEU, pronounced Wee-U, which is what my daughter calls the Wii) to be observed, it didn't bother me too much. It was exciting, knowing baby would happen soon, the pregnancy was almost over. I would be okay, I'd stand up during labor, it would be fine. And at 37 weeks 3 days, when my blood pressure was causing my liver enzymes to elevate (that's all I know, don't know which enzymes or how high or anything else) and my ob said we have to do this, I was okay with it.
The problem was that it was the middle of the night, I hadn't eaten, or slept, and I was being induced 3 and a half weeks before my body really wanted to have a baby. And it protested. For hours I would have contractions, get up, and not have them. On. Off. Frus. Trating. Finally, I agreed to an epidural, I thought so they could turn the pitocin up higher and speed things up. But they didn't. I had a sweet little nurse who could see that I was having contractions (It's my 8th baby - I have contractions all the time - means NOTHING!) so she didn't want to turn it up. So nothing happened.
It was morning, the cotton candy nurse left, I had an epidural but was not in labor. I was not progressing, not nothing. Finally, the getturdone team showed up, including Val from my 4th labor, to make things happen, turn it up. I had way too many people there for that baby, which doesn't help with progressing. I was hungry and bored.
Blah, blah, blah, eventually contractions picked up. I should mention that in the 10 or so years since my first, the epidural has changed and now does not take away all feeling, and this is good. Eventually I was feeling them, and finally felt like pushing. right. now. Again, Val trying to keep me from giving birth, again waiting for my doctor to get there, but finally (about 16 hours after we started) we pushed out a tiny 6 lb 2 oz baby girl. She was so tiny we called her baby for years.
She also had a hard time nursing, maybe because she was sleepy, maybe because she was little, maybe because my body was no more ready to make milk than it was to give birth at that point, maybe because she was jaundiced. But she only became more jaundiced because of not eating. And eventually Roberta, the old battleax from the newborn nursery, came and let me know that we had to give her bottles or she couldn't go home with me.
And I wept long and hard and looked like crap. It was the final straw in the labor that didn't go my way. Not my due date, not my labor, not my baby - they were taking it all away. Melodramatic? Maybe, but I also think when you jump start labor weeks early it throws the hormones into a huge lurch and the emotions run wild. I was a mess. Eventually I pumped and worked through it, but it was really rough.
I did not want to do that again.
"better"
(written November 23, 2010)
i sent out a text last night to 3 batches of people because i have made myself vulnerable to so many people my phone has to break it into 3 groups to send a text. anyway, this is what the text said: after ultrasound today our odds for down syndrome were lower, baby looks healthy, trusting God for whatever He blesses us with. i don't think i meant to say our odds are all better. i didn't mean we had no risk. i just meant we went from 1 in 2 to something like 1 in 5 at the worst.
the doctor appointment itself was confusing to me. when asked about the nasal bone, both the sonographer and the perinatologist said it is too late for that to mean anything, but last time the peri based her 1:2 odds on its absence. this doc said because the baby is growing and is a good size and that he wouldn't worry.
so this is what i think: i think the doc spoke as from the Lord to my heart. he basically said, don't worry about this. you cannot see the future. your baby may have downs. or you could have a child with autism, or a cancer diagnosis, or lose a child in a car wreck. you can't know the future. right now, you need to focus on what you have, focus on the baby you have in your arms, on your family. whatever God gives you, you will do great with.
but then i have the responses of the whole world who received my text. they all seem to have taken it as a "never mind, we don't have downs." and i don't know if we do or not. i will still be seen monthly. i will still be monitored weekly at the end if the kidneys don't normalize. i think if we had had a different perinatologist we might have had a different interpretation. we Just Don't Know.
and here's the tough little thing - i have come to see the baby in my belly as a baby with an extra chromosome. that's who i think is in there. that is who i'm looking forward to meeting, because that is who i thought God was making. all the people praising God for not giving me that T21 baby are rejecting the baby i want. they are very excited for me, but i feel like i've lost someone.
i'm also having to let go of my pride, and acknowledge that maybe God isn't giving me a baby with Ds because i can't be that good of a mom, that i wouldn't be able to make sure he got everything he needed.
i feel like a fool, having told so many loved ones, sometimes in tears, and now it looks like there wasn't ever that big a risk, and why did i even go there anyway.
but mostly i'm disappointed, because i have loved and potentially lost an imaginary little baby with an extra chromosome, and at the moment of finding out he was only in my heart and never in my uterus (maybe), i also learned that the rest of the world is seeming glad, thrilled that he went away - nobody wanted him but me.
i do not want to be disappointed when my baby comes. for this reason, i will set my heart to receive what to me is the less desirable option - i will anticipate a baby like all the others. and if He ever does in fact trust me with a little 'tongue-er' (nick's name for Ds), i will be the one dancing for joy that God trusted me enough to give me such a reward.
i sent out a text last night to 3 batches of people because i have made myself vulnerable to so many people my phone has to break it into 3 groups to send a text. anyway, this is what the text said: after ultrasound today our odds for down syndrome were lower, baby looks healthy, trusting God for whatever He blesses us with. i don't think i meant to say our odds are all better. i didn't mean we had no risk. i just meant we went from 1 in 2 to something like 1 in 5 at the worst.
the doctor appointment itself was confusing to me. when asked about the nasal bone, both the sonographer and the perinatologist said it is too late for that to mean anything, but last time the peri based her 1:2 odds on its absence. this doc said because the baby is growing and is a good size and that he wouldn't worry.
so this is what i think: i think the doc spoke as from the Lord to my heart. he basically said, don't worry about this. you cannot see the future. your baby may have downs. or you could have a child with autism, or a cancer diagnosis, or lose a child in a car wreck. you can't know the future. right now, you need to focus on what you have, focus on the baby you have in your arms, on your family. whatever God gives you, you will do great with.
but then i have the responses of the whole world who received my text. they all seem to have taken it as a "never mind, we don't have downs." and i don't know if we do or not. i will still be seen monthly. i will still be monitored weekly at the end if the kidneys don't normalize. i think if we had had a different perinatologist we might have had a different interpretation. we Just Don't Know.
and here's the tough little thing - i have come to see the baby in my belly as a baby with an extra chromosome. that's who i think is in there. that is who i'm looking forward to meeting, because that is who i thought God was making. all the people praising God for not giving me that T21 baby are rejecting the baby i want. they are very excited for me, but i feel like i've lost someone.
i'm also having to let go of my pride, and acknowledge that maybe God isn't giving me a baby with Ds because i can't be that good of a mom, that i wouldn't be able to make sure he got everything he needed.
i feel like a fool, having told so many loved ones, sometimes in tears, and now it looks like there wasn't ever that big a risk, and why did i even go there anyway.
but mostly i'm disappointed, because i have loved and potentially lost an imaginary little baby with an extra chromosome, and at the moment of finding out he was only in my heart and never in my uterus (maybe), i also learned that the rest of the world is seeming glad, thrilled that he went away - nobody wanted him but me.
i do not want to be disappointed when my baby comes. for this reason, i will set my heart to receive what to me is the less desirable option - i will anticipate a baby like all the others. and if He ever does in fact trust me with a little 'tongue-er' (nick's name for Ds), i will be the one dancing for joy that God trusted me enough to give me such a reward.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Birth stories, part 3
15 months, 3 weeks later . . .
Nani, summer, Y2K
Firstborn daughter celebrated her fourth birthday 9 days before the arrival of her new sister. In fact, for a while, we had a joke that all our kids got a baby when they turned 4. This baby was conceived against all our understanding of periods and calendars and birth control, and it was at about this time we figured out that we were not very good at family planning. I read the books "A Mom Just Like You" by Vickie Farris (wife of HSLDA Pres. Michael Farris) and "A Full Quiver" by Rick and Jan Hess. The first book has two chapters about giving God control of your fertility, one about letting God give you more kids, and the other about trusting God when He doesn't give you more kids - very humbly and gently spoken. The second book is a dogmatic and somewhat sassy presentation of the same basic concept, that babies are a blessing from God to be received with joy.
All I knew was that I was pregnant with my fourth (and presumed final) baby at a young age, and wasn't ready to be done. So somewhere during this time period, WE decided WE were willing to have at least one more.
We also got a bigger house. At 8 months pregnant. Sigh.
It is possible that this delivery represents the height of my arrogance. Knowing that after an ob appointment I would have contractions, knowing my ob (different than the one who delivered my first 3 children) would supplement my "labor" if I showed up at the hospital with contractions (even though we all knew I wasn't really in labor), I had a check up, went for a walk on the hospital grounds, and went in. They hooked me up, decided I needed pitocin to "supplement" my "labor" and there you go, I was induced.
I walked around the floor on pitocin for a couple hours, did nipple stimulation in the room to help it along, and eventually really was in labor. My nurse, Val, who really was very experienced, was telling me it would be a long time, and that I was in too good of a mood and not really in labor yet. I believed her and asked for an epidural. In the 10 minutes it took for the anesthesiologist to get there, I really went into labor and progressed quite rapidly.
My parents popped their heads in while it was being placed, and were told to come back in a half an hour. "A half an hour?!" I said. "What happens in a half an hour?" They answered that I would be feeling much better then. I told them that I didn't think I had that long. I was told I would receive a test dose to see how I handled it, and then I'd get the full dose. But as soon as I turned over, I said, "I want to push, I need to push, I'm pushing (conjugating the verb, you know)."
7 lb, 8 oz Anne (means grace) was born into the hands of Val and the anesthesiologist. A doctor came in from the hall and checked to see if everything was okay, and my doctor showed up a few minutes later. I went from 5 centimeters to baby in 15 minutes. So I began to get a reputation for quick deliveries. We were only at the hospital for about 4 hours.
However . . .
Dimples, Fall 2001
Fifteen months and 3 weeks later, my bubble was burst. Since I'd had a big baby and two fast babies and lived a half hour from the hospital and had 4 small children to find childcare for (blah, blah, blah), and since my OB was probably tired of my whining, we scheduled an induction for the day before her due date. At this point, I had figured out the whole thing, standing up during labor, working through contractions, etc.
The thing I hadn't figured on was high blood pressure. This is where it begins. My blood pressure was high that day, so I had to stay in bed. All. Day. Child number 5 hadn't been told that I go quickly. Contractions that happen at 2 centimeters when you lay on your back in bed feel very much the same as contractions that happen at 6 or 7 or 8 centimeters when you are up moving around. It is just that different. But I knew I would go quickly, so I held off on the epidural. After all, I was a week more pregnant than the last two babies.
But alas! This was the labor that never ends, the baby who was coming down wrong, positioned wrong, I couldn't (didn't know enough to) move around in the bed to help her out, had a freaked out nurse, and came pretty darn close to a c-section and/or vacuum extraction.
Finally, my doctor said, "I know you aren't complete and don't have the urge to push yet, but (heart tones dropping, I've been on O2 for a while, an O2 sat monitor on the baby's head, amnio infusion, all the interventions going in me without an epidural, the guy doing it rolled his eyes when he realized I was feeling the whole thing, I thought there were like 3 sets of hands in there and wondered while they were all in there why they didn't just grab the baby and pull it out!) we need you to push this baby out."
I had an anterior lip, or something like that, but after 20 hours of pitocin, when I saw the vacuum extractor come out (which looked to me like Mr. Waternoose and Randall's scream machine from Monsters, Inc.) I gave a mighty push, like Casey at the Bat, and Voila! A silent blue child emerged.
I asked if she was ok several thousand times and no one answered (or they did but not convincingly, because she was still silent).
But eventually she did scream and we all started breathing again. I was anticipating a boy. I was anticipating a great and triumphant labor. I was anticipating everything going the way I wanted it to. And it didn't happen the way I anticipated.
What happened instead was dimples. 6 of them. Not even smiling, I counted 6 dimples and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. And after the scare she gave me, I loved that baby so hard. 7 lbs, 8 oz, Claire, meaning light. Her song was Claire de Lune, and she reminded me of how our light is just a reflection of The Light that coming into the world was the Light of men, and the darkness could not overwhelm it.
The next couple days of storybookland continued. I hemorraged a bit, nearly passing out, seemed to have a little something left inside, more hands inside without enough pain medication to handle it.
The entire experience was enough to make me consider whether to have more, whether to switch doctors, etc. But I did a pile of research on the internet, figured out what I'd been doing wrong, and went into the next labor with a whole new groove in mind.
16 months 3 weeks later
Nuke, spring 2003
I was committed to ridding myself of Pitocin forever. I was going to wait. I would wait until I was in labor, real labor. I wasn't going to whine or be impatient or self induce or use nipple stimulation. I was going to wait until the baby was ready to come out and my body was ready to give birth. I was going to let God be in charge of when my labor started instead of trying to make it happen myself.
So here we were, expecting another child, partly because we still had a boy name we were waiting on, Nicholas - victorious. And my due date came and went, of course. And approaching the one week mark, with offers of pitocin, I held firm. After my last doctor appointment, on a Friday afternoon, I asked my husband to meet me at the mall, and we walked for two hours with hard contractions every 2 minutes, breathing through them, sure this would be it, but so tired. Sat down to rest, contractions all gone, bye-bye.
The agony and humiliation of going home to children and in-laws without being in labor. I half heartedly vacuumed the basement, but knew in my heart that I would, in fact, be pregnant for-e-ver. Ate dinner, went to bed, didn't even bother with the marital action, too disappointed. Woke up to pee at 2:30, sat on the can and Whammo! Contraction. Felt the head come down. Hmmn. That was interesting.
Back in bed, 5 minutes later, contraction. Hmmn. That's never happened before, two regular hard contractions in a row without any outside influence. What do you know? 5 minutes later, if you can believe it, I had another one.
I got out of bed and got dressed, beginning to believe in my heart that the impossible might actually happen to me, I might for real give birth without being induced. And lo and behold another contraction, 5 minutes apart. So the stories were true.
I woke up the husband, he told his parents, and we were off. Contractions still happening in the van, though not so painful (didn't occur to me to be thankful for this). Walked into triage (or whatever it was called then), and they didn't know what to do with me. I was smiling (grinning from ear to ear probably) but said I was in labor, hadn't called my ob. Well, okay, they would check me.
Six! I was at 6 centimeters. 6 centimeters with my 6th baby, they started to believe me. But my blood pressure was high, so they'd give me a few minutes to see if they could get a better blood pressure reading before taking me upstairs. So they're out with my husband at the desk, filling things out, and I'm hurting pretty bad and wishing I was not on a gurney and sploosh! My water broke. Um, green, yeah, everywhere. Well now I had everyone's full attention. Blood pressure reading or no, it was time to go upstairs. Did I mention that I have had a couple quick babies?
So up we went and a few minutes later the pitocin loving doctor walks in (the one who started the drip with child #2 without any notice or permission) and offers to get me going again (because the contractions slowed when my water broke). But I know, from my research, that my uterus just has to catch up because it is all big and inflated and just lost all the water that it was full of. So I insist and he and the nurse leave us alone. No i.v. Was there a monitor? Yes, but it wasn't staying on and THEY DIDN'T CARE! (That was different.)
A few minutes later the contractions picked up again. I got up on all fours with my head and arms resting on the elevated headboard (butt completely exposed, thank you very much) and worked through a couple. Then I had my first transition-like contraction, and I thought, "Oh, it still has to hurt like this, even without pitocin," followed by the tiniest beginning of the urge to push at the very end. We radioed the nurse and she came right in, I got on my back, she checked me, agreed that I was complete, called the desk and said, "tell him to run." She helped me to not push (incredibly, the hardest part of his labor was the NOT pushing), made me look her in the eye, pant, etc, until he got there (because the water was green, we needed him there). She was good.
We gave birth a push or so later to a green haired, punk rocker named Nicholas, who I believe weighed 7 lb, 15 oz. He had a little trouble staying warm, but other than that was a champ, and I felt like Rocky, myself. It had been only 3-4 hours since that first contraction. Beautiful.
Nani, summer, Y2K
Firstborn daughter celebrated her fourth birthday 9 days before the arrival of her new sister. In fact, for a while, we had a joke that all our kids got a baby when they turned 4. This baby was conceived against all our understanding of periods and calendars and birth control, and it was at about this time we figured out that we were not very good at family planning. I read the books "A Mom Just Like You" by Vickie Farris (wife of HSLDA Pres. Michael Farris) and "A Full Quiver" by Rick and Jan Hess. The first book has two chapters about giving God control of your fertility, one about letting God give you more kids, and the other about trusting God when He doesn't give you more kids - very humbly and gently spoken. The second book is a dogmatic and somewhat sassy presentation of the same basic concept, that babies are a blessing from God to be received with joy.
All I knew was that I was pregnant with my fourth (and presumed final) baby at a young age, and wasn't ready to be done. So somewhere during this time period, WE decided WE were willing to have at least one more.
We also got a bigger house. At 8 months pregnant. Sigh.
It is possible that this delivery represents the height of my arrogance. Knowing that after an ob appointment I would have contractions, knowing my ob (different than the one who delivered my first 3 children) would supplement my "labor" if I showed up at the hospital with contractions (even though we all knew I wasn't really in labor), I had a check up, went for a walk on the hospital grounds, and went in. They hooked me up, decided I needed pitocin to "supplement" my "labor" and there you go, I was induced.
I walked around the floor on pitocin for a couple hours, did nipple stimulation in the room to help it along, and eventually really was in labor. My nurse, Val, who really was very experienced, was telling me it would be a long time, and that I was in too good of a mood and not really in labor yet. I believed her and asked for an epidural. In the 10 minutes it took for the anesthesiologist to get there, I really went into labor and progressed quite rapidly.
My parents popped their heads in while it was being placed, and were told to come back in a half an hour. "A half an hour?!" I said. "What happens in a half an hour?" They answered that I would be feeling much better then. I told them that I didn't think I had that long. I was told I would receive a test dose to see how I handled it, and then I'd get the full dose. But as soon as I turned over, I said, "I want to push, I need to push, I'm pushing (conjugating the verb, you know)."
7 lb, 8 oz Anne (means grace) was born into the hands of Val and the anesthesiologist. A doctor came in from the hall and checked to see if everything was okay, and my doctor showed up a few minutes later. I went from 5 centimeters to baby in 15 minutes. So I began to get a reputation for quick deliveries. We were only at the hospital for about 4 hours.
However . . .
Dimples, Fall 2001
Fifteen months and 3 weeks later, my bubble was burst. Since I'd had a big baby and two fast babies and lived a half hour from the hospital and had 4 small children to find childcare for (blah, blah, blah), and since my OB was probably tired of my whining, we scheduled an induction for the day before her due date. At this point, I had figured out the whole thing, standing up during labor, working through contractions, etc.
The thing I hadn't figured on was high blood pressure. This is where it begins. My blood pressure was high that day, so I had to stay in bed. All. Day. Child number 5 hadn't been told that I go quickly. Contractions that happen at 2 centimeters when you lay on your back in bed feel very much the same as contractions that happen at 6 or 7 or 8 centimeters when you are up moving around. It is just that different. But I knew I would go quickly, so I held off on the epidural. After all, I was a week more pregnant than the last two babies.
But alas! This was the labor that never ends, the baby who was coming down wrong, positioned wrong, I couldn't (didn't know enough to) move around in the bed to help her out, had a freaked out nurse, and came pretty darn close to a c-section and/or vacuum extraction.
Finally, my doctor said, "I know you aren't complete and don't have the urge to push yet, but (heart tones dropping, I've been on O2 for a while, an O2 sat monitor on the baby's head, amnio infusion, all the interventions going in me without an epidural, the guy doing it rolled his eyes when he realized I was feeling the whole thing, I thought there were like 3 sets of hands in there and wondered while they were all in there why they didn't just grab the baby and pull it out!) we need you to push this baby out."
I had an anterior lip, or something like that, but after 20 hours of pitocin, when I saw the vacuum extractor come out (which looked to me like Mr. Waternoose and Randall's scream machine from Monsters, Inc.) I gave a mighty push, like Casey at the Bat, and Voila! A silent blue child emerged.
I asked if she was ok several thousand times and no one answered (or they did but not convincingly, because she was still silent).
But eventually she did scream and we all started breathing again. I was anticipating a boy. I was anticipating a great and triumphant labor. I was anticipating everything going the way I wanted it to. And it didn't happen the way I anticipated.
What happened instead was dimples. 6 of them. Not even smiling, I counted 6 dimples and the brightest eyes I had ever seen. And after the scare she gave me, I loved that baby so hard. 7 lbs, 8 oz, Claire, meaning light. Her song was Claire de Lune, and she reminded me of how our light is just a reflection of The Light that coming into the world was the Light of men, and the darkness could not overwhelm it.
The next couple days of storybookland continued. I hemorraged a bit, nearly passing out, seemed to have a little something left inside, more hands inside without enough pain medication to handle it.
The entire experience was enough to make me consider whether to have more, whether to switch doctors, etc. But I did a pile of research on the internet, figured out what I'd been doing wrong, and went into the next labor with a whole new groove in mind.
16 months 3 weeks later
Nuke, spring 2003
I was committed to ridding myself of Pitocin forever. I was going to wait. I would wait until I was in labor, real labor. I wasn't going to whine or be impatient or self induce or use nipple stimulation. I was going to wait until the baby was ready to come out and my body was ready to give birth. I was going to let God be in charge of when my labor started instead of trying to make it happen myself.
So here we were, expecting another child, partly because we still had a boy name we were waiting on, Nicholas - victorious. And my due date came and went, of course. And approaching the one week mark, with offers of pitocin, I held firm. After my last doctor appointment, on a Friday afternoon, I asked my husband to meet me at the mall, and we walked for two hours with hard contractions every 2 minutes, breathing through them, sure this would be it, but so tired. Sat down to rest, contractions all gone, bye-bye.
The agony and humiliation of going home to children and in-laws without being in labor. I half heartedly vacuumed the basement, but knew in my heart that I would, in fact, be pregnant for-e-ver. Ate dinner, went to bed, didn't even bother with the marital action, too disappointed. Woke up to pee at 2:30, sat on the can and Whammo! Contraction. Felt the head come down. Hmmn. That was interesting.
Back in bed, 5 minutes later, contraction. Hmmn. That's never happened before, two regular hard contractions in a row without any outside influence. What do you know? 5 minutes later, if you can believe it, I had another one.
I got out of bed and got dressed, beginning to believe in my heart that the impossible might actually happen to me, I might for real give birth without being induced. And lo and behold another contraction, 5 minutes apart. So the stories were true.
I woke up the husband, he told his parents, and we were off. Contractions still happening in the van, though not so painful (didn't occur to me to be thankful for this). Walked into triage (or whatever it was called then), and they didn't know what to do with me. I was smiling (grinning from ear to ear probably) but said I was in labor, hadn't called my ob. Well, okay, they would check me.
Six! I was at 6 centimeters. 6 centimeters with my 6th baby, they started to believe me. But my blood pressure was high, so they'd give me a few minutes to see if they could get a better blood pressure reading before taking me upstairs. So they're out with my husband at the desk, filling things out, and I'm hurting pretty bad and wishing I was not on a gurney and sploosh! My water broke. Um, green, yeah, everywhere. Well now I had everyone's full attention. Blood pressure reading or no, it was time to go upstairs. Did I mention that I have had a couple quick babies?
So up we went and a few minutes later the pitocin loving doctor walks in (the one who started the drip with child #2 without any notice or permission) and offers to get me going again (because the contractions slowed when my water broke). But I know, from my research, that my uterus just has to catch up because it is all big and inflated and just lost all the water that it was full of. So I insist and he and the nurse leave us alone. No i.v. Was there a monitor? Yes, but it wasn't staying on and THEY DIDN'T CARE! (That was different.)
A few minutes later the contractions picked up again. I got up on all fours with my head and arms resting on the elevated headboard (butt completely exposed, thank you very much) and worked through a couple. Then I had my first transition-like contraction, and I thought, "Oh, it still has to hurt like this, even without pitocin," followed by the tiniest beginning of the urge to push at the very end. We radioed the nurse and she came right in, I got on my back, she checked me, agreed that I was complete, called the desk and said, "tell him to run." She helped me to not push (incredibly, the hardest part of his labor was the NOT pushing), made me look her in the eye, pant, etc, until he got there (because the water was green, we needed him there). She was good.
We gave birth a push or so later to a green haired, punk rocker named Nicholas, who I believe weighed 7 lb, 15 oz. He had a little trouble staying warm, but other than that was a champ, and I felt like Rocky, myself. It had been only 3-4 hours since that first contraction. Beautiful.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Birth stories, part 2
15 months and 3 weeks later . . .
Booty, spring 1999
My first two children were supposed to be 3 years apart and were really less than 17 months apart, 512 days. So when I found out was pregnant with our third child, I cried. This was not the plan. As I said before, I meant to have 4 children 3 years apart, and instead, I would have 3 children in less than three years. (Around this time I read the book "No Ordinary Home" which I love). But my husband didn't cry, he was pleased.
I was afraid I'd never leave the house again. I researched on-line grocery shopping. I thought life was over. I was, of course, again, wrong.
Since our first son weighed 9 lb 10 oz, we used that as an excuse to deliver early. There was some discrepency about when I was actually due, so I was going with the soonest possible due date, and that helped my cause. Finally, since I had discovered that through nipple stimulation, one could practically induce her own labor, I had big impatience and control issues. Finally, to get me to shut up maybe, my doctor said, when you have some contractions going, come on in, we'll hook you up, break your water, and get you delivered.
Only problem, the baby's head was pretty high. So the nurse actually encouraged me to get out of bed and walk with my labor (what a novel idea). I labored all night while my husband slept. I prayed, sang, and had a great time with God. But I was afraid they were going to send me home. At last, I was really in labor, progressing, and the nurse turned the pit off, thinking my body would take over. Wrong! I was 38 wks 5 days, my body takes 41 weeks to make a baby, and my labor went away. So they turned it back up, and the doc went down the hall for coffee.
I labored a while longer, and got on the bed to be checked. Sure enough, I was ready, and the nurse deliberately did not break my water, knowing the baby was sure to come when she did. So we were waiting for the doctor, the nurse was young and inexperienced, and I told her I wanted to push. She said, "don't you want to wait for the doctor", and I said, "not really. I decided to give just a little push, to relieve the pressure just a little, and whoosh! My water broke and my little 7 lb 5 oz boy swam right out onto the bed (which, thankfully, was still intact). Just me, Dad, the nurse, and our little son, whose name means son of my right hand (funny, because he's a lefty). Within a few minutes we had a whole lot of doctors and nurses in the room, and I'm sure the nurse felt terrible.
Surprises/lessons learned:
You can't really decide when to go into labor all by yourself. The contractions you can induce at home can be painful, but unless you are ready, they won't push a baby out.
Standing up and moving with labor is ever-so-much less painful and more efficient than laying on your back in a bed. It took about 12 hours, but most of that was very managable.
A baby who spends no time in the birth canal is beautiful! No battle marks on this boy.
I was so very surprised to have another son. I figured one son was what you got. In my family there were 3 girls and 1 boy, so I guessed that was what I would have. I remember sitting on my couch watching basketball with my sonS and calling my dad and rubbing it in.
Finally, going from 2 to 3 was not that big of a deal. I used a double stroller and a baby carrier and still went everywhere. I got strange looks, but still had enough of an ego to enjoy that. The bigger two played well together, and we did okay. It was loud and crazy, but I didn't really know any better.
Oh, I also learned not to potty train a toddler right before having a new baby. The last thing a new nursing mom wants to do is stop, put the baby down and run to the bathroom to wipe a bottom, even if it's a cute bottom.
Another side story: I had my worst case of thrush with this kid, and it beat me. We stopped nursing at 5 months. If I knew then what I know now . . . cut out sugar and dairy, take diflucan and power-acidophilus, boil everything, use gentian violet and diaper rash & thrush ointment from cottonbabies.com . . . but I didn't, it got way out of control and I lost.
Booty, spring 1999
My first two children were supposed to be 3 years apart and were really less than 17 months apart, 512 days. So when I found out was pregnant with our third child, I cried. This was not the plan. As I said before, I meant to have 4 children 3 years apart, and instead, I would have 3 children in less than three years. (Around this time I read the book "No Ordinary Home" which I love). But my husband didn't cry, he was pleased.
I was afraid I'd never leave the house again. I researched on-line grocery shopping. I thought life was over. I was, of course, again, wrong.
Since our first son weighed 9 lb 10 oz, we used that as an excuse to deliver early. There was some discrepency about when I was actually due, so I was going with the soonest possible due date, and that helped my cause. Finally, since I had discovered that through nipple stimulation, one could practically induce her own labor, I had big impatience and control issues. Finally, to get me to shut up maybe, my doctor said, when you have some contractions going, come on in, we'll hook you up, break your water, and get you delivered.
Only problem, the baby's head was pretty high. So the nurse actually encouraged me to get out of bed and walk with my labor (what a novel idea). I labored all night while my husband slept. I prayed, sang, and had a great time with God. But I was afraid they were going to send me home. At last, I was really in labor, progressing, and the nurse turned the pit off, thinking my body would take over. Wrong! I was 38 wks 5 days, my body takes 41 weeks to make a baby, and my labor went away. So they turned it back up, and the doc went down the hall for coffee.
I labored a while longer, and got on the bed to be checked. Sure enough, I was ready, and the nurse deliberately did not break my water, knowing the baby was sure to come when she did. So we were waiting for the doctor, the nurse was young and inexperienced, and I told her I wanted to push. She said, "don't you want to wait for the doctor", and I said, "not really. I decided to give just a little push, to relieve the pressure just a little, and whoosh! My water broke and my little 7 lb 5 oz boy swam right out onto the bed (which, thankfully, was still intact). Just me, Dad, the nurse, and our little son, whose name means son of my right hand (funny, because he's a lefty). Within a few minutes we had a whole lot of doctors and nurses in the room, and I'm sure the nurse felt terrible.
Surprises/lessons learned:
You can't really decide when to go into labor all by yourself. The contractions you can induce at home can be painful, but unless you are ready, they won't push a baby out.
Standing up and moving with labor is ever-so-much less painful and more efficient than laying on your back in a bed. It took about 12 hours, but most of that was very managable.
A baby who spends no time in the birth canal is beautiful! No battle marks on this boy.
I was so very surprised to have another son. I figured one son was what you got. In my family there were 3 girls and 1 boy, so I guessed that was what I would have. I remember sitting on my couch watching basketball with my sonS and calling my dad and rubbing it in.
Finally, going from 2 to 3 was not that big of a deal. I used a double stroller and a baby carrier and still went everywhere. I got strange looks, but still had enough of an ego to enjoy that. The bigger two played well together, and we did okay. It was loud and crazy, but I didn't really know any better.
Oh, I also learned not to potty train a toddler right before having a new baby. The last thing a new nursing mom wants to do is stop, put the baby down and run to the bathroom to wipe a bottom, even if it's a cute bottom.
Another side story: I had my worst case of thrush with this kid, and it beat me. We stopped nursing at 5 months. If I knew then what I know now . . . cut out sugar and dairy, take diflucan and power-acidophilus, boil everything, use gentian violet and diaper rash & thrush ointment from cottonbabies.com . . . but I didn't, it got way out of control and I lost.
what if my baby doesn't have down syndrome?
11/24/2010
i know that's the wrong question for most people. but our ultrasound report was either better today than last time, or our perinatologist was just a more positive guy, and i'm trying to figure out how to position my heart.
i think God has uniquely prepared us for a baby with down syndrome, i've worked through it, i'm okay, even excited about having a baby with an extra chromosome.
what i'm not ready for is a change of plans. i'm not bouncing well. if we have a typical baby, here are the (potentially ridiculous or petty) things i'm struggling with:
1. did we really hear God?
2. does this mean God doesn't trust us with a baby with Ds?
3. have i wasted all this time reading about/talking about/preparing for Ds?
4. am i a fool for having talked to my loved ones and taken everyone on this little emotional journey?
so what is being required of me (it feels like) i'm going to wait another 14ish weeks trying to be ready for either a boy with 47 chromosomes, or a girl with 47, or a boy with 46 or a girl with 46, trying hard not to have much of a preference so that when my baby is born, regardless of gender or chromosomes, i am able to fully welcome him or her without any shadow of disappointment. barring an amnio or whatever, i will just not know, and need to let go of my need to know.
but here is the real story. God is making a baby in my tummy. And He is doing it exactly right. if He does not give me a Ds baby, then it is because His plan for us and for this baby was 46 chromosomes. and that is good. whatever He wanted to teach us through this process, we will have learned. we will be better friends to anyone welcoming a baby with Ds into their lives. we will be more understanding of persons facing mental and physical difficulties.
that's all i know, all i can go on. God does not make mistakes. He is doing whatever He is doing perfectly. i can trust Him completely to give me grace each day for whatever that day will bring. including down syndrome. including typical. including not knowing.
i know that's the wrong question for most people. but our ultrasound report was either better today than last time, or our perinatologist was just a more positive guy, and i'm trying to figure out how to position my heart.
i think God has uniquely prepared us for a baby with down syndrome, i've worked through it, i'm okay, even excited about having a baby with an extra chromosome.
what i'm not ready for is a change of plans. i'm not bouncing well. if we have a typical baby, here are the (potentially ridiculous or petty) things i'm struggling with:
1. did we really hear God?
2. does this mean God doesn't trust us with a baby with Ds?
3. have i wasted all this time reading about/talking about/preparing for Ds?
4. am i a fool for having talked to my loved ones and taken everyone on this little emotional journey?
so what is being required of me (it feels like) i'm going to wait another 14ish weeks trying to be ready for either a boy with 47 chromosomes, or a girl with 47, or a boy with 46 or a girl with 46, trying hard not to have much of a preference so that when my baby is born, regardless of gender or chromosomes, i am able to fully welcome him or her without any shadow of disappointment. barring an amnio or whatever, i will just not know, and need to let go of my need to know.
but here is the real story. God is making a baby in my tummy. And He is doing it exactly right. if He does not give me a Ds baby, then it is because His plan for us and for this baby was 46 chromosomes. and that is good. whatever He wanted to teach us through this process, we will have learned. we will be better friends to anyone welcoming a baby with Ds into their lives. we will be more understanding of persons facing mental and physical difficulties.
that's all i know, all i can go on. God does not make mistakes. He is doing whatever He is doing perfectly. i can trust Him completely to give me grace each day for whatever that day will bring. including down syndrome. including typical. including not knowing.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Birth Stories, part 1
About this time of pregnancy, I begin to obsess about labor and delivery, when it might happen, how it might happen, how I want it to be different than my other labors. And I think about my other children's deliveries, watch the videos. I read birth stories of other women, specifically as they pertain to things I may go through.
This time I've been trying to find birth stories of women about to give birth for the eleventh time in 14 years, who weigh over 250 lbs and are nearly 40 years old, with a history of pre-eclampsia or high blood pressure and with the possibility of trisomy 21. Would you believe I've had a hard time finding any? So I'm writing mine, just in case people want to know.
Kat, 1996
I started my first pregnancy overweight and pretty ignorant. I gained a decent amount of weight. I enjoyed it until the end. I had an induction scheduled for 4 days after my due date because my OB suggested it and it never occurred to me not to do it. We took classes through the OB's office, including the epidural class offered by the hospital. My desire was to go as far as I could without an epidural in hopes of having future babies without one. (Incidentally, at that time, my plan was to have 4 babies, 3 years apart.)
So I went in on a Friday morning in early summer, after leading worship at a Kent Henry conference and dancing around the room in full bloom, got all hooked up, didn't know what a contraction was. After a few hours I felt some, and wondered if I would recognize them if I had them at home. For a while it was a fun game, watching them on the monitor, playing cards, with the excitement of knowing we were having our baby that day.
One of the exciting things was that we didn't know if we were having a boy or girl. Names are always very significant to us, and the names we had chosen for our first meant very different things: either Isaac, meaning laughter, or Katherine, meaning pure.
Beyond that, I was in for a huge surprise.
By 1:00 p.m. I was beginning to be uncomfortable, by 4:00 I was on stadol. My opinion of stadol is that it is a not funny joke. It knocks you out between contractions so that all your consciousness is PAIN. And you are loopy so you cannot focus on handling the contractions. My mom and sisters had been with me up till this point, and while I was hallucinating on stadol my dad showed up. So I would wake up to a contraction, want to die, the contraction would end, and I would say, "I dreamed my dad was here, is he here?" They would say yes and I'd pass out again. This process repeated itself for a year and a half.
Eventually the stadol wore off, the contractions were right on top of each other, and I was willing to have the epidural conversation (sometime around 8:30 p.m.). I wasn't really progressing. I should mention that no one ever encouraged me to get out of bed or change positions other than switching sides. Someone did tell me to go to the bathroom each hour, but I forgot about that when on drugs.
So they placed the epidural maybe around 10:00 (I'm guessing on these times). Once it kicked in, I shook like mad for an hour, my dad sat with me, and a doctor came and told me how glad they all were that I had the epidural and was not in pain anymore.
I think just after they placed it they emptied my bladder. I would guess that an empty bladder, a relaxed mom, the prayers of 2000 people at that worship conference, and it just being time (nearly 18 hours after the beginning of the pit) I did finally dilate the other 5 centimeters (I was told Kent prayed, God let her go 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 baby about that time) and was ready to push. This was back in the day that the epidural removed ALL feeling in the bottom half, so I felt nothing! But I did as I was told and pushed out my baby girl at around 12:30 a.m. She did pass some meconium and so there was a team of folks in the room, but having never had another baby, I didn't know it wasn't normal to have a whole committee present. And they were pleasant and it was fine. My first view of her was a polaroid my husband snapped (that's how long ago it was). My mom was there shooting video, but she's lousy at it, and kept it focused on feet, the floor and the handsome anesthesiologist. Moments later, they handed me my 7 lb 8 oz baby girl.
The surprises were as follows:
The nurses kept calling me "mom".
They kept calling the baby by the name we had given her.
We went into the room as two people and left three.
I had just met this new person who pooped, peed (preferably with the diaper off), sucked, cried and slept (and eventually spit), and I LOVED HER. I loved her like I had never loved anyone or anything. I did not have to learn how to love her. I just did. It was miraculous. Amazing. I was a mom. Just like that.
16 months and 3 weeks later
So-big, 1997
I lost some weight before getting pregnant the second time. In fact, that was the last time I weighed less than 200 lbs. So, of course, I gained a ton and weighed the exact amount when I delivered as I had with #1.
I wanted to not be induced this time. I had heard from a nurse friend about nipple stimulation but frankly it sounded creepy to me. On Saturday morning I had a check up and was at 4 centimeters, had my membranes stripped, and was told they didn't know why I wouldn't have that baby that day. (I was scheduled to be induced on Monday, and just really didn't want to go to church again pregnant) That night, after spending some 'quality time' with my husband, I went down in our small basement, put on some music, walked and followed my friends advice, and had contractions for about 2 hours, 3 minutes apart. I felt pretty good, but they were real. Finally it seemed like we should call the doctor and he, of course, said come on in.
I was nervous, like I'd been cheating, and my contractions slowed on the way there, so I was afraid of being sent home. Some friends met us at the hospital and took Kat home. They admitted me and said I was at 7 or something, so I didn't think I was going home. I was in the bed again, my water broke when the doctor checked me (so I knew I wasn't going home), and HE STARTED PITOCIN, without even asking me or telling me. Granted, my contractions had slowed down, but I was so disappointed, because I had gotten so far with relative comfort.
Looking back, I know that the pit hurt like mad, immediately, because I was already progressed so far - I'm sure it was only on a 2, and just got me moving again. Also, I was in bed instead of walking, and it was transition, after all. After a few contractions, I told my husband to go get her and if I hadn't progressed, I was having an epidural now! (remember, my last experience took a very long time)
She was a very brave, and accurate, nurse, and after checking me, said we would probably have the baby in the next 45 minutes - we did. She immediately set up the baby warmer (THAT was different) and there were no other people in the room, just a nurse or two, a doctor and us, Weird! I won't lie, it hurt, but then, there he was, 9 lb 10 oz, named Joel, meaning God is able.
Surprises:
It was not harder to give birth to a baby who weighed 2 more lbs.
Adding Pitocin when already in labor was very different than starting from nothing.
A baby that nurses all the time will make your milk come in faster.
Having a baby when my body was ready was easier and much faster (4-5 hours) and just way better than the 18 hour induction we had the first time.
I had worried that all that miraculous love I had experienced for my firstborn, that filled my entire being, I was worried that I wouldn't have that for #2. I just couldn't imagine it. I thought, oh, it's too bad for him. Not so. It reminded me of the Grinch who stole Christmas - my heart simply expanded and I somehow loved both in that way I didn't imagine I could love anyone. Unbelievable.
Having closely spaced children, I will add that it is my opinion, when 2 are so close, to put the older child ahead of the younger at times, simply because I never wanted to force my older baby to stop being a baby before she was ready just because she happened to have a brother so close. I didn't want to make her potty train or change beds or whatever before she was ready. I wanted to allow her to be the age she was at the time. I also felt she had more of an ability to remember or feel slighted on the baby's behalf, whereas he didn't know if he'd been crying for 10 seconds or 3 minutes. So if she needed a drink and he needed to nurse, I would get her drink first.
I know life was crazy then, but I think I was crazy enough to just enjoy the moment. I've never been very uptight about keeping my house/room clean, and that value system has worked to the advantage of my sanity, although perhaps not that of my husband. We read a lot, were on the go a lot, watched hardly any tv, and tried to conquer the world. I had a friend who watched the two of them one morning a week, and that was my time to go to Cracker Barrel and do my entire weekly Bible study in 2 hours.
Reflecting on that season, I was pretty cocky, I was working at church 1 day a week, and was trying to protect my husband from how overwhelming life was. I took them wherever I needed to go, grocery shopping, friends' houses, Walmart, road trips. It was the beginning of the adventures of the Amazing Supermom.
And that is the end of my birth stories, part 1.
This time I've been trying to find birth stories of women about to give birth for the eleventh time in 14 years, who weigh over 250 lbs and are nearly 40 years old, with a history of pre-eclampsia or high blood pressure and with the possibility of trisomy 21. Would you believe I've had a hard time finding any? So I'm writing mine, just in case people want to know.
Kat, 1996
I started my first pregnancy overweight and pretty ignorant. I gained a decent amount of weight. I enjoyed it until the end. I had an induction scheduled for 4 days after my due date because my OB suggested it and it never occurred to me not to do it. We took classes through the OB's office, including the epidural class offered by the hospital. My desire was to go as far as I could without an epidural in hopes of having future babies without one. (Incidentally, at that time, my plan was to have 4 babies, 3 years apart.)
So I went in on a Friday morning in early summer, after leading worship at a Kent Henry conference and dancing around the room in full bloom, got all hooked up, didn't know what a contraction was. After a few hours I felt some, and wondered if I would recognize them if I had them at home. For a while it was a fun game, watching them on the monitor, playing cards, with the excitement of knowing we were having our baby that day.
One of the exciting things was that we didn't know if we were having a boy or girl. Names are always very significant to us, and the names we had chosen for our first meant very different things: either Isaac, meaning laughter, or Katherine, meaning pure.
Beyond that, I was in for a huge surprise.
By 1:00 p.m. I was beginning to be uncomfortable, by 4:00 I was on stadol. My opinion of stadol is that it is a not funny joke. It knocks you out between contractions so that all your consciousness is PAIN. And you are loopy so you cannot focus on handling the contractions. My mom and sisters had been with me up till this point, and while I was hallucinating on stadol my dad showed up. So I would wake up to a contraction, want to die, the contraction would end, and I would say, "I dreamed my dad was here, is he here?" They would say yes and I'd pass out again. This process repeated itself for a year and a half.
Eventually the stadol wore off, the contractions were right on top of each other, and I was willing to have the epidural conversation (sometime around 8:30 p.m.). I wasn't really progressing. I should mention that no one ever encouraged me to get out of bed or change positions other than switching sides. Someone did tell me to go to the bathroom each hour, but I forgot about that when on drugs.
So they placed the epidural maybe around 10:00 (I'm guessing on these times). Once it kicked in, I shook like mad for an hour, my dad sat with me, and a doctor came and told me how glad they all were that I had the epidural and was not in pain anymore.
I think just after they placed it they emptied my bladder. I would guess that an empty bladder, a relaxed mom, the prayers of 2000 people at that worship conference, and it just being time (nearly 18 hours after the beginning of the pit) I did finally dilate the other 5 centimeters (I was told Kent prayed, God let her go 5, 6, 7, 8, 10 baby about that time) and was ready to push. This was back in the day that the epidural removed ALL feeling in the bottom half, so I felt nothing! But I did as I was told and pushed out my baby girl at around 12:30 a.m. She did pass some meconium and so there was a team of folks in the room, but having never had another baby, I didn't know it wasn't normal to have a whole committee present. And they were pleasant and it was fine. My first view of her was a polaroid my husband snapped (that's how long ago it was). My mom was there shooting video, but she's lousy at it, and kept it focused on feet, the floor and the handsome anesthesiologist. Moments later, they handed me my 7 lb 8 oz baby girl.
The surprises were as follows:
The nurses kept calling me "mom".
They kept calling the baby by the name we had given her.
We went into the room as two people and left three.
I had just met this new person who pooped, peed (preferably with the diaper off), sucked, cried and slept (and eventually spit), and I LOVED HER. I loved her like I had never loved anyone or anything. I did not have to learn how to love her. I just did. It was miraculous. Amazing. I was a mom. Just like that.
16 months and 3 weeks later
So-big, 1997
I lost some weight before getting pregnant the second time. In fact, that was the last time I weighed less than 200 lbs. So, of course, I gained a ton and weighed the exact amount when I delivered as I had with #1.
I wanted to not be induced this time. I had heard from a nurse friend about nipple stimulation but frankly it sounded creepy to me. On Saturday morning I had a check up and was at 4 centimeters, had my membranes stripped, and was told they didn't know why I wouldn't have that baby that day. (I was scheduled to be induced on Monday, and just really didn't want to go to church again pregnant) That night, after spending some 'quality time' with my husband, I went down in our small basement, put on some music, walked and followed my friends advice, and had contractions for about 2 hours, 3 minutes apart. I felt pretty good, but they were real. Finally it seemed like we should call the doctor and he, of course, said come on in.
I was nervous, like I'd been cheating, and my contractions slowed on the way there, so I was afraid of being sent home. Some friends met us at the hospital and took Kat home. They admitted me and said I was at 7 or something, so I didn't think I was going home. I was in the bed again, my water broke when the doctor checked me (so I knew I wasn't going home), and HE STARTED PITOCIN, without even asking me or telling me. Granted, my contractions had slowed down, but I was so disappointed, because I had gotten so far with relative comfort.
Looking back, I know that the pit hurt like mad, immediately, because I was already progressed so far - I'm sure it was only on a 2, and just got me moving again. Also, I was in bed instead of walking, and it was transition, after all. After a few contractions, I told my husband to go get her and if I hadn't progressed, I was having an epidural now! (remember, my last experience took a very long time)
She was a very brave, and accurate, nurse, and after checking me, said we would probably have the baby in the next 45 minutes - we did. She immediately set up the baby warmer (THAT was different) and there were no other people in the room, just a nurse or two, a doctor and us, Weird! I won't lie, it hurt, but then, there he was, 9 lb 10 oz, named Joel, meaning God is able.
Surprises:
It was not harder to give birth to a baby who weighed 2 more lbs.
Adding Pitocin when already in labor was very different than starting from nothing.
A baby that nurses all the time will make your milk come in faster.
Having a baby when my body was ready was easier and much faster (4-5 hours) and just way better than the 18 hour induction we had the first time.
I had worried that all that miraculous love I had experienced for my firstborn, that filled my entire being, I was worried that I wouldn't have that for #2. I just couldn't imagine it. I thought, oh, it's too bad for him. Not so. It reminded me of the Grinch who stole Christmas - my heart simply expanded and I somehow loved both in that way I didn't imagine I could love anyone. Unbelievable.
Having closely spaced children, I will add that it is my opinion, when 2 are so close, to put the older child ahead of the younger at times, simply because I never wanted to force my older baby to stop being a baby before she was ready just because she happened to have a brother so close. I didn't want to make her potty train or change beds or whatever before she was ready. I wanted to allow her to be the age she was at the time. I also felt she had more of an ability to remember or feel slighted on the baby's behalf, whereas he didn't know if he'd been crying for 10 seconds or 3 minutes. So if she needed a drink and he needed to nurse, I would get her drink first.
I know life was crazy then, but I think I was crazy enough to just enjoy the moment. I've never been very uptight about keeping my house/room clean, and that value system has worked to the advantage of my sanity, although perhaps not that of my husband. We read a lot, were on the go a lot, watched hardly any tv, and tried to conquer the world. I had a friend who watched the two of them one morning a week, and that was my time to go to Cracker Barrel and do my entire weekly Bible study in 2 hours.
Reflecting on that season, I was pretty cocky, I was working at church 1 day a week, and was trying to protect my husband from how overwhelming life was. I took them wherever I needed to go, grocery shopping, friends' houses, Walmart, road trips. It was the beginning of the adventures of the Amazing Supermom.
And that is the end of my birth stories, part 1.
Straddling the universe with hope
(11/15/2010)
It is weird to me that I am writing all these posts in secret, not to publish until everybody knows that needs to know, until we are ready, until we know a little more.
And today I know less than I did yesterday. My ob called this evening. He had finally read the 'report' from the perinatologist. And it was just as confusing as our visit was then. On the one hand, only one tiny marker, big kidneys, big deal. On the other hand, 50/50 odds, talk to your pediatrician, want to see you back because "these babies sometimes experience fetal demise". Until my husband asks the big question - knowing what you know, what odds?
What makes her think so strongly? In the report it just said, "nasal bone not convincingly displayed," or something like that. "I hope I'm wrong," she said.
Obviously, everyone hopes she's wrong. My ob hopes she's wrong. My pastor hopes she's wrong. Friends, relatives, husband, of course we hope she's wrong.
But I don't. I am trying to be okay with whichever baby God has made. But it is hard to adjust to both possibilities. I have experienced the need to be ready for a boy or a girl. I have prayed, "God, I need You to help me be ready if I'm having . . . " whatever I wasn't hoping for. And He has.
But this is different. In order to be ready for a baby with Down syndrome, I have to believe that if that is what God gives us, that is the very best thing that could happen. In order to be in a position where I will be relieved to have a baby with 46 chromosomes I have to focus on, believe that a 47 is less desirable than a 46.
It is hard not to have a preference, hard not to want one thing more than another. And today, my preference is what I think God has been saying. I think God is saying He's making a baby for us with 47 chromosomes. So that's what I want.
When we were answering adoption questions and one of the questions was Down syndrome, we said no. It's not that that's what I've always wanted, not that I've been praying for that, not that I would have gone out of my way to pursue it (although I'm learning that once you are the parent of a child with ds, you might just feel that way). The reason that is what I want is because at this time, that is what I think God wants.
Could I be wrong? Sure, I'm wrong all the time. Overthinking, overreacting, letting my imagination prepare me for the worst case, just in case, being safe rather than sorry - these are all ways I roll. I'm a thinker and a dreamer. So my prayer is that the Lord would prepare my heart for whatever He is doing, boy, girl, 46, 47, whatever.
So, don't worry, Dr. Herrmann, about getting my hopes up. My hopes are high. I'm hoping not for a particular # of chromosomes or a certain gender, but for God's Name to be glorified, for His Kingdom to expand, in my heart, in my house, on my block, in my city, here, wherever He takes us, I hope He is exalted. God is making a baby in my belly. He Who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.
It is weird to me that I am writing all these posts in secret, not to publish until everybody knows that needs to know, until we are ready, until we know a little more.
And today I know less than I did yesterday. My ob called this evening. He had finally read the 'report' from the perinatologist. And it was just as confusing as our visit was then. On the one hand, only one tiny marker, big kidneys, big deal. On the other hand, 50/50 odds, talk to your pediatrician, want to see you back because "these babies sometimes experience fetal demise". Until my husband asks the big question - knowing what you know, what odds?
What makes her think so strongly? In the report it just said, "nasal bone not convincingly displayed," or something like that. "I hope I'm wrong," she said.
Obviously, everyone hopes she's wrong. My ob hopes she's wrong. My pastor hopes she's wrong. Friends, relatives, husband, of course we hope she's wrong.
But I don't. I am trying to be okay with whichever baby God has made. But it is hard to adjust to both possibilities. I have experienced the need to be ready for a boy or a girl. I have prayed, "God, I need You to help me be ready if I'm having . . . " whatever I wasn't hoping for. And He has.
But this is different. In order to be ready for a baby with Down syndrome, I have to believe that if that is what God gives us, that is the very best thing that could happen. In order to be in a position where I will be relieved to have a baby with 46 chromosomes I have to focus on, believe that a 47 is less desirable than a 46.
It is hard not to have a preference, hard not to want one thing more than another. And today, my preference is what I think God has been saying. I think God is saying He's making a baby for us with 47 chromosomes. So that's what I want.
When we were answering adoption questions and one of the questions was Down syndrome, we said no. It's not that that's what I've always wanted, not that I've been praying for that, not that I would have gone out of my way to pursue it (although I'm learning that once you are the parent of a child with ds, you might just feel that way). The reason that is what I want is because at this time, that is what I think God wants.
Could I be wrong? Sure, I'm wrong all the time. Overthinking, overreacting, letting my imagination prepare me for the worst case, just in case, being safe rather than sorry - these are all ways I roll. I'm a thinker and a dreamer. So my prayer is that the Lord would prepare my heart for whatever He is doing, boy, girl, 46, 47, whatever.
So, don't worry, Dr. Herrmann, about getting my hopes up. My hopes are high. I'm hoping not for a particular # of chromosomes or a certain gender, but for God's Name to be glorified, for His Kingdom to expand, in my heart, in my house, on my block, in my city, here, wherever He takes us, I hope He is exalted. God is making a baby in my belly. He Who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
A year ago today
A year ago today I was different than I am now.
I thought adoption was something I could not do, or would at least have to wait until my children were older.
I thought perhaps 10 children was all I would have.
I did not know how powerfully God could speak through my children.
I was unaware of the blessing that Down syndrome can be.
I did not know what amazing young men and women my older children would be today.
I would not have believed that today I would be holding a beautiful baby girl with long black eyelashes, warm brown skin and curly black hair, or that she would have such an amazing smile and would laugh when she sees me.
I did not know I'd spend 12 life changing days 12 hours away getting to know other people in another world, or how much I'd miss my people back home to the point that my heart would almost break.
I didn't know that my older children would blossom in the areas of music and prayer as they participate in their worship training set.
I didn't know the next generation of children in my life would grow up so much and take on leadership qualities of their own.
I have learned much about baby formula, premature baby, nicu time, nursing, adoption, empathy and loving than I ever thought there was to know.
I have developed some marvelous new friendships in the last year, and have also deepened friendships that I've had for years.
In the last year I have learned some about heartache and betrayal, some about depression and weakness, some about failure and trudging.
I am also more convinced than I was a year ago today that God is gracious, holy, mighty, kind, and ever present in my heart.
I thought adoption was something I could not do, or would at least have to wait until my children were older.
I thought perhaps 10 children was all I would have.
I did not know how powerfully God could speak through my children.
I was unaware of the blessing that Down syndrome can be.
I did not know what amazing young men and women my older children would be today.
I would not have believed that today I would be holding a beautiful baby girl with long black eyelashes, warm brown skin and curly black hair, or that she would have such an amazing smile and would laugh when she sees me.
I did not know I'd spend 12 life changing days 12 hours away getting to know other people in another world, or how much I'd miss my people back home to the point that my heart would almost break.
I didn't know that my older children would blossom in the areas of music and prayer as they participate in their worship training set.
I didn't know the next generation of children in my life would grow up so much and take on leadership qualities of their own.
I have learned much about baby formula, premature baby, nicu time, nursing, adoption, empathy and loving than I ever thought there was to know.
I have developed some marvelous new friendships in the last year, and have also deepened friendships that I've had for years.
In the last year I have learned some about heartache and betrayal, some about depression and weakness, some about failure and trudging.
I am also more convinced than I was a year ago today that God is gracious, holy, mighty, kind, and ever present in my heart.
Rejection
(Originally written 11/20/2010)
The response of the world to a babe with down syndrome, as I am learning, is to reject it. They abort it, if they know about it, in 90+% of the cases. That means for every baby you know of with Ds, you should know another several, because for every baby born (whose parents knew ahead of time of the diagnosis) 9 or so were murdered in utero.
Not only that, but I read last night that (anecdotally - no stats on this one) that sometimes pediatric cardiologists offer as an option to new parents of babies born with the heart defect that some 25% of babies with Ds have, to forego the surgery needed to fix it, even though the success rate for the surgery is 95%, and even though most babies who need the surgery and don't get it die within a year, and most don't live very much longer. And some parents choose this.
They reject it. The world REJECTS babies with down syndrome as a lesser human, less desirable. They call it bad.
Obviously, in the body of Christ, we don't do that. We don't abort babies. But sometimes, some responses to my probable Ds pregnancy feel like a rejection. It feels like those blank stares, those promises to pray for a normal baby, feels like they feel the same way the world does about a baby with downs. Like they want to reject it too. And because of how I feel about that baby already, sometimes it feels like people are rejecting that which I perceive as God's perfect plan for me, rejecting what may be a difficult but fruitful road ahead of me, rejecting my LESS DESIRABLE blessing.
And if we lived in a Darwinian world, Godless, where things just happen, sperm meets egg, practicing "unprotected" albeit marital sex, I might be inclined to agree with someone who feels that way. I'm in over my head. I have so many children, I ought to live in a shoe. 10 kids is hard, adopting is hard, adopting trans-racially is harder, adopting when you are pregnant is ridiculous, and having a baby when I'm 39 and therefore at greater risk for chromosomal anomaly is unwise. If we get stuck with a hard kid, oh well, but we'd be silly to want it.
But such is not our outlook. God sat as King at the flood. He sits as King forever. He is great and mighty. He knits babies together before we ever know it is happening.
My brother and his family have worked in Kenya as missionaries and have a relationship with a woman named Betty there who has HIV. She wasn't born with HIV. I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of a blood transfusion. I don't know if she knew how she got it, but she does have it. The crazy thing is, she calls it a talent (as in the parable of the talents). Her HIV is a talent she uses to lead people to Christ. It's the craziest thing.
I have a dear friend who has a daughter with spina bifida. She sees it as the perfect way God designed her daughter. God made Selah so that she cannot use her legs or go to the bathroom in the typical way. She has had many surgeries and complications. But God wasn't sleeping or on vacation or out to lunch when Selah's spine was being formed. In that hidden secret place of the womb that we can't really touch or understand or influence, except by prayer or negatively with drugs, God knows exactly what He is doing. God works all things together for our good.
My friends want what's best for me. They do not want to see their overwhelmed friend be more overwhelmed. They would not wish difficulty for me. In their compassion for me, they would prefer to see us have a typical baby. I understand that and appreciate it. I would not have wished HIV on Betty or spina bifida on my friend's daughter. But I see the goodness of God that has happened through these hard things.
A mother of 10 whose youngest has a spare chromosome said something like this: "God could have made us so that any chromosomal anomaly was fatal. He didn't, and I think He had a reason for it. I think He wanted those people here for a reason, so that we can learn from them." I agree with her. And if He has chosen us to have such a child, such a privilege, such an honor - I will just be ready to see His faithfulness EXPLODE!
The response of the world to a babe with down syndrome, as I am learning, is to reject it. They abort it, if they know about it, in 90+% of the cases. That means for every baby you know of with Ds, you should know another several, because for every baby born (whose parents knew ahead of time of the diagnosis) 9 or so were murdered in utero.
Not only that, but I read last night that (anecdotally - no stats on this one) that sometimes pediatric cardiologists offer as an option to new parents of babies born with the heart defect that some 25% of babies with Ds have, to forego the surgery needed to fix it, even though the success rate for the surgery is 95%, and even though most babies who need the surgery and don't get it die within a year, and most don't live very much longer. And some parents choose this.
They reject it. The world REJECTS babies with down syndrome as a lesser human, less desirable. They call it bad.
Obviously, in the body of Christ, we don't do that. We don't abort babies. But sometimes, some responses to my probable Ds pregnancy feel like a rejection. It feels like those blank stares, those promises to pray for a normal baby, feels like they feel the same way the world does about a baby with downs. Like they want to reject it too. And because of how I feel about that baby already, sometimes it feels like people are rejecting that which I perceive as God's perfect plan for me, rejecting what may be a difficult but fruitful road ahead of me, rejecting my LESS DESIRABLE blessing.
And if we lived in a Darwinian world, Godless, where things just happen, sperm meets egg, practicing "unprotected" albeit marital sex, I might be inclined to agree with someone who feels that way. I'm in over my head. I have so many children, I ought to live in a shoe. 10 kids is hard, adopting is hard, adopting trans-racially is harder, adopting when you are pregnant is ridiculous, and having a baby when I'm 39 and therefore at greater risk for chromosomal anomaly is unwise. If we get stuck with a hard kid, oh well, but we'd be silly to want it.
But such is not our outlook. God sat as King at the flood. He sits as King forever. He is great and mighty. He knits babies together before we ever know it is happening.
My brother and his family have worked in Kenya as missionaries and have a relationship with a woman named Betty there who has HIV. She wasn't born with HIV. I'm pretty sure it wasn't because of a blood transfusion. I don't know if she knew how she got it, but she does have it. The crazy thing is, she calls it a talent (as in the parable of the talents). Her HIV is a talent she uses to lead people to Christ. It's the craziest thing.
I have a dear friend who has a daughter with spina bifida. She sees it as the perfect way God designed her daughter. God made Selah so that she cannot use her legs or go to the bathroom in the typical way. She has had many surgeries and complications. But God wasn't sleeping or on vacation or out to lunch when Selah's spine was being formed. In that hidden secret place of the womb that we can't really touch or understand or influence, except by prayer or negatively with drugs, God knows exactly what He is doing. God works all things together for our good.
My friends want what's best for me. They do not want to see their overwhelmed friend be more overwhelmed. They would not wish difficulty for me. In their compassion for me, they would prefer to see us have a typical baby. I understand that and appreciate it. I would not have wished HIV on Betty or spina bifida on my friend's daughter. But I see the goodness of God that has happened through these hard things.
A mother of 10 whose youngest has a spare chromosome said something like this: "God could have made us so that any chromosomal anomaly was fatal. He didn't, and I think He had a reason for it. I think He wanted those people here for a reason, so that we can learn from them." I agree with her. And if He has chosen us to have such a child, such a privilege, such an honor - I will just be ready to see His faithfulness EXPLODE!
Higher than my ways
(Originally written 11/6/2010)
So we found out we have some "markers" for Down's Syndrome. Well, we also think we have some things we call 'spiritual' markers. And one of the big ones for me is the unique ways God has prepared our hearts to be parents of a little guy with an extra chromosome, using our adoption process. I'm not saying we adopted our baby girl just so we could be ready for our downsy guy (don't know its a guy, don't know if its downs, just think so). I think we adopted her so we could be her parents. But God is a great multitasker!
1. Through our adoption process, we had several long heart to heart conversations about what kind of baby we would be willing to take. Drug impacted, fetal alcohol syndrome, physical disabilities, potential to never live independently . . . we talked at length about all kinds of things we had never considered before. Multiple times, we said yes to God about babies who had the potential to be, well, hard. A scripture God gave us very early on by means of confirmation was Matthew 18:5, "whoever receives one of these little children in My Name, receiveth Me." Because we had this preparation, when we were told about the markers indicating the possibility of Down syndrome, we were not really thrown, especially compared to how we might have reacted a year ago to the same news.
2. When we adopted our girl, she spent a week in the nicu. With any of my other babies, I did not handle well any time I had a baby who was not with me, whether in a warming bed, under a bili light, whatever - I would really not take it well. But now, I think maybe I can handle a baby who needs special care. I'm ready, in a way I would not have been.
3. Speaking of NICU, I had previously spent only hours visiting my nieces in NICUs. I was not comfortable in them and pretty overwhelmed. Now, if our little guy needs extra care, which more than half probably do, I can take it.
4. Furthermore, when my friend recently had a baby in OUR nicu, I found out that my hospital has a GREAT NICU!! Fabulous. We will be ok.
5. Nursing. Up till now, my struggles with nursing have been limited to a couple early arriving girls who didn't want to nurse because they were sleepy and jaundiced. But we have learned a whole lot about feeding challenges and bottles and supplemental nursing systems, etc, and I feel ready to handle a challenge in that department as well.
I'm not saying I know all there is to know. I'm saying my heart is significantly more ready than it would have been a year ago.
I have been wondering about God's timing in this whole season. Why would He give me 2 babies 5 months apart? I may have an answer. Talking to a dear friend with an adult son with downs, she said that not only will a child with Ds do well in our house because of the wealth of siblings, but he will be especially benefited by having a sibling so very near to push him on! Who knew? Well, God knew. Isn't He amazing?
My husband has been hearing from God. I know it's God, because his whole face changes when he talks about it. God is saying things like, "I do not make mistakes. This is not an accident. I am trusting you. This is a reward."
I also feel God breathing strength in me, talking about enlarging our territory.
Little things. #3 daughter has been saying for months "it will be well with you, with the baby in your tummy." Finding out that a dear friend can be our care coordinator for First Steps, and getting information and comfort from her about that whole thing (which I had feared). Meeting a mom of a little guy at soccer the week after we found out. Getting to see my friend's newborn 2 days after our 1st ultrasound. Telling my eldest and having her say, yeah, mom, I thought so. She went back and read her prayer journal from when we found out we were expecting, sure enough, God was speaking to her then. A camp friend I had lost touch with for nearly 20 years and re-found last Christmas (thank you facebook) whose sixth child has downs.
We feel fairly sure this is where God is taking us, and that it is GOOD. We are not afraid. Does that mean it will surely happen? No, of course not. But it means that if it does, God has uniquely prepared us to receive this kind of blessing, and for that I am so very grateful.
So we found out we have some "markers" for Down's Syndrome. Well, we also think we have some things we call 'spiritual' markers. And one of the big ones for me is the unique ways God has prepared our hearts to be parents of a little guy with an extra chromosome, using our adoption process. I'm not saying we adopted our baby girl just so we could be ready for our downsy guy (don't know its a guy, don't know if its downs, just think so). I think we adopted her so we could be her parents. But God is a great multitasker!
1. Through our adoption process, we had several long heart to heart conversations about what kind of baby we would be willing to take. Drug impacted, fetal alcohol syndrome, physical disabilities, potential to never live independently . . . we talked at length about all kinds of things we had never considered before. Multiple times, we said yes to God about babies who had the potential to be, well, hard. A scripture God gave us very early on by means of confirmation was Matthew 18:5, "whoever receives one of these little children in My Name, receiveth Me." Because we had this preparation, when we were told about the markers indicating the possibility of Down syndrome, we were not really thrown, especially compared to how we might have reacted a year ago to the same news.
2. When we adopted our girl, she spent a week in the nicu. With any of my other babies, I did not handle well any time I had a baby who was not with me, whether in a warming bed, under a bili light, whatever - I would really not take it well. But now, I think maybe I can handle a baby who needs special care. I'm ready, in a way I would not have been.
3. Speaking of NICU, I had previously spent only hours visiting my nieces in NICUs. I was not comfortable in them and pretty overwhelmed. Now, if our little guy needs extra care, which more than half probably do, I can take it.
4. Furthermore, when my friend recently had a baby in OUR nicu, I found out that my hospital has a GREAT NICU!! Fabulous. We will be ok.
5. Nursing. Up till now, my struggles with nursing have been limited to a couple early arriving girls who didn't want to nurse because they were sleepy and jaundiced. But we have learned a whole lot about feeding challenges and bottles and supplemental nursing systems, etc, and I feel ready to handle a challenge in that department as well.
I'm not saying I know all there is to know. I'm saying my heart is significantly more ready than it would have been a year ago.
I have been wondering about God's timing in this whole season. Why would He give me 2 babies 5 months apart? I may have an answer. Talking to a dear friend with an adult son with downs, she said that not only will a child with Ds do well in our house because of the wealth of siblings, but he will be especially benefited by having a sibling so very near to push him on! Who knew? Well, God knew. Isn't He amazing?
My husband has been hearing from God. I know it's God, because his whole face changes when he talks about it. God is saying things like, "I do not make mistakes. This is not an accident. I am trusting you. This is a reward."
I also feel God breathing strength in me, talking about enlarging our territory.
Little things. #3 daughter has been saying for months "it will be well with you, with the baby in your tummy." Finding out that a dear friend can be our care coordinator for First Steps, and getting information and comfort from her about that whole thing (which I had feared). Meeting a mom of a little guy at soccer the week after we found out. Getting to see my friend's newborn 2 days after our 1st ultrasound. Telling my eldest and having her say, yeah, mom, I thought so. She went back and read her prayer journal from when we found out we were expecting, sure enough, God was speaking to her then. A camp friend I had lost touch with for nearly 20 years and re-found last Christmas (thank you facebook) whose sixth child has downs.
We feel fairly sure this is where God is taking us, and that it is GOOD. We are not afraid. Does that mean it will surely happen? No, of course not. But it means that if it does, God has uniquely prepared us to receive this kind of blessing, and for that I am so very grateful.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Christmas Reflections
Being immigrants to Missouri, indigenous to Indiana, we have travelled for almost every Christmas of our wedded bliss, with the exceptions of the year when all (5) of the children had chicken pox, and a year or two where we stayed for Christmas itself but drove home immediately after (which does not count). Some time in the last two years it has begun to dawn on me that we are too many to visit cold places with small houses for longer than a few hours. We've stayed at a hotel the last couple times,which is a stretch with 10 kids, and does not feel like Christmas.
So this year, we stayed home.
Really, really staying home. Not going this afternoon, or tonight, or early tomorrow morning. Not going for New Year's. Staying. Put.
But packing for a road trip has been part of Christmas for so long, I have had a hard time shirking that perceived responsibility. I feel like I need to pack, to have everything ready to leave behind for days on end, like I have an unanswered stress that I am ignoring but is sure to bite me in the butt any moment.
On the other hand, we have really just focused on our own 'little' family this year, and I must say, it is delightful. We were deliberate about what we bought, what we ate, and how we spent our time. Sigh.
For example, we had a (for us) Grand Christmas Eve Banquet. We used our Christmas dishes, for the first time. There are only eight, so not everyone got one, but it was still festive. We used our silver table service that we received as a wedding gift and almost never get out. It was the last time we will have enough, unless we supplement, as we have 12 place settings, and next Christmas there will be 14 of us. We put the entire setting by each plate also, which was a new experience for all my people, who I mostly require a choice of 'fork or spoon' for each meal. The Dave Show, who is three, ate only mashed potatoes, but used every single utensil to do it.
No hurry to unwrap, no hurry to clean up, no place to go, no one to see or please. Get out each game, each toy, each new project. Each person's special gift a success: Anne's electric experiment set, Claire's djembe, Ben's Ticket To Ride game, Joel's pipe cleaners and needle nose pliers.
Mary learned in one present the joy of opening one and grieved the rest of the morning that they were not all for her. Each gift was exciting for exactly 2.6 seconds. We WILL, next year, elaborately wrap stuff we already have for whoever is 1.
Each year we (mostly I) write a letter from Santa to each or all of our children. This started as a thank you note for the cookies when I grew up. My Dad always wrote the letters. I still have them. They were a once a year praise report, Angela, I'm so proud of you, you're doing a great job with school, swimming, music, whatever, your mom and dad love you very much, keep Jesus as the center of your life, I see you have a new driver's license or keyboard or engagement ring . . . That sort of thing.
So we have done a similar thing. I don't know if it has meant much to any of our kids yet. But this year as Dad read it, each child lit up when he said their name. It was pretty cool.
My gifts were both replacements for something I already had and broke, practical kitchen things, but my real present is Leah, our newly adopted daughter. I held her most of the morning, tearing up at times, still in so much disbelief that my Father has allowed me to be her mama. She is the sweet spot in my family, the treasure I barely dared believe I could have.
Even today, I am aware of the marvelous young woman who not only gave birth to her in incredibly difficult circumstances, but then chose to selflessly give her what she believed was the very best life for her. Such an honor for us. Such a burden, but I will not carry it alone. Each day, I will offer my amazing daughter to the One who formed her in her mama's womb. Each day I will lift both mama and daughter to Him for His care and protection.
At this time of year, I am always aware of what Mary may have gone through, carrying a Baby that was unplanned, by the world certainly deemed unwanted. But she said YES to God, in a way that I hope is similar to the way I have said YES. I know the world, family, friends, do not always see my YES as wise or responsible. Especially now, having brought a baby into our family in a nontraditional way, at great cost, with another baby on the way, and then to learn that he/she might be an especially undesirable to the world kind of baby, the kind that so many would find appropriate to choose not to have, especially now, I think about Mary, and Joseph, and Jesus, and the shame and foolishness they might have felt.
But I am nestled here. I don't know what God will do with me. I hope that even if no one is drawn nearer or changed, if my children don't choose to serve Him the same way, if I am only ever a fool in the eyes of all man, that I may at least give honor to His Name.
I love Christmas because at the moment of the fullness of the wretchedness of man's decision to be his own god, when the world was completely desperate for an Answer, that God sent It in the most unlikely Form to the most unlikely host in the most unlikely place and told the most unlikely people about it. The Christ left all power, all glory, all authority, all knowledge, all wisdom, all honor and became a Baby, born to a young, unmarried but betrothed woman in a shameful way, in a podunk town in an animal shelter, laid in a cow's cereal bowl. The angel and then angels gave a great symphonic heaven-sized proclamation to the stinky dirty reputation-less shepherds (who would listen to them?). Really, this is the Desire of Nations? Really, this is the Peace we've been waiting for? Really, This is the One creation has been groaning for? That's all You've got? No wonder the pharisees were thrown off.
I'm an underdog like that. I am not polished, my hair is gray, I don't wear make up, I hate shopping so most of my clothes are hand me downs. My children also are not stellar performers. We are not impressive, as a lot. We are not winning spelling bees or other academic contests. We are not setting athletic records.
I'm trying to teach my children to be kind, to obey, to know God, to hear His voice, to work hard when they don't feel like it, to value people more than things, to be good stewards of themselves and their stuff, to care for the weaker and smaller. Trying. I'm not even doing a great job of it.
My daily list of good intentions is mighty, my corresponding list of things accomplished is feeble at best. How does the King of the universe find my offering pleasing, how does He call me lovely and faithful? I HAVE NO IDEA.
But I am confident of this one thing: that He Who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it. And since He has walked here, and been there and done that (He had a set of 12 to disciple, just like me), I feel safe in trusting Him with me, with them.
So this year, we stayed home.
Really, really staying home. Not going this afternoon, or tonight, or early tomorrow morning. Not going for New Year's. Staying. Put.
But packing for a road trip has been part of Christmas for so long, I have had a hard time shirking that perceived responsibility. I feel like I need to pack, to have everything ready to leave behind for days on end, like I have an unanswered stress that I am ignoring but is sure to bite me in the butt any moment.
On the other hand, we have really just focused on our own 'little' family this year, and I must say, it is delightful. We were deliberate about what we bought, what we ate, and how we spent our time. Sigh.
For example, we had a (for us) Grand Christmas Eve Banquet. We used our Christmas dishes, for the first time. There are only eight, so not everyone got one, but it was still festive. We used our silver table service that we received as a wedding gift and almost never get out. It was the last time we will have enough, unless we supplement, as we have 12 place settings, and next Christmas there will be 14 of us. We put the entire setting by each plate also, which was a new experience for all my people, who I mostly require a choice of 'fork or spoon' for each meal. The Dave Show, who is three, ate only mashed potatoes, but used every single utensil to do it.
No hurry to unwrap, no hurry to clean up, no place to go, no one to see or please. Get out each game, each toy, each new project. Each person's special gift a success: Anne's electric experiment set, Claire's djembe, Ben's Ticket To Ride game, Joel's pipe cleaners and needle nose pliers.
Mary learned in one present the joy of opening one and grieved the rest of the morning that they were not all for her. Each gift was exciting for exactly 2.6 seconds. We WILL, next year, elaborately wrap stuff we already have for whoever is 1.
Each year we (mostly I) write a letter from Santa to each or all of our children. This started as a thank you note for the cookies when I grew up. My Dad always wrote the letters. I still have them. They were a once a year praise report, Angela, I'm so proud of you, you're doing a great job with school, swimming, music, whatever, your mom and dad love you very much, keep Jesus as the center of your life, I see you have a new driver's license or keyboard or engagement ring . . . That sort of thing.
So we have done a similar thing. I don't know if it has meant much to any of our kids yet. But this year as Dad read it, each child lit up when he said their name. It was pretty cool.
My gifts were both replacements for something I already had and broke, practical kitchen things, but my real present is Leah, our newly adopted daughter. I held her most of the morning, tearing up at times, still in so much disbelief that my Father has allowed me to be her mama. She is the sweet spot in my family, the treasure I barely dared believe I could have.
Even today, I am aware of the marvelous young woman who not only gave birth to her in incredibly difficult circumstances, but then chose to selflessly give her what she believed was the very best life for her. Such an honor for us. Such a burden, but I will not carry it alone. Each day, I will offer my amazing daughter to the One who formed her in her mama's womb. Each day I will lift both mama and daughter to Him for His care and protection.
At this time of year, I am always aware of what Mary may have gone through, carrying a Baby that was unplanned, by the world certainly deemed unwanted. But she said YES to God, in a way that I hope is similar to the way I have said YES. I know the world, family, friends, do not always see my YES as wise or responsible. Especially now, having brought a baby into our family in a nontraditional way, at great cost, with another baby on the way, and then to learn that he/she might be an especially undesirable to the world kind of baby, the kind that so many would find appropriate to choose not to have, especially now, I think about Mary, and Joseph, and Jesus, and the shame and foolishness they might have felt.
But I am nestled here. I don't know what God will do with me. I hope that even if no one is drawn nearer or changed, if my children don't choose to serve Him the same way, if I am only ever a fool in the eyes of all man, that I may at least give honor to His Name.
I love Christmas because at the moment of the fullness of the wretchedness of man's decision to be his own god, when the world was completely desperate for an Answer, that God sent It in the most unlikely Form to the most unlikely host in the most unlikely place and told the most unlikely people about it. The Christ left all power, all glory, all authority, all knowledge, all wisdom, all honor and became a Baby, born to a young, unmarried but betrothed woman in a shameful way, in a podunk town in an animal shelter, laid in a cow's cereal bowl. The angel and then angels gave a great symphonic heaven-sized proclamation to the stinky dirty reputation-less shepherds (who would listen to them?). Really, this is the Desire of Nations? Really, this is the Peace we've been waiting for? Really, This is the One creation has been groaning for? That's all You've got? No wonder the pharisees were thrown off.
I'm an underdog like that. I am not polished, my hair is gray, I don't wear make up, I hate shopping so most of my clothes are hand me downs. My children also are not stellar performers. We are not impressive, as a lot. We are not winning spelling bees or other academic contests. We are not setting athletic records.
I'm trying to teach my children to be kind, to obey, to know God, to hear His voice, to work hard when they don't feel like it, to value people more than things, to be good stewards of themselves and their stuff, to care for the weaker and smaller. Trying. I'm not even doing a great job of it.
My daily list of good intentions is mighty, my corresponding list of things accomplished is feeble at best. How does the King of the universe find my offering pleasing, how does He call me lovely and faithful? I HAVE NO IDEA.
But I am confident of this one thing: that He Who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it. And since He has walked here, and been there and done that (He had a set of 12 to disciple, just like me), I feel safe in trusting Him with me, with them.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Beauty
It's funny that someone said that beauty is only skin deep. What a bunch of malarky. Beauty exists on so many levels. I have a book that I'm not smart enough to read called 'The Evidential Power of Beauty' that basically makes the case that the beauty that exists everywhere in the universe is evidence of a Creator.
Not my point.
I'm typing this while holding my newborn daughter. Her lineage is a combination of African American, Portuguese and something else. She is beautiful. Her every feature is perfect. Her long fingers, her eyelashes, her amazing eyes, her silky black hair - absolutely breathtaking.
We said yes to her without having any idea how stunning she would be. But her beauty was a given because she was designed and crafted by the same Guy who made masterpieces such as Niagara Falls, the Redwood Forest, Lake Michigan and the Rocky Mountains. He made the stars also. Flowers, some too small to readily see. If God makes a teeny tiny flower so small that no one ever notices it, is it still beautiful? Oh yeah.
Last night (10/20/2010) I had the honor and privilege of holding the tiny fingers of a newborn baby who happens to have been given 47 chromosomes in each of his cells, a condition we call Down's Syndrome. He was beautiful. He was very obviously crafted by God Himself, knit together perfectly from the moment he was conceived.
And his beauty is not only as deep as his skin. It goes all the way to his heart, to his spirit. It is hard for us to comprehend why God does what He does the way He does it. This boy was not a planned intended desired pregnancy. God invaded the space of a couple not wanting children anyway, and made a child that something like 92% of couples who find out they're carrying one will choose to end his life.
What is beautiful? We live in such a skewed world when it comes to beauty. We paint our faces and color our hair and cloth ourselves in such a way as to feel beautiful. But beauty is active. Beauty is living. Beauty is way more than skin deep. It goes all the way down to, well, to the uterus.
Not my point.
I'm typing this while holding my newborn daughter. Her lineage is a combination of African American, Portuguese and something else. She is beautiful. Her every feature is perfect. Her long fingers, her eyelashes, her amazing eyes, her silky black hair - absolutely breathtaking.
We said yes to her without having any idea how stunning she would be. But her beauty was a given because she was designed and crafted by the same Guy who made masterpieces such as Niagara Falls, the Redwood Forest, Lake Michigan and the Rocky Mountains. He made the stars also. Flowers, some too small to readily see. If God makes a teeny tiny flower so small that no one ever notices it, is it still beautiful? Oh yeah.
Last night (10/20/2010) I had the honor and privilege of holding the tiny fingers of a newborn baby who happens to have been given 47 chromosomes in each of his cells, a condition we call Down's Syndrome. He was beautiful. He was very obviously crafted by God Himself, knit together perfectly from the moment he was conceived.
And his beauty is not only as deep as his skin. It goes all the way to his heart, to his spirit. It is hard for us to comprehend why God does what He does the way He does it. This boy was not a planned intended desired pregnancy. God invaded the space of a couple not wanting children anyway, and made a child that something like 92% of couples who find out they're carrying one will choose to end his life.
What is beautiful? We live in such a skewed world when it comes to beauty. We paint our faces and color our hair and cloth ourselves in such a way as to feel beautiful. But beauty is active. Beauty is living. Beauty is way more than skin deep. It goes all the way down to, well, to the uterus.
Come uh come uh down dooby doo down down . . .
Breaking up is hard to do. For 39 year old chromosomes, that is. Specifically the 21st chromosome.
This post (originally written in late October, 2010) is part of my private Down's Syndrome pregnancy blog. Private until we're ready to tell the world that we are preparing for the possibility of our baby, due in February, arriving with a spare chromosome.
Prior to a few weeks ago, to be really honest, I've mostly ignored this pregnancy. For one thing, I've been very focused on the baby at hand, the one we adopted on September 30th of this year. Also, for the 8th or 9th time out of eleven pregnancies, my placenta is right out in front, so I don't feel the baby move until he/she is bigger than that placenta, which happens around 22 weeks. So he/she hasn't really been on my mind as much as would normally be.
Until recently. A few weeks ago, on Monday, October 18th, we had our "big", routine ultrasound at my ob's office. It was fairly quiet, but nothing alarming. The ultrasonagrapher couldn't get a good view of the face, heart, and, when we asked if everything she could see was looking ok, said the kidneys were enlarged.
Normally, my husband leaves at that point. I go to the waiting room and get called back when the doc is ready to see me. This time (for some unknown reason that I call 'God') the nurse said, "Oh, you can come on back, we have a room open," and even though it meant being late for a meeting at work, he stayed.
Our doctor, with whom we go back 13 years and 9 kids, explained that our baby not only had enlarged kidneys, but also had a femur and humerus that were on the short side, which he said meant we had 1 hard (the femur) and 2 soft markers for Down's syndrome. We could wait a month and have another look, maybe the bones would grow, kidneys shrink, or we could do some more testing, Level 2 u/s, amnio, it was up to us.
Initially, we said we'd wait. It didn't seem to matter. But then the research set in, I made some phone calls, and there were questions, and, well, suspense. We decided there was nothing to lose by going ahead with the Level 2 ultrasound.
Last Thursday, 10/28, going into the level 2 appointment we understood our odds to be 1:11, but that was us working it out over the internet. During the appointment we learned that our femur and humerus were within the range of normal, and our baby's kidneys were still enlarged. She talked to us about needing to have monthly ultrasounds, talking to our pediatrician and letting him know we had a strong possibility of Down's, and said that the baby looked very healthy, with no big organ problems.
Then Brian asked his big question, "Knowing what we know now, what are our odds?" She said, "You're not going to like this, 50/50." She went on to tell us that the nasal bone was not convincingly present, and that she felt they had had a pretty good look.
Later our pediatrician told me that 99% of Caucasian babies without a nasal bone have Downs syndrome.
I have moments of being teary eyed, but the truth of the matter is that God has been making a baby in my tummy for 5 months, and He is either using 46 chromosome cells or 47's. Whichever He is using, I'm going to call what it "good".
Initially, I was overwhelmed at another battle. At dealing with what people will think. We are already on the lunatic fringe. We have given birth to 10 kids, just adopted another of a different race, while pregnant, and now this. Are You joking God? The name we have chosen for a boy: Isaac, meaning laughter.
I also feel a David-like strength rising up in me, "is there not a cause?" my spirit seems to say. The percentage of babies prenatally diagnosed with Down's syndrome that are aborted in our nation is in the 90s. In Australia I read that it is 98%.
I'm nervous about my own inadequacy. Even though I call myself the amazing supermom, the reality is that I fall way, way short of even my own expectations, let alone other people's. I'm just barely getting by, hoping that if we focus on the majors, the other things will fall in place. (Kind of a 'seek first the Kingdom' sort of thing).
I feel defensive when people want to pray this away. One of the first songs I had in my heart after we got this news was "Don't wish it away." (Elton John - I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues) (The second was probably, "This thing is eating me alive," from Toby Mac's song Start Somewhere). I believe if God is making us a 47, we would be ridiculous to ask Him to change mid-stream. As ridiculous as to ask Him to change the gender or turn a singleton into twins. Sure He could. But who knows better? Me? no. I have nothing in my heart that wants to pray for God to change what He's doing. If the Creator has spent the last several weeks creating a masterpiece with 3 copies of the 21st chromosome in each and every cell, then that's exactly who I want to give birth to.
My children and I all went to a 40 days for life prayer stand in front of our local neighborhood Planned Parenthood abortion clinic last week. We had our little adopted sweetie with us. I thought about how, years ago, I took my oldest young'ns to do the same thing, and at the time, it felt like a powerful testimony, to stand there with my little ones and pray for women to choose life. Several months ago, we did the same thing with our gang of ten. This time was way more significant, holding a little one whose mama chose life for, and sacrificed so much to give it to her. But the thought of standing in that same place next year with my dozen blessings, and call each one 'beautiful', especially one who most of the world and some of the church would feel ok about terminating, well, I long to do that.
I long to show the world the beauty of the Lord in each of His gifts. Babies with 47 chromosomes are a beautiful gift. I hope people will see our little one and choose life.
But more than that, because that isn't really the focus of our life from day to day, I am excited about me, and my husband, and our other children, learning more about who God is and what He does through this exciting new leg of our journey. I'm saying yes. Yes to whatever You're making. Am I ignorant of what it means to have a child with Down's syndrome? Absolutely. Am I foolish to trust a God I can't see? No chance. He's faithful as the sun. More faithful. He MADE the sun. And He is making a perfect miracle in my uterus.
This post (originally written in late October, 2010) is part of my private Down's Syndrome pregnancy blog. Private until we're ready to tell the world that we are preparing for the possibility of our baby, due in February, arriving with a spare chromosome.
Prior to a few weeks ago, to be really honest, I've mostly ignored this pregnancy. For one thing, I've been very focused on the baby at hand, the one we adopted on September 30th of this year. Also, for the 8th or 9th time out of eleven pregnancies, my placenta is right out in front, so I don't feel the baby move until he/she is bigger than that placenta, which happens around 22 weeks. So he/she hasn't really been on my mind as much as would normally be.
Until recently. A few weeks ago, on Monday, October 18th, we had our "big", routine ultrasound at my ob's office. It was fairly quiet, but nothing alarming. The ultrasonagrapher couldn't get a good view of the face, heart, and, when we asked if everything she could see was looking ok, said the kidneys were enlarged.
Normally, my husband leaves at that point. I go to the waiting room and get called back when the doc is ready to see me. This time (for some unknown reason that I call 'God') the nurse said, "Oh, you can come on back, we have a room open," and even though it meant being late for a meeting at work, he stayed.
Our doctor, with whom we go back 13 years and 9 kids, explained that our baby not only had enlarged kidneys, but also had a femur and humerus that were on the short side, which he said meant we had 1 hard (the femur) and 2 soft markers for Down's syndrome. We could wait a month and have another look, maybe the bones would grow, kidneys shrink, or we could do some more testing, Level 2 u/s, amnio, it was up to us.
Initially, we said we'd wait. It didn't seem to matter. But then the research set in, I made some phone calls, and there were questions, and, well, suspense. We decided there was nothing to lose by going ahead with the Level 2 ultrasound.
Last Thursday, 10/28, going into the level 2 appointment we understood our odds to be 1:11, but that was us working it out over the internet. During the appointment we learned that our femur and humerus were within the range of normal, and our baby's kidneys were still enlarged. She talked to us about needing to have monthly ultrasounds, talking to our pediatrician and letting him know we had a strong possibility of Down's, and said that the baby looked very healthy, with no big organ problems.
Then Brian asked his big question, "Knowing what we know now, what are our odds?" She said, "You're not going to like this, 50/50." She went on to tell us that the nasal bone was not convincingly present, and that she felt they had had a pretty good look.
Later our pediatrician told me that 99% of Caucasian babies without a nasal bone have Downs syndrome.
I have moments of being teary eyed, but the truth of the matter is that God has been making a baby in my tummy for 5 months, and He is either using 46 chromosome cells or 47's. Whichever He is using, I'm going to call what it "good".
Initially, I was overwhelmed at another battle. At dealing with what people will think. We are already on the lunatic fringe. We have given birth to 10 kids, just adopted another of a different race, while pregnant, and now this. Are You joking God? The name we have chosen for a boy: Isaac, meaning laughter.
I also feel a David-like strength rising up in me, "is there not a cause?" my spirit seems to say. The percentage of babies prenatally diagnosed with Down's syndrome that are aborted in our nation is in the 90s. In Australia I read that it is 98%.
I'm nervous about my own inadequacy. Even though I call myself the amazing supermom, the reality is that I fall way, way short of even my own expectations, let alone other people's. I'm just barely getting by, hoping that if we focus on the majors, the other things will fall in place. (Kind of a 'seek first the Kingdom' sort of thing).
I feel defensive when people want to pray this away. One of the first songs I had in my heart after we got this news was "Don't wish it away." (Elton John - I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues) (The second was probably, "This thing is eating me alive," from Toby Mac's song Start Somewhere). I believe if God is making us a 47, we would be ridiculous to ask Him to change mid-stream. As ridiculous as to ask Him to change the gender or turn a singleton into twins. Sure He could. But who knows better? Me? no. I have nothing in my heart that wants to pray for God to change what He's doing. If the Creator has spent the last several weeks creating a masterpiece with 3 copies of the 21st chromosome in each and every cell, then that's exactly who I want to give birth to.
My children and I all went to a 40 days for life prayer stand in front of our local neighborhood Planned Parenthood abortion clinic last week. We had our little adopted sweetie with us. I thought about how, years ago, I took my oldest young'ns to do the same thing, and at the time, it felt like a powerful testimony, to stand there with my little ones and pray for women to choose life. Several months ago, we did the same thing with our gang of ten. This time was way more significant, holding a little one whose mama chose life for, and sacrificed so much to give it to her. But the thought of standing in that same place next year with my dozen blessings, and call each one 'beautiful', especially one who most of the world and some of the church would feel ok about terminating, well, I long to do that.
I long to show the world the beauty of the Lord in each of His gifts. Babies with 47 chromosomes are a beautiful gift. I hope people will see our little one and choose life.
But more than that, because that isn't really the focus of our life from day to day, I am excited about me, and my husband, and our other children, learning more about who God is and what He does through this exciting new leg of our journey. I'm saying yes. Yes to whatever You're making. Am I ignorant of what it means to have a child with Down's syndrome? Absolutely. Am I foolish to trust a God I can't see? No chance. He's faithful as the sun. More faithful. He MADE the sun. And He is making a perfect miracle in my uterus.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Robbing Peter to pay Paul
I have often described my life as being like one of those Chinese acrobats that spin the plates on the sticks and are constantly on the move trying to keep each one going. At least, at my best, my life is like that. I'm not at my best right now. I'm trying to get some plates spinning and hearing others crash to the floor. It's winter, I'm matching socks, because children need to wear socks, and they are downstairs making clay figures instead of doing math, and the kitchen table is about a foot deep in empty cereal boxes and half full cereal bowls each containing about a cup of milk. I'm trying to get my act together (not altogether together, just more together) regarding meal planning, just to the point of not wanting to punch anyone who asks me after 4:30 p.m. what is for supper. Trying to plan meals. Make a big grocery trip, and break the grocery budget (and my husband's spirit) in a single shopping trip. Meanwhile the laundry is growing a smell, no wait, my husband who has worked so hard all week providing for his family, is attempting to organize our small tattered army into a movie watching, laundry sorting machine (which, incidently, only works when they've already seen the movie). I respond, as I'm sure any grateful wife would, by melting into a pool of insecurity and self pity.
Certainly there are hormones at play here. Sleep deprivation. Genuine overwhelmedness. And there is the customary attack by the enemy that comes each time we are about to welcome a new treasure into the storehouse, that goes something like this: you can't handle the children you've got - what are you thinking, having another.
I reach out through God's gift to humanity, the World Wide Web, to my sisters in faith, those other godly women who have many children like I do, and find that, either they have achieved a level of relative perfection that makes me crumble further or their "big" families consist of 4 or 5 or 6 kids. All the advice out there is either too high for me and I cannot attain to it, or it would have been very helpful about 6 kids ago.
Like Bilbo, feeling like way too little butter scraped over way too much bread, how can I do it all, meet the needs of the teenager doing geometry (I liked geometry very much, 27 years ago, but it is going to take all the conscious thought power I have, pulled away from everything else for me to enter your world and really understand what you're doing, let alone help you - is it worth that?), and the kids learning to read, and the one trying not to poop in his pants, and the ones who just did; to keep up on the laundry, the dishes, the food prep, and the character training that so desperately needs to happen (The phrase in Prov. 31, "the teaching of kindness is on her tongue" is a constant state of being!), not to mention all the plates that I've long since ignored and allowed to come crashing to the ground (weight loss comes to mind, song writing, anything that falls under the category of taking care of myself)?
So what is the answer? How do I pay Peter and Paul and all the other apostles? How do I meet the needs of husband and children and be the woman of God I desire to be?
The answer may disappoint you. I don't. My best friend told me something I sometimes forget but always come back to. He said, "come to Me, all you who are weak and heavy laden and I will give you rest for your souls. My yoke is easy, my burden is light." I put laundry and dishes in the same category as the poor - you will always have them with you. I have One I have to please. One I live for. He pays Peter, He pays Paul. He takes care of my children, my husband, and me. He will show me what to focus on today, right now. He will give me, and all those other people, everything we need.
His strength is PERFECTED in my weakness! He is greatly exalted when I lean on Him completely. He is not impressed when I perform well, but He is pleased when I hide in Him. I am poor in spirit. I'm rejoicing.
I'm sure I've written this here before, but I scoff at the phrase "God won't give you more than you can handle". No, no, no. God will absolutely give you more than you can handle. But He won't give you more than HE can handle. He is more than enough.
Sigh.
Certainly there are hormones at play here. Sleep deprivation. Genuine overwhelmedness. And there is the customary attack by the enemy that comes each time we are about to welcome a new treasure into the storehouse, that goes something like this: you can't handle the children you've got - what are you thinking, having another.
I reach out through God's gift to humanity, the World Wide Web, to my sisters in faith, those other godly women who have many children like I do, and find that, either they have achieved a level of relative perfection that makes me crumble further or their "big" families consist of 4 or 5 or 6 kids. All the advice out there is either too high for me and I cannot attain to it, or it would have been very helpful about 6 kids ago.
Like Bilbo, feeling like way too little butter scraped over way too much bread, how can I do it all, meet the needs of the teenager doing geometry (I liked geometry very much, 27 years ago, but it is going to take all the conscious thought power I have, pulled away from everything else for me to enter your world and really understand what you're doing, let alone help you - is it worth that?), and the kids learning to read, and the one trying not to poop in his pants, and the ones who just did; to keep up on the laundry, the dishes, the food prep, and the character training that so desperately needs to happen (The phrase in Prov. 31, "the teaching of kindness is on her tongue" is a constant state of being!), not to mention all the plates that I've long since ignored and allowed to come crashing to the ground (weight loss comes to mind, song writing, anything that falls under the category of taking care of myself)?
So what is the answer? How do I pay Peter and Paul and all the other apostles? How do I meet the needs of husband and children and be the woman of God I desire to be?
The answer may disappoint you. I don't. My best friend told me something I sometimes forget but always come back to. He said, "come to Me, all you who are weak and heavy laden and I will give you rest for your souls. My yoke is easy, my burden is light." I put laundry and dishes in the same category as the poor - you will always have them with you. I have One I have to please. One I live for. He pays Peter, He pays Paul. He takes care of my children, my husband, and me. He will show me what to focus on today, right now. He will give me, and all those other people, everything we need.
His strength is PERFECTED in my weakness! He is greatly exalted when I lean on Him completely. He is not impressed when I perform well, but He is pleased when I hide in Him. I am poor in spirit. I'm rejoicing.
I'm sure I've written this here before, but I scoff at the phrase "God won't give you more than you can handle". No, no, no. God will absolutely give you more than you can handle. But He won't give you more than HE can handle. He is more than enough.
Sigh.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Lotion and hairspray and formula, oh my!
Here are the things that are different with my adopted baby from my collection of biologicals:
Her amazingly beautiful brown skin needs lotion every day or it gets dry and loses pigment when her jammies get crunchy around her face from formula dribbles or when her sheet is not soft from having been spit up on.
Her lovely black curls look better if they are sprayed regularly, and her head gets dry and flakey if we don't do that also.
She would probably have breastfed nicely if I were able to make enough milk for her, she latched on well, but being pregnant, I couldn't pull it off. Thus begins the formula adventure. We have tried a few different varieties, Parent's Choice (Walmart generic) Enfamil, Similac, Enfamil Gentlease, Sam's Club, and have landed on Parent's choice version of Gentlease. All of that to manage constipation. But we also have an aspirating problem (undiagnosed . . . I talk to my doctor about medical questions, I talk to other moms about mom questions - so when I noticed her coughing and spurting and gagging and needing a ridiculous amount of burp breaks when feeding, especially at night, I asked other moms who I knew had dealt with that and followed their advice. Had she been wheezing, or if it didn't work, I would have brought the pediatrician in on the deal) so she gets 1 teaspoon of rice cereal per ounce of formula mixed in the bottles, and instead of the slow flow nipples we were using (that helped some but eventually not enough) are feeding it to her in Avent with the size 4 nipples. We still have to shake it up a little, but her poops are good and soft and her feeding is soooo much better (night vs day).
I also feel a greater desire to make sure she knows I love her, make sure she feels loved. I am more conscious of milestones. I am waaaay more aware of things like smiles and recognizing faces, etc, especially since I'm still filling out monthly forms on how we're bonding and attaching, and still having home visits.
I am normally pretty committed to my rebellion against the whole "back to sleep" movement. Here's why: most babies that die of SIDS (which isn't something you die of, it is a statement of not knowing why a baby died - they died suddenly as an infant, but SIDS isn't a disease or even a collection of symptoms - it is a mystery) die between 2 and 4 months of age, last I read. Now, back in the day when my older kids were younger, it was a normal developmental milestone to roll over during that time period. However, since the advent of the "back to sleep" model, the milestones have changed. Babies are deliberately being trained NOT to develop normally, out of fear. The idea of tummy time is supposed to compensate, but we don't really want them to develop the normal amount of upper body strength, because then they will roll over in their sleep and not be on their "backs to sleep". I also don't like the flat-head syndrome that happens when they are on their backs all the time. Sorry, I am flabbergasted that we have to make our babies weaker, on purpose, because we are afraid they might lay on their bellies and die of an unknown cause. SIDS is not caused by tummy sleeping. It is unknown. That's what makes it SIDS!
(tangent - sorry)
Anyway, because I have an adopted baby who is not yet officially mine and who I am more afraid of screwing up, she has slept mostly on her back and sides. Babies spit, I prefer to have them at least on their sides. The whole point of this discussion is to say that because she is being adopted, I am a little less confident, a little more chicken, a little more likely to play by the rules. Instead of just answering to my husband and God Almighty, I am also answerable to the home study agency, the adoption agency, and the states of Missouri and Florida, at least until finalization.
I am a little more worried about the long run. Will she like us? Will she feel uncomfortable as one brown face among so many cream colored faces? Will she struggle with her birth mother and/or birth father not being in her life, and their reasons for that? Will she struggle to find a like-minded spouse more than my other children? And my only answer to questions like that is Jesus. She, just like my other children, will need Jesus.
Anyway, those are some of the differences I am experiencing, along with things I've talked about in other blogs.
Her amazingly beautiful brown skin needs lotion every day or it gets dry and loses pigment when her jammies get crunchy around her face from formula dribbles or when her sheet is not soft from having been spit up on.
Her lovely black curls look better if they are sprayed regularly, and her head gets dry and flakey if we don't do that also.
She would probably have breastfed nicely if I were able to make enough milk for her, she latched on well, but being pregnant, I couldn't pull it off. Thus begins the formula adventure. We have tried a few different varieties, Parent's Choice (Walmart generic) Enfamil, Similac, Enfamil Gentlease, Sam's Club, and have landed on Parent's choice version of Gentlease. All of that to manage constipation. But we also have an aspirating problem (undiagnosed . . . I talk to my doctor about medical questions, I talk to other moms about mom questions - so when I noticed her coughing and spurting and gagging and needing a ridiculous amount of burp breaks when feeding, especially at night, I asked other moms who I knew had dealt with that and followed their advice. Had she been wheezing, or if it didn't work, I would have brought the pediatrician in on the deal) so she gets 1 teaspoon of rice cereal per ounce of formula mixed in the bottles, and instead of the slow flow nipples we were using (that helped some but eventually not enough) are feeding it to her in Avent with the size 4 nipples. We still have to shake it up a little, but her poops are good and soft and her feeding is soooo much better (night vs day).
I also feel a greater desire to make sure she knows I love her, make sure she feels loved. I am more conscious of milestones. I am waaaay more aware of things like smiles and recognizing faces, etc, especially since I'm still filling out monthly forms on how we're bonding and attaching, and still having home visits.
I am normally pretty committed to my rebellion against the whole "back to sleep" movement. Here's why: most babies that die of SIDS (which isn't something you die of, it is a statement of not knowing why a baby died - they died suddenly as an infant, but SIDS isn't a disease or even a collection of symptoms - it is a mystery) die between 2 and 4 months of age, last I read. Now, back in the day when my older kids were younger, it was a normal developmental milestone to roll over during that time period. However, since the advent of the "back to sleep" model, the milestones have changed. Babies are deliberately being trained NOT to develop normally, out of fear. The idea of tummy time is supposed to compensate, but we don't really want them to develop the normal amount of upper body strength, because then they will roll over in their sleep and not be on their "backs to sleep". I also don't like the flat-head syndrome that happens when they are on their backs all the time. Sorry, I am flabbergasted that we have to make our babies weaker, on purpose, because we are afraid they might lay on their bellies and die of an unknown cause. SIDS is not caused by tummy sleeping. It is unknown. That's what makes it SIDS!
(tangent - sorry)
Anyway, because I have an adopted baby who is not yet officially mine and who I am more afraid of screwing up, she has slept mostly on her back and sides. Babies spit, I prefer to have them at least on their sides. The whole point of this discussion is to say that because she is being adopted, I am a little less confident, a little more chicken, a little more likely to play by the rules. Instead of just answering to my husband and God Almighty, I am also answerable to the home study agency, the adoption agency, and the states of Missouri and Florida, at least until finalization.
I am a little more worried about the long run. Will she like us? Will she feel uncomfortable as one brown face among so many cream colored faces? Will she struggle with her birth mother and/or birth father not being in her life, and their reasons for that? Will she struggle to find a like-minded spouse more than my other children? And my only answer to questions like that is Jesus. She, just like my other children, will need Jesus.
Anyway, those are some of the differences I am experiencing, along with things I've talked about in other blogs.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
The Great Rabbit Poop Mystery - status: unresolved
It began with a simple statement: there is poop on the bathroom floor.
In context, it should have been a simple mystery to solve, The Dave Show, age 3, has been potty training, is a master of pee, is a failure in the poop department. His pattern has become a regular bowel movement in his pants every couple days.
It had been, on the morning of the mystery, about 3 days since he last pooped his pants, so Mom sat him on the pot with a little prune juice cocktail (the magic feather), but alas - after reading all about Bob the fireman, no farts, poops or even a smudge to let you know something's coming. So we put the pants back on and forgot about it.
Now, four hours later, there is poop on the bathroom floor. In the time that has elapsed, the following facts add to the mystery:
1. David was originally wearing jeans and white Thomas undies with red trim
2. After playing in the snow, David changed out of his wet jeans into clean undies and shorts (I know, there's snow on the ground and he put on shorts - sorry)
3. Further examination of said wet jeans reveal that the Dave apparently was playing in the snow commando! Brrrr.
4. The white Thomas the Tank Engine undies found in his undies cubbie, upon his testimony, had neither smudge nor smell (producing doubt that those were, in fact, the same Thomas undies).
5. His cute bottom, also, upon examination, revealed neither smudge nor smell.
6. The aforementioned poop was of the compact nature reputed to be like that produced by rabbits.
7. We have no rabbits in our house.
8. Poop like that is also to be expected of a boy who had not pooped in a couple days.
9. There are no other people in the house who we suspect.
10. Mom smells (or imagines she smells) poop everywhere now.
Anyone with evidence to aid in the solving of this mystery will be rewarded with 25 chocolate chips.
In context, it should have been a simple mystery to solve, The Dave Show, age 3, has been potty training, is a master of pee, is a failure in the poop department. His pattern has become a regular bowel movement in his pants every couple days.
It had been, on the morning of the mystery, about 3 days since he last pooped his pants, so Mom sat him on the pot with a little prune juice cocktail (the magic feather), but alas - after reading all about Bob the fireman, no farts, poops or even a smudge to let you know something's coming. So we put the pants back on and forgot about it.
Now, four hours later, there is poop on the bathroom floor. In the time that has elapsed, the following facts add to the mystery:
1. David was originally wearing jeans and white Thomas undies with red trim
2. After playing in the snow, David changed out of his wet jeans into clean undies and shorts (I know, there's snow on the ground and he put on shorts - sorry)
3. Further examination of said wet jeans reveal that the Dave apparently was playing in the snow commando! Brrrr.
4. The white Thomas the Tank Engine undies found in his undies cubbie, upon his testimony, had neither smudge nor smell (producing doubt that those were, in fact, the same Thomas undies).
5. His cute bottom, also, upon examination, revealed neither smudge nor smell.
6. The aforementioned poop was of the compact nature reputed to be like that produced by rabbits.
7. We have no rabbits in our house.
8. Poop like that is also to be expected of a boy who had not pooped in a couple days.
9. There are no other people in the house who we suspect.
10. Mom smells (or imagines she smells) poop everywhere now.
Anyone with evidence to aid in the solving of this mystery will be rewarded with 25 chocolate chips.
giving thanks
i am thankful today.
i am thankful for my husband, who loves Jesus, who is a worshipper of God, who hears His voice and obeys, who says 'yes'.
i am thankful for my children, who love God, who love each other, and who bless me every single day.
i am thankful for a wealth of friends, who pray for us, who desire our greatest good, who encourage us in Jesus Name.
i am thankful for a home that suits us, for vehicles that get us where we're going, for a job that God uses to provide for our needs (and a husband who works it diligently, skillfully, faithfully), for a magnificent church full of the saints of God, in whom are all my delight.
i am especially thankful for the double blessing of a beautiful adopted baby girl in my arms and a growing mystery baby in my belly.
i'm thankful for my extended family and my husband's family who are such great blessings in our lives, felt if not seen.
more than anything, i am thankful for my Savior, my Redeemer, my Friend, the Lover of my soul. i am thankful for the promise that He hears and answers prayer, and for the promise that my forever Home is with Him.
and right now, i am thankful for the snow that makes today feel special, my children running frantically about the house, squealing and yelling for shoes and equipment to go outside, it's snowing, it's snowing!!! perhaps today is a holiday after all.
i am thankful for my husband, who loves Jesus, who is a worshipper of God, who hears His voice and obeys, who says 'yes'.
i am thankful for my children, who love God, who love each other, and who bless me every single day.
i am thankful for a wealth of friends, who pray for us, who desire our greatest good, who encourage us in Jesus Name.
i am thankful for a home that suits us, for vehicles that get us where we're going, for a job that God uses to provide for our needs (and a husband who works it diligently, skillfully, faithfully), for a magnificent church full of the saints of God, in whom are all my delight.
i am especially thankful for the double blessing of a beautiful adopted baby girl in my arms and a growing mystery baby in my belly.
i'm thankful for my extended family and my husband's family who are such great blessings in our lives, felt if not seen.
more than anything, i am thankful for my Savior, my Redeemer, my Friend, the Lover of my soul. i am thankful for the promise that He hears and answers prayer, and for the promise that my forever Home is with Him.
and right now, i am thankful for the snow that makes today feel special, my children running frantically about the house, squealing and yelling for shoes and equipment to go outside, it's snowing, it's snowing!!! perhaps today is a holiday after all.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
It has happened!
It's a little thing, not logical, may not mean anything to anyone else, but something I was worried (worried is a huge over statement - I just wondered and hoped and didn't know) about. A thing has happened with my adopted daughter that is true of my biologicals. I shall attempt to describe.
When I look at my eldest and my seventh, I can get lost in their freckles. I simply love the varying sizes and shapes of golden brown flecks on their noses, faces, and on my daughter's lovely lips. I love my little one's curls on the back of her neck, love to play with them and touch them. I derive great pleasure from kissing my oldest son's cheek and having his moon-worthy dimple cave in under my lips. My 3rd daughter doesn't have one dimple, she has six or seven! I love my children's smiles, the way they dance, the sound of their laughter, the different colors of their eyes, grayish blueish green (like the sea after a storm, said Buttercup), or chocolatey brown, or hazel like mine, or blue in a way that makes me want to go swimming. I love to look at them and explore their features, awake or asleep, at work or play. I love my children.
Today, sitting in my room, near the cradle made for my husband by his grandfather before he was born, I sat and watched my newest daughter, the one born from someone else's womb. And this is what I was thinking. My baby girl has THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SKIN - I could just sit and enjoy the color of it for hours and days. Beautiful beyond words that I know. I'm trying to quantify the tone, what does it remind me of? There is no food that comes close. Probably there is a specific rich wood that might somehow begin to portray, I don't know. The beauty of it is a wonder and a joy to me. I LOVE to look at her.
I didn't know if the kooky way I feel about all the biologicals comes from finding myself or my husband in them, if it is some narcissistic instinct, or if it is just the familiarity, they are mine. It isn't. It is just the joy of a mother, marveling at the beauty of God's creation. Certainly I marvel also that He made That in Me. But I am also in awe that He made this lovely, lovely darling baby with the most beautiful skin, deep unfathomable eyes, ringlets of soft black hair, tiny long fingers and an exceptionally cute brown bottom, He made her and somehow out of the riches of His grace and mercy, saw fit to place her in my care, in my arms, at my breast, in my heart.
And that is delightful too.
Oh please, God, bless her birthmom today. Give her strength, heal her heart and body, open doors, give her favor and wisdom, give her big dreams, a hope and a future. Mostly, Lord, I pray that she would know You, Your comfort, Your strength, Your friendship, Your presence, Your forgiveness and salvation. Amen.
When I look at my eldest and my seventh, I can get lost in their freckles. I simply love the varying sizes and shapes of golden brown flecks on their noses, faces, and on my daughter's lovely lips. I love my little one's curls on the back of her neck, love to play with them and touch them. I derive great pleasure from kissing my oldest son's cheek and having his moon-worthy dimple cave in under my lips. My 3rd daughter doesn't have one dimple, she has six or seven! I love my children's smiles, the way they dance, the sound of their laughter, the different colors of their eyes, grayish blueish green (like the sea after a storm, said Buttercup), or chocolatey brown, or hazel like mine, or blue in a way that makes me want to go swimming. I love to look at them and explore their features, awake or asleep, at work or play. I love my children.
Today, sitting in my room, near the cradle made for my husband by his grandfather before he was born, I sat and watched my newest daughter, the one born from someone else's womb. And this is what I was thinking. My baby girl has THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SKIN - I could just sit and enjoy the color of it for hours and days. Beautiful beyond words that I know. I'm trying to quantify the tone, what does it remind me of? There is no food that comes close. Probably there is a specific rich wood that might somehow begin to portray, I don't know. The beauty of it is a wonder and a joy to me. I LOVE to look at her.
I didn't know if the kooky way I feel about all the biologicals comes from finding myself or my husband in them, if it is some narcissistic instinct, or if it is just the familiarity, they are mine. It isn't. It is just the joy of a mother, marveling at the beauty of God's creation. Certainly I marvel also that He made That in Me. But I am also in awe that He made this lovely, lovely darling baby with the most beautiful skin, deep unfathomable eyes, ringlets of soft black hair, tiny long fingers and an exceptionally cute brown bottom, He made her and somehow out of the riches of His grace and mercy, saw fit to place her in my care, in my arms, at my breast, in my heart.
And that is delightful too.
Oh please, God, bless her birthmom today. Give her strength, heal her heart and body, open doors, give her favor and wisdom, give her big dreams, a hope and a future. Mostly, Lord, I pray that she would know You, Your comfort, Your strength, Your friendship, Your presence, Your forgiveness and salvation. Amen.
Are you my mother?
It was one of my favorite books to have read to me as a child, and is a favorite to read to my children. And it is how I wonder if my recently adopted daughter feels when she looks at me. I know it isn't. She isn't thinking, "who are you?" She is still limited to thinking, "this feels good," or "this feels bad". She doesn't even know the name of what feels good or bad. If she could speak, she isn't self aware enough to say whether it is a messy diaper, empty belly, gas bubble or exhaustion that is causing the "bad" feeling.
I guess it is possible that she connects my voice, smell, feel to "feels good" or to "the end of feels bad". I think she is comforted by me the way newborns are comforted by their mamas.
She doesn't know she's in the wrong (right) family. She has no idea that she is the lone black child being raised by a pack of wild caucasians. She doesn't know she's beautiful, doesn't know that she has an umbilical hernia, doesn't know she's constipated, doesn't know she has a dry scalp. She doesn't know that I don't know what I'm doing, even though she's the 11th child we've brought home.
But I know. And I feel a little inadequate.
Some adoption situations seem easier for the mind to fully embrace that this child belongs to the new parents. A child from an orphanage, for example, or a child who was likely to be aborted. But my little one was loved, and desired, if not to raise, at least to live. And there were people in her world who wanted her. Perhaps her birth-father, if encouraged, would have wanted to keep her with him. My situation is not as easy as a baby who has no one.
What I have is that her birth mom believed that our home was the very best place for her to be, superceding culture, race, geography, faith, socioeconomic status, and, ok - I'll say it, common sense. She believed that no matter how it felt or affected her, that putting this baby girl with us was the very best thing for baby girl.
She had a miserable nasty crappy time. Magnesium sulfate for 5 or so days, no food, transfusions, no epidural, emergency D & C afterward, ICU, headaches, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, not to mention frustration, anger and lack of understanding from her "support" network as they processed her decision with difficulty. And after all the horrible week she spent in the hospital, her reward was to go home with empty arms and a necklace she said was too special to wear.
And now I'm here with her incredibly beautiful darling baby girl, feeling inadequate, trying to figure out which formula to give her, and how to deal with the rash she has on her face and if it is normal baby stuff or if I'm showing my 'caucasian' ignorance of the needs of the skin of persons with African ancestry.
I love this baby. I love her mother. I love that Jesus gave her to me. After all she went through, our birth mom still chose us, chose adoption. But I'm horribly aware that all of who I am and can be as a mom, all of who we are and can be as a family, even all of who my wonderful husband is and can be, it's not enough. We can't bridge the gap between what is and what ought to have been. Her birth father and birth mother, loving her, loving each other, caring for her, bringing her up in her own family and world. We cannot heal, cannot forgive on her behalf, cannot fill the hole left.
We can overwhelm her with love and kisses and with the glory of us, but that cannot be enough. We cannot fill in the cultural blanks (that is a whole. nother. blog.), cannot heal the racial tension in our land that she will face someday.
What we can do, is show her at every opportunity, good and bad, that she has the option of giving it all, pain, confusion, whatever, to a perfect Savior-Redeemer-Healer. We can lead her to the cross. Over and over and over.
And I suppose that is where my adequacy, legitimacy, peace lies. I want to somehow reach across the nation and heal her mom, her dad, her mom's friends and family. I want to make it all better for them, but how can I, when I have the sweet spot, and they have a hole where she should have been?
This yoke is not mine. Even my daughter's happiness is not my responsibility. It is between her and the Lord. What is my job? Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with my God. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks.
I guess it is possible that she connects my voice, smell, feel to "feels good" or to "the end of feels bad". I think she is comforted by me the way newborns are comforted by their mamas.
She doesn't know she's in the wrong (right) family. She has no idea that she is the lone black child being raised by a pack of wild caucasians. She doesn't know she's beautiful, doesn't know that she has an umbilical hernia, doesn't know she's constipated, doesn't know she has a dry scalp. She doesn't know that I don't know what I'm doing, even though she's the 11th child we've brought home.
But I know. And I feel a little inadequate.
Some adoption situations seem easier for the mind to fully embrace that this child belongs to the new parents. A child from an orphanage, for example, or a child who was likely to be aborted. But my little one was loved, and desired, if not to raise, at least to live. And there were people in her world who wanted her. Perhaps her birth-father, if encouraged, would have wanted to keep her with him. My situation is not as easy as a baby who has no one.
What I have is that her birth mom believed that our home was the very best place for her to be, superceding culture, race, geography, faith, socioeconomic status, and, ok - I'll say it, common sense. She believed that no matter how it felt or affected her, that putting this baby girl with us was the very best thing for baby girl.
She had a miserable nasty crappy time. Magnesium sulfate for 5 or so days, no food, transfusions, no epidural, emergency D & C afterward, ICU, headaches, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, not to mention frustration, anger and lack of understanding from her "support" network as they processed her decision with difficulty. And after all the horrible week she spent in the hospital, her reward was to go home with empty arms and a necklace she said was too special to wear.
And now I'm here with her incredibly beautiful darling baby girl, feeling inadequate, trying to figure out which formula to give her, and how to deal with the rash she has on her face and if it is normal baby stuff or if I'm showing my 'caucasian' ignorance of the needs of the skin of persons with African ancestry.
I love this baby. I love her mother. I love that Jesus gave her to me. After all she went through, our birth mom still chose us, chose adoption. But I'm horribly aware that all of who I am and can be as a mom, all of who we are and can be as a family, even all of who my wonderful husband is and can be, it's not enough. We can't bridge the gap between what is and what ought to have been. Her birth father and birth mother, loving her, loving each other, caring for her, bringing her up in her own family and world. We cannot heal, cannot forgive on her behalf, cannot fill the hole left.
We can overwhelm her with love and kisses and with the glory of us, but that cannot be enough. We cannot fill in the cultural blanks (that is a whole. nother. blog.), cannot heal the racial tension in our land that she will face someday.
What we can do, is show her at every opportunity, good and bad, that she has the option of giving it all, pain, confusion, whatever, to a perfect Savior-Redeemer-Healer. We can lead her to the cross. Over and over and over.
And I suppose that is where my adequacy, legitimacy, peace lies. I want to somehow reach across the nation and heal her mom, her dad, her mom's friends and family. I want to make it all better for them, but how can I, when I have the sweet spot, and they have a hole where she should have been?
This yoke is not mine. Even my daughter's happiness is not my responsibility. It is between her and the Lord. What is my job? Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly with my God. Pray without ceasing. In everything give thanks.
Friday, November 19, 2010
It's not that I'm not writing . . .
I'm just not publishing anything. Partly because I am not certain enough of my decision-making skills to know if anything I'm writing would make sense to anyone living outside my brain ('cause, you know it doesn't always, right?) and partly because some things on the heart need to simmer before being laid out there for the world.
But there are other things to think about, write about, so I will write.
Did you ever have someone, maybe you knew them up close, maybe from a distance, that was the embodiment of faith or whatever, and later they fell long and hard, and you couldn't believe that they could really go from A to B? Like that day that started off at 70 degrees and somehow wound up in the 30's. It is hard to remember when it is warm what cold feels like, and vice versa. It is hard when it is cold out to pack for a warm destination.
It was hard, when I was eating healthy, living healthy, exercising, and maintaining healthy habits, to imagine ever being and living in such a fat, unhealthy way as I have done in the past and am doing again now. And today, it is a stretch to remember that I have been a healthier person.
I suppose I am a woman of extremes. The idea that I could get up tomorrow and adjust one thing and be a somewhat healthier me is just that, an idea. It never makes it more than half way down stairs. But to change completely would require considerably more resolve than I can muster at the best hour of my best day.
I started going down hill when trying to nurse pregnant, having read that I needed a large number of calories. I think it was mostly an excuse. And then going to Ronald McDonald nicu sleep deprivation land was even more of an excuse. Heck, I even allowed myself to eat more fried chicken because I am now the mother of a black child, and her birth family said it was important to make sure she got plenty of good fried chicken. (I do not mention that to say that all black people like fried chicken, just that I used a conversation I had with birthmom's friend as an excuse to further kill myself).
Now I've sunk horribly low, I hate to say, adding butter to my pbj's, just really self destructive.
I had one day, not long ago, when I felt the Lord saying, "Are you ready to admit that you can't do this without Me?" And my thought was yes, and my acknowledged dependence and renewed connection lasted a day and a half.
I had an idea for a song recently. I haven't written it yet, but the gist of it has to do with Lembas bread, from the Lord of the Rings, the waybread of the elves that Frodo and Sam eat on their journey. It had the strange effect, when eaten exclusively, to increase in it's ability to nourish and sustain, so that the longer you had eaten only Lembas, the more content and satisfied and strengthened you where when you ate it.
The whole thing in the book of Hosea where it talks about taking the reckless destructive wayward wife out into the wilderness and stripping her, not of her dignity (she already did that) but of her creature comforts and her other gods, and teaching her, reminding her of the love of her husband ties in to the image in the Song of Solomon of the bride coming up out of the wilderness, leaning on her Beloved, like an army with banners, victorious but weary, weak, limping, and utterly dependent (and thoroughly convinced of her dependence) on her majestic, heroic, steady, faithful and true, Bridegroom-Redeemer.
I am in a distant place from that dependence, that place of leaning, of taking in what sustains my body and drinking my fill of what sustains my soul.
I know that He gently leads the nursing ewes. I know He is still especially fond of me and not angry with me. I know that He is for me and not against me.
But I have ADD of the spirit right now, my courage, my stamina, my pluck, all pretty well shot.
Probably would have been better if I hadn't written, eh?
But there are other things to think about, write about, so I will write.
Did you ever have someone, maybe you knew them up close, maybe from a distance, that was the embodiment of faith or whatever, and later they fell long and hard, and you couldn't believe that they could really go from A to B? Like that day that started off at 70 degrees and somehow wound up in the 30's. It is hard to remember when it is warm what cold feels like, and vice versa. It is hard when it is cold out to pack for a warm destination.
It was hard, when I was eating healthy, living healthy, exercising, and maintaining healthy habits, to imagine ever being and living in such a fat, unhealthy way as I have done in the past and am doing again now. And today, it is a stretch to remember that I have been a healthier person.
I suppose I am a woman of extremes. The idea that I could get up tomorrow and adjust one thing and be a somewhat healthier me is just that, an idea. It never makes it more than half way down stairs. But to change completely would require considerably more resolve than I can muster at the best hour of my best day.
I started going down hill when trying to nurse pregnant, having read that I needed a large number of calories. I think it was mostly an excuse. And then going to Ronald McDonald nicu sleep deprivation land was even more of an excuse. Heck, I even allowed myself to eat more fried chicken because I am now the mother of a black child, and her birth family said it was important to make sure she got plenty of good fried chicken. (I do not mention that to say that all black people like fried chicken, just that I used a conversation I had with birthmom's friend as an excuse to further kill myself).
Now I've sunk horribly low, I hate to say, adding butter to my pbj's, just really self destructive.
I had one day, not long ago, when I felt the Lord saying, "Are you ready to admit that you can't do this without Me?" And my thought was yes, and my acknowledged dependence and renewed connection lasted a day and a half.
I had an idea for a song recently. I haven't written it yet, but the gist of it has to do with Lembas bread, from the Lord of the Rings, the waybread of the elves that Frodo and Sam eat on their journey. It had the strange effect, when eaten exclusively, to increase in it's ability to nourish and sustain, so that the longer you had eaten only Lembas, the more content and satisfied and strengthened you where when you ate it.
The whole thing in the book of Hosea where it talks about taking the reckless destructive wayward wife out into the wilderness and stripping her, not of her dignity (she already did that) but of her creature comforts and her other gods, and teaching her, reminding her of the love of her husband ties in to the image in the Song of Solomon of the bride coming up out of the wilderness, leaning on her Beloved, like an army with banners, victorious but weary, weak, limping, and utterly dependent (and thoroughly convinced of her dependence) on her majestic, heroic, steady, faithful and true, Bridegroom-Redeemer.
I am in a distant place from that dependence, that place of leaning, of taking in what sustains my body and drinking my fill of what sustains my soul.
I know that He gently leads the nursing ewes. I know He is still especially fond of me and not angry with me. I know that He is for me and not against me.
But I have ADD of the spirit right now, my courage, my stamina, my pluck, all pretty well shot.
Probably would have been better if I hadn't written, eh?
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Mary pondered these things
Been doing a lot of pondering lately, a lot of thinking, a lot of nodding off.
I am enjoying my lovely girl, well, all my lovely girls and all my boys. My oldest son's voice is changing. We watched Toy Story 3 last night and I cried at the thought of him growing up. On the other end of things, #5 son, whom we call The Show, put some poop in the potty today, finally. I gave him prune juice, which today was a magic feather, and tomorrow will probably mean a mess to clean up. But maybe not. He went for it today.
My youngest sister had a baby this week. Looking forward to introducing his brown skinned cousin to him.
I am finally feeling the baby in my tummy move. My placenta is typically out front, so I don't feel the child until he/she is bigger than that placenta. But I'm there finally. I'm tired. Reflux has struck - I won't be going to bed without my zantac again, let me tell you.
With our little bottle fed girl, Daddy is playing a much bigger role, which works with my pregnancy, if you know what I mean. He has become the expert. If she is fussing or sputtering, he says, "here, give her to me". It is sweet.
And all the while, I am thinking about the new one and who he or she is going to be. The end of February is a very long way away.
I am enjoying my lovely girl, well, all my lovely girls and all my boys. My oldest son's voice is changing. We watched Toy Story 3 last night and I cried at the thought of him growing up. On the other end of things, #5 son, whom we call The Show, put some poop in the potty today, finally. I gave him prune juice, which today was a magic feather, and tomorrow will probably mean a mess to clean up. But maybe not. He went for it today.
My youngest sister had a baby this week. Looking forward to introducing his brown skinned cousin to him.
I am finally feeling the baby in my tummy move. My placenta is typically out front, so I don't feel the child until he/she is bigger than that placenta. But I'm there finally. I'm tired. Reflux has struck - I won't be going to bed without my zantac again, let me tell you.
With our little bottle fed girl, Daddy is playing a much bigger role, which works with my pregnancy, if you know what I mean. He has become the expert. If she is fussing or sputtering, he says, "here, give her to me". It is sweet.
And all the while, I am thinking about the new one and who he or she is going to be. The end of February is a very long way away.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Giving up . . .
on the supplementary nursing system. It has been a great thing. I nursed my adopted daughter. I bonded with her. And if I were not 4 whole months away from being physically able to really produce milk, and if my pregnancy were not in conflict with my ability to make milk, or if she was consistently taking in all she needs in a relatively appropriate amount of time, I would keep it up.
But the situation is that I am only 5 months pregnant, she doesn't eat well or fast with it, and I need to sleep. Getting up 2 or 3 times at night is one thing. Getting up for an hour each time is something else, and it doesn't have to be that way. She can drink a bottle in 10-15 minutes.
My pregnant belly is getting bigger in front of me, and wondering about the person growing in it is growing in my mind. I've begun that pregnancy obsessiveness. It is so fun, to hold my sweet girl and just enjoy her and at the same time wonder who her brother/sister will be.
I know for certain that God has a very specific plan in the timing and details of this whole adventure. I don't have the full picture of His reasons or His ways, but I am trusting His goodness.
But the situation is that I am only 5 months pregnant, she doesn't eat well or fast with it, and I need to sleep. Getting up 2 or 3 times at night is one thing. Getting up for an hour each time is something else, and it doesn't have to be that way. She can drink a bottle in 10-15 minutes.
My pregnant belly is getting bigger in front of me, and wondering about the person growing in it is growing in my mind. I've begun that pregnancy obsessiveness. It is so fun, to hold my sweet girl and just enjoy her and at the same time wonder who her brother/sister will be.
I know for certain that God has a very specific plan in the timing and details of this whole adventure. I don't have the full picture of His reasons or His ways, but I am trusting His goodness.
Monday, October 11, 2010
delusions of grandeur
It's not that I thought it would be easy. But I am not sure I did the math exactly. I have great pregnancies, and this has been the best. But my primary pregnancy symptom is 'tired'. I nod off during afternoon school on many a day. Indeed, it is how I know I'm pregnant before taking a test.
So then you add the newborn thing. I'm up about every three hours during the night for about an hour (she sleeps for 4 during the day, not sure how to adjust that).
Then you add in the sns feeding system, which just takes longer than simply breastfeeding (oh how simply) or even straight bottle feeding. I'm washing out the bottle and tubing, making a bottle, feeding with the sns, trying for burps all the while, finishing the feed with a bottle, because she only takes about a ounce through the sns and is small enough to need more, plus I'm trying to fill her tank so I can sleep a little longer.
So late night feed at 10:30, bed at 11:30, up at 1:30, sleep at 2:30, up at 4:30, bed at 5:30, up at 7:30, up, up and breakfast, up and school, up and tired, up and falling asleep during Rocket Phonics, during spelling tests, during Geometry, frustrated children. Do I drink the coffee, which will make me more alert but slightly nauseaus?
I know, I'll eat. Eating and eating and eating. Not the lo-carb diet - no I'm going for straight, protein free, devoid of nutritional value carbs. I got in the habit at the Ronald McDonald houses we stayed in of having dessert at least 4 times a day. So I'm eating a whole lot of junk.
At any rate, it is dawning on me today that if I'm going to try to be the amazing supermom and nurse two babies (yes, my toddler still nurses a couple times a day) and grow a third, I need to eat like the amazing supermom.
This is my goal: drink lots of water, take my vitamins, and eat a lot of protein and veggies and healthy carbs. It will take a couple days of re-working my system, breaking some habits, and I will likely be incredibly crabby.
But wait, I already am.
So then you add the newborn thing. I'm up about every three hours during the night for about an hour (she sleeps for 4 during the day, not sure how to adjust that).
Then you add in the sns feeding system, which just takes longer than simply breastfeeding (oh how simply) or even straight bottle feeding. I'm washing out the bottle and tubing, making a bottle, feeding with the sns, trying for burps all the while, finishing the feed with a bottle, because she only takes about a ounce through the sns and is small enough to need more, plus I'm trying to fill her tank so I can sleep a little longer.
So late night feed at 10:30, bed at 11:30, up at 1:30, sleep at 2:30, up at 4:30, bed at 5:30, up at 7:30, up, up and breakfast, up and school, up and tired, up and falling asleep during Rocket Phonics, during spelling tests, during Geometry, frustrated children. Do I drink the coffee, which will make me more alert but slightly nauseaus?
I know, I'll eat. Eating and eating and eating. Not the lo-carb diet - no I'm going for straight, protein free, devoid of nutritional value carbs. I got in the habit at the Ronald McDonald houses we stayed in of having dessert at least 4 times a day. So I'm eating a whole lot of junk.
At any rate, it is dawning on me today that if I'm going to try to be the amazing supermom and nurse two babies (yes, my toddler still nurses a couple times a day) and grow a third, I need to eat like the amazing supermom.
This is my goal: drink lots of water, take my vitamins, and eat a lot of protein and veggies and healthy carbs. It will take a couple days of re-working my system, breaking some habits, and I will likely be incredibly crabby.
But wait, I already am.
Monday, October 04, 2010
lonely
One of the reasons my life suits me (the life where I live in a house with a dozen other people) is that I don't love to be alone. In fact, I do not function well.
I know people who are "introverts". My husband is one. An introvert, by definition, is someone who turns in to regroup, to renew their strength. I do not understand this.
When I know I am going to be alone, I have good intentions of using the time well. I pack things I wish I had time to do, drawing supplies, books, my Bible. But the reality is that after a pretty brief moment of strength, I descend into the least impressive version of me, watching movies and eating for comfort.
Thankfully, I have a little tiny human keeping me sort of on track, and of course I am comforted by my Savior. But I find I am much more likely to draw near even to Him when in the middle of a tornado than while in a place of complete rest and peace.
Well, okay, there is a limit to the rest. It goes for about 2 hr stretches, and then is interrupted by said tiny human. We are trying a supplemental nursing system, which means we're getting much of the benefit of breastfeeding with all the inconvenience of bottles (and then some).
Again, I am very grateful. Very.
But I miss home. My 6 year old lost one of his front teeth. I saw it on facebook.
God's timing is perfect. I trust Him. I will press in.
Learning to lean . . .
I know people who are "introverts". My husband is one. An introvert, by definition, is someone who turns in to regroup, to renew their strength. I do not understand this.
When I know I am going to be alone, I have good intentions of using the time well. I pack things I wish I had time to do, drawing supplies, books, my Bible. But the reality is that after a pretty brief moment of strength, I descend into the least impressive version of me, watching movies and eating for comfort.
Thankfully, I have a little tiny human keeping me sort of on track, and of course I am comforted by my Savior. But I find I am much more likely to draw near even to Him when in the middle of a tornado than while in a place of complete rest and peace.
Well, okay, there is a limit to the rest. It goes for about 2 hr stretches, and then is interrupted by said tiny human. We are trying a supplemental nursing system, which means we're getting much of the benefit of breastfeeding with all the inconvenience of bottles (and then some).
Again, I am very grateful. Very.
But I miss home. My 6 year old lost one of his front teeth. I saw it on facebook.
God's timing is perfect. I trust Him. I will press in.
Learning to lean . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)