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)
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Sunday, January 09, 2011
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.
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.
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