Mourning Miscarriage

I've cried a lot in the past two days. Controlled crying. Not the really hard kind. The kind you do when you aren't in an acute stage of grief, but you reach inside and pull it out on purpose when you are alone and the kids are sleeping. A song plays that you cherished during that sad time, and you let the words and music fill your heart until the tears spill down your cheeks. The kind of crying that is quiet and short and gives a sense of relief afterwards. 

A sweet friend just lost her baby at 9 weeks. The past three years have brought with them so many friends experiencing this loss. So many. Too many. 

I grieve with her. I grieve for her and her family. It makes me think about my own experience. It makes me think about all the others. What can I do? What do we do for each other during times like this? I didn't really want people around me much. I appreciated the words from afar in the beginning, when it was so hard. Later was when hugs were ok; and even then hugs were draining because they brought tears and increased emotion. So I am trying to honor that part, thinking that she probably feels the same as I did. 

I haven't done enough in the past. I'm not even sure how to do enough now.

"I am praying for you."

Important words and actions, but I didn't follow up as I should. 

"Whatever you need, let me know." 

I meant it, but it's just such a shallow offering. It's hard to take someone up on that.

After a month goes by and then two, it seems like we are all just supposed to go back to normal. 

Don't let anyone tell you--even yourself--that you shouldn't still be sad. If someone hurts your feelings and you don't feel understood, just remember that not everyone is supposed to understand. Be happy for them that they don't. And even those who should may just grieve differently than you. If they don't seem to be hurting for as long, it's because they are not you. 

Even people who have miscarried have said insensitive things to me. It doesn't matter. They didn't mean it. If they did, that is another issue, but I bet 99% of people don't mean to be inconsiderate. Let's give them some grace and return to grief instead of resorting to anger.

Does it often seem like it would be weird to bring up the topic again after a few months, and say, "How are you really doing with that now"? A lot of times the weirdness even comes from the woman at the end of that question. She feels like she should not be suffering anymore like she was.

"Oh fine, I guess. It was hard, but I'm feeling better now." 

There's just a heaviness in the air that screams that's not enough.

I just wish there was more. I want more. Maybe not discussion all the time, but a hug, a card, something. I don't know. Things I have not done for my friends, but I wish I had. Just something more intimate. That's it. Intimacy. Connection.

I read an article recently that keeps coming back to me. How abortion has changed the discussion of miscarriage. It seems like we are just supposed to get over it. 

But I'm still not over it. 

I felt a great amount of healing when Jack was born. I would have had my babies in February, and he was born in June. He would not be here if they had survived. That is a bittersweet thought that is hard to wrap my mind around. I feel a little strange saying that he is my 4th child, so usually I just don't. But why? He is. 

Even discussions with others who have miscarried can often become a game of minimizing. I know I do it.

"Oh, yes I have miscarried, but mine was really early. So it wasn't as hard as so-and-so who lost a baby further along."

"Oh, I had to have a D&C, so it wasn't as hard as so-and-so who had to go through the physical pain of a natural miscarriage." 

Who wins the "least hard" miscarriage story? It's like we think we might hurt someone's feelings who seems to have a more difficult story. Maybe her story is harder, but that doesn't minimize yours. We have all lost here. Let's stop acting like we didn't. There was life, and then there wasn't. That is significant.

Fellow moms of sweet children lost: I love you. I am sad for you. Even years later. The grief changes, but it's still there. Just different. Friends, when you have a moment of quiet, I want you to listen to the words of this song by Selah. And be ok crying a little if you are a crier, like me. It's never been too long for you to give that notable loss a moment of attention. And it makes us all just a little bit closer to look back and feel, especially the next time we hear that a new mother has joined our ranks. We connect with her in our souls, because we remember.

There were photographs I wanted to take

Things I wanted to show you

Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes

Who could love you like this?

People say that I am brave but I'm not

Truth is I'm barely hanging on

But there's a greater story

Written long before me

Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you

While your heart beats here

Long beyond the empty cradle

Through the coming years

I will carry you

All my life

I will praise the One Who's chosen me

To carry you

Such a short time

Such a long road

All this madness

But I know

That the silence

Has brought me to His voice

And He says

I've shown her photographs of time beginning

Walked her through the parted seas

Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes

Who could love her like this?

I will carry you

While your heart beats here

Long beyond the empty cradle

Through the coming years

I will carry you

All your life

I will praise the One Who's chosen Me

To carry you

--I WIll Carry You--

--Selah--

Here is the link in case you are unable to view this video on your device.

Death, Saturday and Insanity: Easter Musings

After reading a friend's Instagram post this morning, I find my thoughts continually coming back to what it must have been like to be the disciples and Jesus' followers on this Saturday after His death but before the resurrection. I am so very glad that I live in a time when the Holy Spirit is present to give us discernment and wisdom, and we have the Word of God, with the entire story of redemption, to read and study and understand. 

What was it like when they didn't fully comprehend why Jesus had come and what it all meant? How dark that day must have been! 

Yes, the disciples had heard Him pretty much explain exactly what was going to happen about how He was would have to lay down His life and that He would rise again, blah, blah, blah, but they had no idea what that really meant or entailed. Even after the resurrection, they didn't quite get the purpose for all of it. It's easy to look back on the disciples and feel like they were really dense, but I'm positive that any one of us in their shoes would not have acted differently.

But on that Saturday, what were they thinking? Their Messiah died!! And not only that but He died a horrible, humiliating death only reserved for the worst of criminals. When He was arrested, all the disciples ran away in fear of being associated with Him. Peter denied that he even knew who Jesus was. Not once, but three times.

Death is death. It is so final. It is the end that everyone experiences. In our minds, it is the normal progression of life, even when it's surprising or happens when we think it shouldn't. It still is that way things are. It's the natural way and something we understand to be true.

He was dead! They had seen a few people raised from the dead at Jesus' hand (who, by the way, still died again eventually), but now that Jesus was dead, that amazingness would seem to be pretty much over. 
And how often even now, do we, as believers in Christ, see God do something in our lives or someone else's but then really struggle with having faith the next time the same situation comes up? Anyone? Raising my hand right now. 

That day would have been awful. Horrible. Second worst day ever.

But then the next day. Oh, the next day. 

The disciples believed that Jesus was their Messiah, but He was also God. I'm not sure they comprehended that quite yet. No one rises from the dead. That proved it. God.

I think about how nutso we all must sound to those who do not know the story of Jesus or just don't believe it. We are all like, "yay for Resurrection Sunday!" And non-Christians are like, "ok you crazies." Haha! We totally sound crazy. Jesus sounded crazy. If He wasn't God, then all that stuff He said definitely should have gotten Him sent straight to the loony bin in a straight jacket. Can you imagine if someone today got up and said, "all authority in heaven and earth has been given to me (Matt 28:18)"? We would all run away screaming for help.

But those of you running, just for fun, do a google search of John chapter 18 and read through chapter 20 (search in the ESV-that's a readable version without any thees and thous). Super interesting story that made for a really intense, sad movie. 

What if it actually happened?

Christianity and Alcohol: 5 Reasons Why I Quit Drinking

I've been drunk. Lots of times. I've made horrible decisions while under the influence, and I've also had enlightening conversations about theology and God. I have been a Bible believer in Christ throughout it all, although my commitment to knowing my Lord personally and following His Word has varied during the course of my drinking days.

I don't drink anymore. Honestly, I stopped mainly because I wanted to get pregnant, then I was pregnant, then I was breastfeeding, then I was pregnant again, and the cycle continued. I only recently stopped having any alcohol at all. I have been on all sides of the alcohol argument that goes on in Christian circles. I grew up believing that alcohol itself was sinful and didn't have my first drink until I was 21.

So anything I say here is not meant as a condemnation. Pot. Kettle. In fact this pot is blacker than your kettle, I'm sure.

There are people who I know and love dearly who do choose to partake in alcohol consumption, and while I do not respect them any less, this fact has caused me to reflect on my stance on the matter to a higher degree that I otherwise would. It has taken me a while to write this post and decide to (gasp!) actually click that taunting orange publish button. I love so many dear ones who could potentially be offended by these words, although that is not my intention in any way. But so many of my thoughts of late keep bringing me back to the topic. I have spent a lot of time mulling over why I feel the prick of conscience that I do in relation to drinking when my loved ones perhaps do not. I just want to pose questions that I have asked myself and am still contemplating the answers to. 

So, Church. Christ-lovers. Dearest friends of mine seeking to know Him on this life journey....

Why the choice to drink alcohol [said with sincere curiosity]?

Oh, I hear you. One or two drinks is not a sin. The Bible only mentions drunkenness. Eh. Debatable. True technically, but there are many passages that talk about peeps getting into trouble because of drinking without specifically mentioning where the subject was on the drunkenness scale.

Ok though. Let's assume that one or two is totally fine, which is probably more where I would tend to agree with. But how many people do you know who really only EVER have one or two at a time? Maybe you can name a couple names of the multiple dear folk you know who imbibe. I, honestly, can't think of anyone. And I also know beloved fellow believers who just choose to ignore the admonitions regarding drunkenness completely (me! me! me! until very recently) and partake in a similar manner as the rest of the world. Sorry, ya'll, but if you claim to be a Bible-follower I'm not sure that there is good argument you can put up for justifying that.

So what is your definition of drunk? Feeling a little "tipsy"? Being totally plastered? Slurring your words? Blacking out? Hmmm... I have done all of those things, and, putting aside the legal limits, I would have to say that the beginning of "being drunk" is when you no longer act like you would completely sober. Such as, I-now-feel-empowered-to-talk-about-my-feelings-when-I-wouldn't-before or I-suddenly-feel-the-need-to-be-more-affectionate-than-I-would-before or my-voice-is-suddenly-slightly-louder-and-I-feel-smarter-than-I-did-before or perhaps I am just much more chatty in general. You get the picture. Also "legally drunk" happens way sooner than you think it does, and that is even a worldly standard, Loved Ones.

And I don't know about you but that feeling, that sense of empowerment, is truly the only reason to really drink in the first place. I mean, c'mon, if I wasn't looking for a certain sensation, I would just have water and save myself the calories. Anyone else feelin' me?

Ok, so let's say that you really do just drink one glass of wine with dinner because you like the taste, and none of the above applies to you. But guess what? It does to me and a huge number of other people who could either be: (a.) Christians who aren't as mature in their faith and may be confused by your decisions or (b.) non-Christians who are watching you. And there are verses about causing others to stumble (1 Cor 10:31-33).

So let me tell you the reasons that I chose to quit drinking (and I really do miss it sometimes).

1. My children

Once again about the causing others to stumble thing (Matt 18:6-9). I have no idea what areas of sin my kids are going to have true, deep struggles with. I was reading a blog the other day that said no one ever chooses to become an alcoholic. I'm sure no teenager ever looked at their socially-drinking parents' wine rack and thought, "gee, I am going to sneak one of those bottles tomorrow, and that first sweet taste is going to be the beginning of a life-long love affair where I alienate everyone I have ever known, choose my liquid idol above all else, and die of liver failure at age 53." No one ever plans for that. But it happens. I don't ever want to be a stumbling block to my children. I'm sure I will cause them to question my choices and their own convictions in many other ways of which I will be unaware at the time. I would rather not add to that list by possibly causing stumbling that was obvious to me. 

2. My past decisions

I have made some doozies while under the influence. Never again, thank you. Enough said. If you haven't gone there, good for you. Don't.

3. I see the control that alcohol has 

If I have one glass of wine with dinner and start to feel that wonderful relaxation feeling, I find myself thinking about how I really want another glass. Every. Single. Time. If I choose to give in, after each subsequent glass, that "need" just keeps compounding, and I just keep wanting more (not that I always would, but I sure would kinda want to). Not everyone struggles with this, but I certainly do. Ephesians 5:18 says, "Do not be drunk with wine, wherein is excess [ain't that the truth]; but be filled with the Spirit." And you know what? I really want to be filled with the Spirit. Can I really hear Him and worship Him and praise Him if I am under the influence of something else?

I have thought a lot lately, too, about what it means to feel the Presence of the Lord. Beth Moore provides a good description; "when the Spirit of Christ in me responds to the Spirit of God around me, I sense His Presence." Obviously it's not like I live in a constant state of sensing His Presence in this way, but I believe that I can't recognize it if I am under the influence of a mind-altering substance (the priests of the tabernacle were not allowed to have any wine or fermented drink when they went into the Tent of Meeting [Lev 10:8-10] - I assume for a similar reason). From my experience, when I can hear God and see His Presence in my life in really meaningful ways, it always means that I have been deliberating choosing to obey His Word and cultivate my relationship with Him. And there is nothing in life better than to know the Presence of my God. To be rich in relationship with Him is only perfected by constantly evaluating junk in my life that is preventing me from experiencing the fullness of that intimacy. And for me, alcohol was junk that got trashed, because I want intimacy more.

4. My testimony

I was at a bar once and got to talking with someone who found out I was a Christian. "So you're a Christian who smokes (I used to do that too) and drinks?" Asked with incredulity. I still remember the slight look of disdain. Obviously that is an extreme case. One that you could pass off if you don't go to bars and don't smoke and don't drink in excess. But are you really portraying a strong testimony with the defensive "what?!-the-Bible-doesn't-say-anything-about-having-one-or-two-drinks-so-I-can" argument? Light and salt, People. In John 17:13-21, Jesus, in a prayer specifically for believers (v20), calls us to be separate. We are to be sanctified by the truth and be in the world but not of the world. Beth Moore again (I'm doing a study by her) states, "Sanctification...is about purity - purity maintained in an impure world... What do you deliberately avoid for the sake of purity?" My own conclusion from my conscience (that I have fought with for years) and my continued Bible study tell me that I need to deliberately avoid alcohol. Matt 10:16 says, "I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves." 

5. The Bible warns about drinking in excess - and I have a problem with wanting to drink in excess (Prov 20:1; Prov 23:20, 29-35). Bottom line. This was one that I really chose to ignore for a long time. I just didn't want to give up the fun that I had when I had drinks with awesome people. Really is nothing else to say about that one.

If you google, "can/should Christians drink," a bizillion things come up - many thoughts from theologians and folks who are much more articulate than I. I have people I am close to on every part of the spectrum as far as thoughts about this topic. It's definitely a hot one. I grew up with a more legalistic view of it, which I don't think is the way to be. But legalism also goes both ways. As a Christian, I can either be legalistic by saying that alcohol is a sin and pointing the finger at others who don't hold that view, or I can be legalistic by getting super offended at all those "alcohol-is-a-sin" sayers and talking about how they are nothing but a bunch of zealots. As believers in Christ, we need to choose to focus on the Gospel and the Love that unites us rather than always picking apart each other over everything that we differ on. 

So why write a post about it? 

Because if there is anything I've learned in my life, it's that if I am struggling with something, there are others struggling with the exact same thing. Those experiences that are "common to man" (1 Cor 10:13). Obviously this post is from my experience only (except for the Scripture part), but if you are struggling with your stance on alcohol as a believer in Christ, I hope you are more clear after reading this. The fact that your conscience is being pricked at all is probably one of the biggest red flags that maybe something needs to change. 

Open your Bible. Study. Don't take my word for it.


UPDATE 5/16/16: I have learned so many things since writing this blog post. When I wrote this, I was coming from a place of frustration, not understanding why those close to me did not have the conviction in this area that I did. I had a life-altering conversation with a lovely, godly friend who I respect very much. I learned through real experience, not just "church talk," that I am not responsible for convicting others and not everyone has the same convictions as I do. It was very freeing. I had become enslaved to alcohol, but not in the traditional way. Instead of thinking about drinking all the time, I was thinking about how everyone else shouldn't be drinking all the time. Here I thought I was all free from this stronghold, but I really had just becoming captive to it in a different way. 

I studied more in Scripture about alcohol and learned that there are actually many instances where wine is mentioned in a positive light. Looking at the whole picture, I have concluded that there is a definite line, and each person must be listening to the Holy Spirit for guidance as to where that line is. I actually still agree with pretty much everything I said above, especially for myself, but I know that much of it comes from a subjective place based on my experience and failings. If you see me have a glass of wine with dinner, it's because I have confidently found that line in my own life by studying God's Word daily and surrendering my thoughts and questions about it to Him. The one big thing that has changed from my original post is I no longer feel the need to continue with another and another. I pray God will always convict me to abstain if the issue at all is a stumbling block for someone else. I thank the Lord for His grace and patience as He taught me and continues to reveal truths about this difficult and culturally complicated subject matter. Only His truth is relevant. 

Open your Bible. Study. Don't take my word for it.

"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1

Remember

Today is an official day to remember. But I remember every day.

I thought of you every time I looked in the mirror. It's amazing how much faster the outwards signs show the second time around.

I picked out a shirt for your sister to wear to tell Daddy. It said "Big Sister" in bright pink glitter.

We happily wrote out our top names in sidewalk chalk in the back yard. It doesn't rain often here in the summer, so the names remained for quite a while before we hosed them off prior to having company. We didn't want to give it away. We had a girl name and a boy name ready from that list. We smiled when we spoke of them.

We brought your sister to the ultrasound. We wanted her to be as ready as possible to welcome you.

She wandered happily around the room as the doctor told us he couldn't find a heartbeat. 

He looked me in the eye and said that it could be too early and maybe I had calculated wrong.

But I knew.

I looked at my beloved's pale face and saw.

He knew.

While we were planning and dreaming, you had slipped away quietly to be with Jesus.

We waited a week to be sure. I wondered if my body would figure out that you weren't growing.

We knew what would happen when we returned to that ultrasound room. But what we didn't know was that you were two.

Identical twins. 

Something he had not noticed before. He was sorry for our loss.

Another week passed and we officially lost you by way of a medical procedure. My body didn't want to know that you were gone. But my heart knew.

I want you to know. That I will always remember you. That you were loved and wanted. That one day I will hold you both in my arms when this life is past. That there will be no more tears.

And that my beloved Father is my comfort. 

He always knows. 
And I trust Him.

To Share Or Not To Share

Sadness. Loss. Heartache.


We all experience them. This world is an imperfect place. They are our reliable companions as we travel through life.


Yet I feel like I (and many of you) really hesitate to ever share about them. We post on our blogs about interesting trips we went on and write witty status updates on Facebook, but when that thunderstorm or even the light sprinkle happens, we shut those windows tightly so no one can see or hear what's really going on inside the house.


By nature I am a private person. I dislike unsolicited advice and many times when you share your heart, that can be what comes back by way of a reaction to the crisis. And understandably. No one wants to hear of tragedy without trying to assist or fix it in some way. It means we care. We want to help.


But what if there is no physical, tangible way to help? Does that mean it would be better not to share at all for fear of getting "helped" anyway?


When difficulty strikes I find myself staring at the computer screen thinking that this is the time that I actually have the most to say, but I don't want to write it.


So I usually don't post at all or I think of something lighthearted instead. It's too scary to send one's feelings out into the great, wide Internet cosmos for all to see.


I admire friends like Ashleigh who seems to have the gift of sharing her hurt in a beautiful, open way that makes one ponder values and responses to difficulties. My thoughts are always jumbled and would likely result in disoriented sentences across the page.


But it makes me sad. The Ashleighs of the world are so few and the Bonnys of the world are so many. We just smile and babble on of only happy things.


Would it be better if we shared or would we just feel frustrated by unneeded comments?


Or would it help others to know that they are not alone in this thing called life or the trials that plague it?


I read a caption once, "If only my life were as perfect as I pretend it is on Facebook."


But no one's is.


Would it be more beneficial all around if we just admitted it (not complaining, just acknowledging)? 
Or would that still just be depressing? Would it make us one of those people who we delete from our newsfeeds because we can't stand their negative posts and avoid calls from because we don't want to hang out?


What if there is clearly a lesson learned that could be shared? What if someone unknown really needed to hear that lesson?


Would I still be too reserved scared to share it? 

One Year Ago Yesterday - Part 2 - Cora's Birth Story

As I suddenly woke up I looked at my phone on the nightstand and it was 1:09am. I ran to the bathroom a few steps from my side of the bed and noticed a small amount of leaking fluid that appeared a little blood tinged. The obstetrician had told me that if my water broke I needed to go to the hospital immediately but if I passed my mucus plug, I needn't even call because it could still be days or weeks before I delivered. The amount of fluid was so small that I figured it must be the mucus plug. 


I crawled back into bed. All of a sudden I was leaking a little again and eventually it was just a clear color. I googled what it is supposed to look like when your water breaks, and everything seemed consistent but the amount was so small that I was confused. After waking Sean and asking him if he thought I should call the OB, I finally decided to wake up whoever was on call. It was my favorite doctor in the group, so I felt extra bad about waking her up. She said it did not sound like my water had broken because the amount of fluid was not enough, but the only way to know for sure would be to go into the hospital and have the residents on the L & D unit perform some tests. She asked if I was having contractions and I said no (I had never even had any Braxton Hicks contractions, so I wasn't even sure if I would know right away what a contraction was). She said it was up to me to decide what to do.


Ugh... not helpful information. Sean was scheduled to work at 2pm that day, so I felt really bad about dragging him all the way to the hospital (which was about 30-40 min away) for a false alarm. I decided to go back to bed. At 1:38am I had what seemed to be a contraction (I was very excited that I had figured this out). I still didn't really want to go in, so I decided to try to sleep a little and time the contractions with a trusty app I had downloaded on my iPhone. Amazingly I started having pretty regular contractions about 5-8 min apart. They didn't hurt at all, so I was able to doze a little for a couple hours. 


Around 3am I woke Sean again, and we decided that we had better go in and just be seen since I was having contractions now. We figured if we went in right away, we could get out in time for Sean to come home and sleep a little before his shift in the ER at 2. Neither of us thought there was any way that this was the real thing.


We had to stop and pack a bag for the hospital. We still had 2 1/2 weeks before my due date, and I had been so tired after work that we didn't have anything ready. I had not washed any baby clothes, packed a hospital bag or purchased any groceries or any of those things you are supposed to have ready before a baby comes. Nesting? Yeah, I don't know what that is.


Since it was Christmas Eve, EVERYONE we knew in Chicago was out of town, including the friends who were going to watch our dog Brigita when I actually went into labor. We tried to contact one friend who I thought maybe was still around, but her phone just went directly to voicemail. 


We thought about trying to board Brigita at a kennel she had been to before, but it was really far in the opposite direction of the hospital and that plan seemed really ridiculous considering this was going to be a false alarm. We finally decided to drop her off at the house of the same friends who were originally going to watch her even though they weren't home. They had a key box on their door that we had used previously, and I still had the combination in my phone messages. We know them to be kind, generous and easy-going people, so we decided to not call them at 4am to ask permission. 


After dropping of Brigita in our friends' kitchen, we arrived at the hospital (about a 10 min drive from their house) around 4:30am. We strolled up to the L & D unit. Everything was very quiet (no one gets induced on Christmas Eve, so there were very few patients). 


We told the nurses our story. They asked if I was still leaking fluid and I said no, so they took us into a room designed for quick checks on patients whom they suspect will not need to be admitted. As soon as we arrived in the room, I felt a slight warmth on my pants. I told the nurse I guessed I was still leaking after all. At this comment, she looked at us and hesitated, then said that maybe we should just get set up in an admitting room instead. 


I looked at Sean with a disbelieving look. This is not for real. I've never had any indication that anything is actually imminent. I'm sure we won't end up staying.


I got dressed in a hospital gown, gave a urine sample, and sat in the hospital bed waiting to see what would happen. They explained to me that they needed to verify that my water had indeed broken. The nurse took a swab test, which was negative of course, since they had just had me wipe away any evidence for the urine sample. 


The next step was to get the in-house OB to come and do an exam to verify. I did not understand what this would entail. I had never even been "checked" at my OB/GYN office yet to see how far along I was. At my last clinic visit they said they would "check" me the next time at 38 weeks. I seriously thought that "checking" was like getting a yearly pelvic exam. Little did I know what I was in for when that doctor verified that my water had broken.


I had been contemplating trying to not get an epidural and seeing how everything went. Considering that I was currently having the easiest contractions ever and had been for the past few hours, I was hopeful that I would be able to make it for a little while. 


A very nice OB doctor came in, introduced himself, and in the next breath apologized to me for what he was about to do considering that we had just met. I sort of laughed anxiously, wondering what was coming. All I can say is it was extremely painful, I cried, and I decided that I would get an epidural after all. Apparently my water had broken, but Cora's head was so engaged that the fluid was just leaking around it. Yowza. No wonder I was hurting so much at work.


They put me on pitocin to speed the contractions up. When your water breaks, they want to get the baby out within 24 hours or there is an increased risk of infection. Pitocin is not nice. Normal contractions lead you up to the worse ones, whereas pitocin just starts bad ones in right away before you even get a chance to get used to them and build your pain tolerance. I got the epidural pretty quickly after I had decided on one. I figured why be in more pain than necessary if I already knew I was going to do it. I didn't really care about the experience of feeling natural labor.


In the meantime we called our families and let them know that apparently we were having a baby today (some small part of me thought that maybe we would still get sent home). I wanted my mom to be with me, so she got herself ready and started driving all the way to Chicago from northern MN on Christmas Eve.


I was dilated to a 2 on arrival and progressed to a 4 by about 10am. We asked our nurse for a ballpark time when she thought I would start pushing and she said that according to the textbooks, being a 4 at 10am would put me in the dinnertime delivery window. 


Armed with this knowledge, Sean and I decided that it would be a good time for him to drive over and let Brigita outside. I rested and watched some TV. He got back and brought some lunch up to our room (I was not allowed to eat at this point). 


The very nice OB resident told me that she would be back when it was time for me to start pushing and to let them know if I was starting to have any pelvic pressure (whatever that meant - everyone throws these terms around and it only all makes sense after you have done it and are looking back). 


I was feeling great with the epidural but was also worried that I wouldn't know when to push naturally at all when the time came. That was my biggest fear with getting one in the first place and why I had not wanted to. My nurse informed me that they would turn the medication down to a certain point so I would know what to do. 


At 11:45am I started feeling a pressure (that really is the perfect word) that was different than the faint contraction sensation I noticed. I notified the nurse and the resident came back to perform an exam to check my status. 


Then I heard the news that I had gone from a 4 to a 10 in less than 2 hours, and it was time to start pushing. I felt like I didn't even have time to really get good and scared like I wanted to before everyone was setting my room up for delivery (I was in one of those rooms where you do it all in the one place).


I started pushing around noon and Cora was born at 1:02pm. I managed to be calm and follow directions the whole time even though the "pressure" really hurt. I was happy that I could feel it though, so I knew what to do and they didn't have to tell me. By the way, those movies where everyone is like "PUSH!!!" to the woman with the nice makeup are really stupid. Your body tells you what you need to do. There is no other option than to push.


I never yelled at Sean like in the movies either and only got frustrated with the staff once in the very end when everyone was talking over me about whether to push or not push when Cora was almost born. Sean said I did great, and he was the best person I could have ever wanted there with me. He always seemed to redirect me when I felt like I kind of wanted to panic. He was so calm. 


I remember holding my little love for the first time. I wish I could put that into words. They didn't give her to me right away like you hear about or see in the movies (you know, delivery and then place baby on mom's chest). I wish they had. That's the only thing I really would have changed about the whole experience. She got weighed and got goo put in her eyes and all that stuff before they gave her to me. 


Sean cut the cord and followed her around to get pictures, but he made sure that I was the first of us to hold her. I cried while they were taking care of her (while I was getting stitched up) and when I first held her. There is just so much emotion that goes with delivery. It's hard to control when to let it all out. Then we just marveled at this tiny little person.


I felt calmly on an adrenaline high for the rest of the day. Until my mom arrived. She got to the hospital around 9:30pm after getting in her car at 8 that morning. She walked in the room and came towards me and said, "oh, my brave girl." Then I broke down. It makes me cry even now to think of that memory. I have it seared in my mind. There's something about becoming a mother and then being with your own that is indescribably beautiful. 


It snowed softly but heavily overnight, and we opened the curtains in the morning to a beautiful white Christmas.

One Year Ago Today - Part 1

Last year on this day, I had dragged my massively pregnant self to work for one last shift before having a few days off over Christmas. I had planned to try to work almost up to my due date of January 11th at the beginning of the pregnancy, but at this point I had convinced Sean to let me quit a little earlier. I was just so sore and my job involved a lot of walking around. My feet were so swollen that all I wore to work (in addition to business casual dress) were a pair of black slippers that looked relatively like shoes and an over-sized pair of black ugg-type boots. After Christmas break, I was only going to have to work three more shifts and then I was going to sleep as much as you can when you are nine months pregnant. I was very excited.


I had planned that the day was going to be busy and awful, because that was usually how it went as a home care liaison on the day before a holiday break. Lots of last minute referrals for patients who didn't want to stay in the hospital over Christmas but couldn't really go home safely completely on their own. I dragged my roller bag around the hospital and wrapped up all of my work. I parked myself down in the Au Bon Pain at RUMC in Chicago and strained to lean over and get my laptop out of my bag to transmit referrals. I kept waiting for my pager to go off with a bunch of new referrals, but it really didn't as much as I was thinking it would. Perhaps the case managers were feeling sorry for me being huge and pregnant and decided to dump difficult and last minute patients on some other home care agency liaison. Whatever the reason, I was thankful. I was sore and didn't really care about getting any more patients.


I finished around 4 or so and booked it out of there fast. Little did I know that would be the last time I would finish a day at that job.


Sean and I were going to go out to eat with a gift certificate to Ruth's Chris steakhouse that my brother-in-law had given us for Christmas. We got dressed up and headed downtown. I ordered a delicious steak and baked potato, and we sat in a booth in a corner of the restaurant (I can still see it clearly in my head: Sean facing the booth and me facing the dining area), taking our time and enjoying what was probably to be our last night out at a nice restaurant for a while. 


After our long dinner and a couple glasses of wine for Sean, we thought it might be nice to walk around downtown for a little while. Christmas in Chicago is beautiful. But as we waited for the bill to come, I felt less and less like walking around. I was just tired. I didn't want to be such a downer but told Sean that I thought I just wanted to go home. So we drove back home and went to bed around 10:30pm or so that evening. 


I awoke at 1:09am to a strange sensation.... 

Remember the Moments

I had been thinking a lot lately about all the things I wish I had shared on here as Cora is getting older. It seems that the more behind I get the more I just feel like I want to give up because I could never get caught up. I sometimes get very all-or-nothing about things. 


But every day is so precious! I just have to make time and get right back on here even when I couldn't for a while because life just got too busy. I want to look back and read my blog posts and think, "Wow, I remember when she did that. Where does the time go?"


Where does the time go?! 


My Cora is almost one. I feel sad and happily anticipating her next stage all at the same time. A dear friend told me today that she missed reading on here and that did it for me; I have to keep writing. I have to do it as often as I can. These moments are so fleeting, and I am one who has a hard time remembering very specific things in life after it has been too long. And this is my only written record.


I am sitting at my kitchen table with the fire roaring in the fireplace thinking back to a year ago at this time. I didn't know anything. I had barely ever changed a diaper, much less knew what kind of a parent I would be. All I could think about at the time was how uncomfortable I was and this pregnancy thing sure was the pits. 


Who was this little Cora going to be (she finally had a name after much deliberating)? How was I going to know what she needed? What if I dropped her? How bad is the sleep deprivation really going to be? What is she was colicky and cried all the time and I had no idea what to do for her? 


What did I know? Nothing. I couldn't know anything until I had experienced it all for myself. No amount of baby book reading or advice asking was going to help me. In fact most of the stuff I read was not even accurate or helpful. One must really pick and choose what to believe or use as a child rearing tool in books. In fact just chucking them out the window and going with your instincts will get you on the right path nearly every time. No one knows my child like I do.


Who knew that I would go completely against our pediatrician's advice and decide that I did not want to let my child cry herself to sleep at a young age? And even when we went backwards with the sleeping and she never really slept through the night, or even longer than six hours consistently, I still couldn't bring myself to follow the advice of the sleep books I was reading and what our pediatrician and multiple wonderful friends had told me to do. Who knew that now, at 11 months, if I was asked to name two things I love most about parenting that make me feel truly connected to Cora, I would say without hesitation - breastfeeding and co-sleeping? I never would have pegged myself as such a hippie character when it came to parenting. But I am. 


Who knew that things I used to find important in my life would fade away to nothing in those moments as I held my little one? I used to love to watch movies. I rarely watch television anymore. I used to say that I will never, ever own a minivan and no one can make me. I just don't even care anymore. Does it run? Is it convenient for toting children in? OK, I'll take it. I'm sure we will get one eventually. I used to enjoy a glass of wine or two with dinner or more on occasion. Now I am afraid to ever drink too much to the point where I would not be at full brain capacity if anything were to ever happen to Cora, so I just gave it up entirely (and for other, longer reasons). I don't even miss it at all. I used to love going out to eat. Now I like to have all of my paraphernalia for feeding Cora conveniently, so I would just rather stay at home and cook.


I never could have imagined this love that I have. Different than any love that I have ever known. I want the very best for my Cora. And not the best in material things but the best of character. I want her to learn to be kind, generous, patient, sweet, merciful, thoughtful, caring. All of this and more I want for my precious girl. 


She is God's child. Just on loan to me for this tiny amount of time. I want to teach her about Him and how he changed her Momma's life in so many ways. I want her to know Him for herself. 


I want to remember these beautiful moments.

Busy

So the meetup group? Sure is keepin' me busy!! I know that it only has to be what I put into it, but I am not one to do things halfway (except for most crafts) and am really trying to have a variety of events for people to participate in. Plus it gets Cora and I out of the house and on our adventures. 


I am not complaining. It doesn't feel overwhelming or anything yet. It is just more work than I thought is would be at the beginning. Especially now that I am really getting to know a few of the women. 


We are starting a book study next week. Nancy Leigh DeMoss's Lies Women Believe and the Truth That Sets Them Free. And I am leading it. It just sort of happened like that. One girl suggested the book, but she does not want to be the leader. So it falls on me since the site is "mine" and I've done all the organizing. I've never led anything like this before (only participated), but I had a wonderful teacher so am actually pretty excited about it. 


It just feels so strange to be truly living life here. Sometimes I feel like we are on a perpetual vacation by the sea, but here I am getting to know new friends and participating in a community more than ever before.

Sickness

Ugh... The sickness has been going around our house. First Cora and I had a cold, now we both have gastroenteritis and Sean is getting the cold. I shouldn't complain because I have not been sick since before I was pregnant - a pretty long stretch for not even a sniffle. 


But I HAVE to complain! I just hate being sick so much. I am such a bad sick person. I don't want to do anything but then I feel restless like I want to be doing something. Cora has been making me feel guilty for wanting to be so blah. She is just as sweet and smiley as always, even between vomiting episodes. She is mostly over that part, but not completely 100%.


I won't bore you with anymore details. I am so ready to be better. Enough already! Boo!

Leaving My Comfort Zone

Before we left Chicago, I was inspired by my friend Erin to be more extroverted and get out there more to meet new friends instead of waiting for people to come befriend me, especially since we are basically starting all over in a new place. 


So I started a Christian mom's Meetup group, and we have almost 20 members!! I have already met so many wonderful women. Who knew with church functions and so many other available mom's groups and activities that there would be such a desire for something like this? Who hoo! I am so excited to see where God takes this! I am already so amazed at the results of following Him (seriously totally unlike me to do something like this...). 


We have only had four meetings and the same people didn't even come to each one, but yet I have already participated in and witnessed some really deep conversations about following Christ and parenting to honor Him. It is just wonderful. 


So anywhoo... that's where I have been. :) It's kind of more work than I was anticipating, but I am really enjoying it. 


My little Cora love is just as cute as ever and now 7 months old. Eeekkk!! Where does the time go?! I will post pictures of her and our new adventures in paradise soon. 

American Child

I have been thinking a lot about our country. The way we live and what is in store for us in the future as individuals as well as a nation. 


Where we are headed. What it was like in the past as opposed to now. 


Even just the huge difference in the way I grew up compared to how Cora will. I remember we just used to get thrown outside to play with no other entertainment than what we could procure for ourselves. Will I even be comfortable letting Cora go out into our yard to play by herself (or with siblings) even if I could see her from the window? What if I looked away for a second and someone took her? The world is not what it used to be, and she will not even be growing up in as rural an environment as I did. 


And all this technology has made a huge rift in the generation gap. The internet is wonderful, but it sure does make bad things accessible to children that one would never have even fathomed thirty years ago. But at the same time, we can't fight it and say that Cora will just never get to use the computer. Unrealistic. Kids will probably be using iPads in school instead of Trapper Keepers when she goes.


Will my child have a cell phone when she is 11? I used to think, "no way," but now I really don't know what we will feel is right in 11 years. 


And how long will God decide to bless America? It could definitely be not as long as we think or would hope. 


But as unhappy as I might be about certain things in our government or the ridiculous political correctness of the day, I am still so thankful to be an American. 


After visiting India last summer and seeing the extreme circumstances that others on this earth accept as their reality, how could I not be so very appreciative? 


At church a couple of weeks ago, I learned a little of the sex trafficking that goes on in that country. Little girls 6 and 7 years old being forced into a life that would be horrible and traumatizing for a mature woman! 


We are blessed.


No matter how badly those in power seem to be trying to mess it up... we are so very blessed to be Americans.


I have been listening to the song below a lot in the past week. It prompted this post. For some reason it reminds me of the way I grew up and my family now and also makes me feel nostalgic, because some of the pride and hope alluded to seems like a life past that will not be able to be regained.


But the words have this promise of what could be that I know we still have in this country, because our family is in the middle of grasping that guarantee.


I feel like we are not proud to be Americans like generations before us. We don't have that sense of unity anymore, except in rare circumstances like 9/11. And it is really easy to get sucked into that ungratefulness. 


Despite everything going on and possible harder times we might be headed towards as a nation, I am still honored to be living in a free place, and I am thankful that my child will grow up with incredible possibilities available to her. 

The Glamourous Life

Today I opened some boxes from the closet that were packed with summer clothes, shoes, and some boots that I had put away last fall because I couldn't wear them when I was pregnant (as in 3-5 inch heels). What a difference looking at everything from this side of childbearing! 


Let's not even get into the multiple pairs of size two shorts that I hadn't even worn in years prior to baby. Whatever made me think I would actually wear any of those heels on an even semi-regular basis after I had my child?! What if I slipped and dropped her? How could I ever get down the stairs in them holding a car seat filled with a rapidly-getting-heftier baby, packed-full diaper bag, and various other paraphernalia necessary for the outing that took two and a half hours to get ready for? I am already afraid of falling with her. And anywhere I go usually involves at least a bit of walking while carrying heavy things. Not to mention I haven't even worn heels like I used to since marrying Sean, because we always seemed to be walking fast somewhere and I couldn't ever keep up (our first unofficial date involved my 4-inch stiletto heels getting caught every step in grating on a Minneapolis street as we walked 8 blocks to a Irish pub).


I chuckled as I placed most of the shoes and clothing into another box labeled "good will." Some of that stuff had made it through at least four moves, even though it had been packed away the whole time. I remember looking at the shorts and platform heels with nostalgia, thinking, "maybe again someday."


Oh the loss of glamour.... and yet I didn't even have a second thought as I threw the previously hoarded things into the box. All those wishes to keep my cute articles are just somehow gone. Not that I want to be frumpy. I am just excited to be put together in a more realistic way with my feet flat on the ground.


But... I will admit I did keep one pair of heels that I've had for years. I just loved them and used to wear them with everything. Maybe Cora can play "dress up" with them someday.

So as I closed the chapter to 4 inch heels, frilly strapless tops with matching shorts, and 120 lbs, I couldn't help but think...


Baby Girl... You were worth every bit.

Intentional

Do you ever feel like when you get one important part of your life in order, the rest falls into place so much easier? The last couple of weeks I have been feeling blah. I haven't been getting things done around the house like I should, don't play with and talk to Cora as much as I should, and just don't really feel like doing anything. Sometimes a whole day goes by and I can't figure out what I actually did with my time. Instead of reading my Bible in the morning when I get up, I will watch a movie, read a novel, or waste away my time on the internet (blogs, Facebook, etc.).


And my whole life is suffering from it. 


I was looking at pictures of Cora this morning while I was drinking my coffee and eating breakfast. I came across these ones. They were taken almost exactly two months apart... Dec 27th and Feb 28th.

She is getting so big so fast. Every moment counts towards her development as a human being. My job is now her. And I haven't even been taking advantage of it like I should. 


Last night I went to my small group, where we are studying Joyce Meyer's Battlefield of the Mind. She talks about how your thoughts dictate who you are. You can't have negative (or blah) thoughts and expect to have a positive (fullfilling, stimulating) life. And I have been filling mine with stuff that is in no way uplifting to my life. Stuff that does not matter.


And then the downward spiral effect occurs...


When I let my devotional and prayer life slip and fill that time with other things, I seem to get these feelings of impending doom. Like God couldn't possibly continue to bless me in the amazing ways that He has. Something bad is bound to happen.


I confessed all of these things to the beautiful women at my small group last night. I admitted that I hadn't even wanted to come to our group that evening, because I knew that I needed to tell them all about my struggles and then they were going to keep me accountable (which is the last thing you want when you are consciously choosing to not grow or be productive in your walk with God). 


So after my declaration, I (with their help) decided that my goal for this week would be to deliberately think positively when I just felt like doing nothing. Don't feel like reading your Bible? Too bad! It is a good thing. I will be an uplifting thing. Pray for the Words to reveal things about yourself and make a difference in your day, even if you didn't really "feel" like picking it up in the first place. 


And I assigned myself Prov 15:15 to memorize for the week (regarding above feelings of impending doom). "All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continual feast."


And so of course this morning, I got a text from my lovely friend Erin saying, exactly, "Oowwwee it's a gorgeous day today!! Put on your Armor (Eph 6) and be intentional today." Ha! I knew I was going to be kept accountable...


I love that word... Intentional


I hadn't really been reading anything specific in my sporadic devotions, so I decided to just start with the Today in the Word booklet for March that I had recently received in the mail. 


And this is what I read.


Jer 29:11-13 "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek me with all your heart."


What a promise!


Now I leave you with a song that encouraged me this morning. I have to go play with my baby.