Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts

10 July 2017

Conversations with the Doctor




Doctor (every single time we have a doctor appointment for a baby): How’s he* nursing.


Me (unless it’s the first week or two): Fine.

Dr: How’s he sleeping?

Me (lying through my teeth): Fine.
[Alternately: Me: Like a baby.**]

Dr: And how many poopy diapers?

Me (every single time!): (First there’s panic—oh no! Should I be counting these things? Weighing them? Marking some sort of tally? Then there’s a reality check. Hello? You just discovered that he gained two pounds and weighs in some epic high percentile. He’s clearly fine. Why does this matter? Then there’s fear of judgment. She’s going to think I’m a bad mother if I don’t know! Then, finally, there’s the vague reply.) Um, I don’t know. Enough?

Dr: (always pressing the issue!) About how many would you guess?

And then I make up some random number just to make her stop asking.

Except this last time, when here’s what I really said: Just tell me what number I should say here so that it seems normal.

Dr: They usually have between a couple and maybe eight per day.

Me: Okay, we’ll go with six.

And that’s my strategy from now on. What do you want to hear, Doctor? Oh, that’s what you wanted? Well, it just so happens that’s exactly what my kid is doing.

The end.


* Or “she,” of course.
** Which is to say, not very well at all.

09 July 2017

I Know You Didn’t Mean It, But ...


Cuter than feral goats.
Look, before I tell you some very honest and sticky feelings, let me start by saying it’s not your fault. If you’ve said these things to me, I’m not mad at you or offended or anything. I probably don’t remember it was you! 

But let me add that I’d love it if you wouldn’t say it in the future. I’ll still love you if you do, but just so you know, you’re going to send me home bawling my eyes out. 

Okay, so what is it that you may or may not have said? You said, “Sure, this stage of parenting, with littles and all, is hard. But when they’re older, it just gets different hard (or even harder!). The worries are different, but at least as bad (or worse).”

Now, I understand you meant to be comforting but also realistic. You wanted to remind me that I won’t always have to be watching my baby to make sure he doesn’t fall off of whatever precarious place he’s climbed onto and crack his head open. You’re reminding me that diapers will one day be a thing of the past. Someday soon I won’t feel like a Sherpa with baby on one hip, three bags on the other, holding a toddler’s hand, and climbing up and down the co-op’s stairs (so many stairs!). I get that’s what you’re trying to do. 

But this is what I hear: “You will never ever get a break. There will never be a moment when you get to relax and feel like you’ve accomplished something good. You will never feel good about parenting. Every time you start doing something well, things will just get worse. You think you’re struggling now? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

This is what it feels like: Imagine a person drowning in the ocean, seeing the shore from a distance too far to reach. She’s sputtering and splashing and terrified and hoping she can somehow make it to the sand so she can just breathe air for a minute or two.

And you tell her, “Sure, that’s nice. But when you get to shore, there are hordes of hungry man-eating goats all over the beach. They’ll take longer to kill you than drowning will, and it will probably hurt more (they have small mouths and teeth, you see). So you might as well enjoy drowning.”

Not super helpful.

Next time maybe try pointing out the breathtaking vistas on the beach. Note that there are a few patches of sand that aren’t feral-goat-infested. Even if you’re lying to me. Even if every square inch is full of teeth and hooves. Just lie, please. Thanks.

08 July 2017

Parenting and Courtship, according to the six-year-old


On the subject of parenting:

* When I have kids, I will let them build mattress forts and leave them up for a long time and sleep in them.

* I won’t make them clean their room ever. I will not give them any jobs or cleaning to do. Well ... maybe I’ll give them table jobs.

* I will let them do table jobs after bath so that they don’t have to wait to do baths. Or if they want to read or do other activities first, I will let them do that.

* I will let them stay up as late as they want so I can stay up too!

On the subject of her future husband:

* He will have to be okay with how I run the house. Before he proposes, I will make sure he doesn’t mind if I let the kids do table jobs later.

* I will make sure that he’s like me, that he likes to stay up late and parent like I do.



I’m looking forward to finding out how this all turns out for her in a couple decades.

21 February 2017

Wolves

A few days ago, I prayed so hard that I would be able to be patient and be kind and see the positive in the kids. I've been really struggling with them lately.

But then Addra wanted a YouTube drawing video. And then she didn't like the one she chose. Then she wanted a new one and wanted to scroll through tons to find it. Then she started getting upset because it was too hard, she said.

All this time I was getting increasingly frustrated at her. Just pick something! Just try again! It's okay if it's not perfect!

She was crying and upset and just curled up in a blanket by the computer, and I just didn't think I could be nice about this. I knew she needed a snuggle and some comforting, but I didn't want to do it. I went to find Brice to get him to help her so that I didn't make it any worse, but he was eating breakfast and I didn't want to stop him in the middle of a bowl of cereal.

So I took a breath and went back. I sat down beside the red blanket lump and pulled her partially into my lap and started rubbing her back. I told her that I loved her, over and over, and listened to her sadness at how hard the video was. At first I had to bite my tongue to keep from getting cranky at her, but slowly the back rub and snuggling soothed me too.

Five minutes later, I asked if she wanted to try again. Brice brought another pencil and paper, and we both watched the video and tried to draw from it. I paused it frequently so she could erase or catch up, and eventually we were both done.

She was totally happy again and was satisfied with her wolf drawing, and we'd had some happy, loving time together. 

Without a doubt I can say that this was a gift from God. Brice being busy so I had to handle it. My recognition and acceptance of what she needed just then--not criticism or pushing her to try harder, just a snuggle. And most of all the inner strength to actually do what was needed when I didn't want to. It turned an ugly interaction--the kind of thing that we've been having far too frequently these days--into a loving one. I'm so grateful for that gift.

31 January 2016

How Goes the Pregnancy?


This is pretty much everyone’s favorite question when they see me. How are you doing? How’s the baby? Fine, fine, fine, all good. And it really is, overall. But in case you’re interested in the long version, here it is:

1. No internal heater. When people hear that you’re going to be super pregnant in the summer, they say, “Oh, that’s rough, you’re going to be so overheated!” When they hear it will be winter, they say, “Awesome, at least you’ll have an internal heater.” I have never experienced this phenomenon. In fact, I have felt generally colder during my two winter pregnancies, and even when I was massive in the muggy, new-to-me Maryland heat, I didn’t feel like it was any worse than when I wasn’t pregnant. I was expressing this to Brice, and he said, “You do have an internal baby heater. It’s just broken.” Well, that explains it then.

2. Emotional hostage. Here’s how I said this to the world of Facebook: “The baby has apparently taken my hormones and emotional regulation abilities hostage.” In practice this means that I am crying over some really dumb stuff lately. Like when my shower towel is too stinky. Or when I think about a story that I was going to write but didn’t. Or, you know, when I slightly overcook the grilled cheese sandwiches. (Even dumber stuff too, like fuzzy socks or the girls’ cute fashions, etc.) And then of course I also bawl over the not-dumb stuff, like when I’m tired and the girls have made a massive mess in their bedroom ten minutes after we’d just cleaned it up beautifully. Or when I am hungry but queasy and I can’t think of what to cook. Or when I’m stressing out about what it’s going to be like to have four kids. Which leads me to numbers 3 and 4 . . .

3. Nausea. So, I spent about a month and half feeling pretty decent most of the time. A couple bouts of queasiness here and there, but overall pretty great. And also not yet super uncomfortable, and also not super tired anymore. Of course, every time I started gloating about how I was feeling, I had a massive patch of vomiting (keeping me nice and humble!), but overall, I was doing well. Well, it seems we’re back to some fairly frequent queasiness again (though it is still low-grade and really nothing compared to women who actually have difficult pregnancies). And guess what are the two main things that help? Eating and lying down. As in, as long as I’m eating food, I feel fine. As soon as I stop, not so much. And then, after I eat, if I lie down for ten minutes or so, I feel better. So between these and just, you know, being pregnant, I’m pretty much going to explode into whale proportions.

Also, as of yesterday, it had been quite nearly a month since I had thrown up. And then came this month’s stomach bug, which has so far gotten four of the five of us. I can’t really tell, though, if my throwing up was because of 1: being sick; 2: pregnancy; or 3: having to clean up someone else’s vomit (honestly, Brice is the designated cleaner-upper in our house—for which he should be sainted—because I can’t stand it at all).

4. Four kids, plus labor and newborn stage and all that jazz. This should probably be broken down into two items, and I could actually write a whole blog post about it, but you’d get bored. So here’s the summary: Coriel’s labor: really hard. Addra’s: really easy. Koa’s: pretty hard. I’m freaking out that baby #4 will be more inclined to take after Coriel and Koa. But even if he’s not, “really easy” was still quite painful during the process. And then the newborn stage is insanely difficult for me (and when I say “newborn,” I mean “first two years at least”). I have, by and large, been not thinking about it all. Because every time I do, I become a major watering pot. I told Brice the other day that there should be a disorder called “pre-traumatic stress syndrome.” His response was, “Yeah, it’s called anxiety.” Which I guess is sort of true, but whatever it’s called, I’ve got a lot of stress and/or terror about labor/babyhood and then just plain being able to manage four kids.

At which point, someone reading this is thinking, “Well, then, you shouldn’t have had the fourth kid.” And my explanation may be hard to understand if you don’t believe in God the way that I do—because both Brice and I feel strongly that this was the right decision for our family, a prompting from God, even though it may be hard. So here’s a different way to look at it. Even if you don’t believe that God speaks directly to individuals to help and guide them, have you ever done something that you thought was hard and scary but you did it anyway because you felt like it would be a good thing? Maybe it was a job application, a college application, asking a specific person on a date, moving across country, training for a marathon. In so many of these cases, we take the plunge even if we don’t feel ready, even if we’re not sure we can handle it, because we believe it’s the best choice. And so here we all are, with me both pregnant and also freaking out. Because the bottom line is that even though I don’t feel ready, even though I’m pretty much terrified, I believe it’s the right choice and that when we make good, hard decisions, God makes it possible for us to do what is required.

5. Baby names—eek! It has already been pointed out to us from several sources (my sister K being the first) that if we name #4 a name that starts with E, our children will spell out CAKE. Now, I’m sure you can guess that this is the most important consideration in finding a baby name. Who doesn’t want their children to spell out a delicious dessert? So we’ve had quite a few E suggestions. Which is good, because at the rate we’re going, we’ll have to look through approximately a billion names to find two that we can sort of agree on. This baby had just better help us when he gets here, because so far the naming process is tough.

And that, my friends and foo, is how the pregnancy is really going. Thanks for asking! :)

06 January 2016

Other Blogs Recap


Once again, I have been not writing here forever. And I’ve been writing at my other blogs only slightly more. Sigh. I am once again having to reevaluate what I really want from this blog and what its purpose is. It’s sort of an ongoing thing. In the meantime, let’s cut out all the angst and move straight to the blog post, in which I direct you to a whole bunch of other blog posts over at MMW and Callooh Callay Callay (seriously, I’m recapping favorites from the past two years, so it’s a bunch). Just in case you missed all my riveting words there.

I tried cutting some of these out, because it’s really far too many links for anyone who doesn’t have wacky, crazy-long attention abilities, but these are all things I would have shared here if I hadn’t shared on the other blogs. They are all personal and meaningful to me at least. So please feel free to pick and choose. Or don’t read any of them at all, but then still post a comment here saying something like, “Oh, Jeanna. You are so magical. Pretty much your every word has changed my life. Thank you for being so practically perfect in every way. Sincerely, Your Biggest Fan.”


So, without further ado (and in reverse chronological order) . . .

In Which I Brag (Just a Little). Where I talk briefly about the writing project that I did for my and Brice’s foos and share my little happy dancing over how it turned out.

Acts of God. Really, if you only read one, probably read this one. It’s where I talk a little more about this pregnancy.

Was It You? Also, you should read this one. It’s where I announced this pregnancy. Also, it’s a true story.

Author and Finisher, A Houseful of Marshmallows, InfinityTimes Infinity. A number of my thoughts from reading and thinking about the scriptures and trying to apply them to my life.

The Elizabeth Bennets. Okay, you can actually probably skip this one. I only included it as a favorite because I enjoyed my own footnotes and also because I made fun of pretty much every Austen novel (even though I love Austen).

She Was Good at Apologies. Musings on being an imperfect mom and what I hope my children learn from me.

A Thought on Pain. How we can perhaps look at pain differently.

You’d Be Surprised. How sometimes we really just have to open our mouths about the experiences we’re having—we’re rarely alone, and there are often lots of people out there who care about us and want to help.

PPD and Me. Talking about some of my postpartum days after Koa was born.

Half a Talent. How we really shouldn’t compare ourselves to others—especially the sheep-raising, farming types.

The Killer What If? Life rarely gives us only one opportunity for something. If you miss an opportunity, move on and try to be ready for the next.

Perspective Shift. What I learned from having our house broken into.


12 March 2015

The Birth Story, Part I: In the Beginning...



Yes! I have finally started writing this down and posting it here. Please do not die of shock.
Be ye hereby warned: There are details in here, people. Potentially gross and/or awkward details. Because childbirth is awesome . . . and also filled with blood, goo, and lots of skin. So enter at your own risk.

Be ye hereby also warned: This is only part I of the exceptionally long, unedited version. If you want the shorter, less exciting, and significantly less snarky version, wait for the summary instead.

It began with a pop and a gush of hot fluid. It was a bit past midnight and I’d been sleeping when my amniotic sac decided it had had enough. I’d often wondered what water breaking felt like, since I hadn’t even noticed it happening with either of my other two children’s births. The answer: it feels like Weird.

My words to Brice: “I think my water just broke.” (Brilliant observation, yes?)

Probably the cleanest this room has ever been.
Excitement pulsed through me as I hobbled quickly to the bathroom, trying not to leave a river in my wake. Here’s what Brice had done by the time I came back: Sat up. Stared at his phone.

Clearly the rush of adrenaline I felt had not extended to him.

So we called Susan, our midwife, just to let her know. I was trying not to squeal in happiness that finally pregnancy would be over! But there was definitely a little bit of internal celebration going on. Susan said to try to rest and let her know if I started having contractions. Just the thought of not having contractions for a while was daunting, but I realized it was a possibility. So I took a deep breath and tried to sleep.
Ho hum, nothing to see here. Just a woman pretending
she's farther along in labor than she really is.

Let me state for the record that trying to sleep while you’re also trying to record your contractions—this is not a good formula for getting much rest.

Five hours later, it was clear that I was in labor but not by much. (If you want to be all boring and technical about it, I will tell you that contractions were about a minute long and ten minutes apart.) I was happy and antsy, crazily nervous that this labor would be so speedy that no one would show up on time (midwife, birth assistant, or birth photographer). While I was pretty sure I could do this without any helpers if I had to, I didn’t really want to. When Addra was born, I had no idea I was as far progressed through labor as I was—right up until the very contraction that was obviously a push. (At which point I observed, “That was a push!” I am apparently brilliant and witty while in labor.) Susan was only at our house for about half an hour before Addra was born. The birth assistant didn’t arrive until after the fact.* So this time around I was understandably paranoid that people weren’t going to make it on time. Far too paranoid, it turns out.

I'm so glad I have this picture. The painting hanging on
the wall is one given to us by Brice's mom. The one on the shelf
was a card my mom wrote to us for our wedding. She died
about four months before we got married, so receiving it and
the afghan she'd crocheted for us was a beautiful gift from her.
Anyway, it was nice to have that reminder there. (Also, you can't
see it, but the painting is of a woman holding up her child
to the sky. Mom and I saw it together many moons ago, and
she saved it for years to give it to me on the right occasion,
which just ended up being my wedding. I kind of love it a lot.)
We kept in touch with both Susan and my friend and birth photographer, Meghan. Time passed. Boredom interlaced with nerves interlaced with intermittent ouchiness. There should have been a point in here when I realized that labor was going to be slow. Every time I got up to move around, contractions slowed. When I sat, they sped up. This is not the usual way of things. It’s funny that the thing that served me so well in labor with Addra—religiously timing contractions—became a bit of a problem here. It made me hyperaware when I should have just taken a deep breath and quit freaking out. Hind sight is brilliant, yes?

Stay tuned for part II, in which donuts are eaten.

* Please note: This is not an argument against birthing at home. Had I been planning to go to the hospital, I still would have stayed home most of the time, since I misjudged how far along I was. The difference is that I would probably have been on the road to the hospital when suddenly I realized my body was ready to push!**

** Please also note: This is not an argument against birthing at the hospital. This post is completely argument-less. Even though I do think homebirth is awesome. 


These kids of ours were excellent at entertaining themselves.