The other day I read a story about an Australian couple, pregnant with twins, who had decided to "selectively reduce" one of the twins because he had a heart defect that would have required multiple surgeries to correct. Well, evidently the procedure didn't exactly go as planned and BOTH babies died. They were 32 weeks. Thirty-two. Weeks. I'm still sitting here puzzled, wondering if anyone else is wondering: at what point did the choice become a tragedy?
But that's not what I'm going to write about.
Every morning I get up somewhere between 5 and 6, and make the bed as soon as my feet hit the floor. If nothing else is accomplished in my day, at least the bedroom started out in some fashion of order. I turn on the radio and half-listen to a rather mundane super-early morning program called "Haven Today" on Moody Radio.
Tuesdays are change-the-sheets days. So I get up, strip the sheets and put clean ones on before I even head to the bathroom. So this morning I do my Tuesday morning routine, flip on Haven Today...and there's a man who is being interviewed who apparently just wrote a book called "Heaven is for Real." Since I caught the middle of the program, I don't know exactly what happened, but evidently this guy's son had something horrible happen at the age of three, and it sounds like he was in some sort of coma or was clinically dead. And after the boy was revived, he started talking about....things his parents had never taught him about heaven. And Jesus. And God. It came out in snippets. He'd be playing in his room, and he'd run out to his parents to blurt out something he had seen, or that Jesus had said to him, during his "time" in heaven.
Now I have to cut out here and say that I'm very skeptical about so-called "near death experiences" where people claim to see light and walk through tunnels. It's not that I don't believe them, it's just...I don't know...it was kind of trendy for a while to make such a claim. Among other things. But Moody is very sound and choosy in the material they present on their station. I know they wouldn't just put a quack on there who claims to have seen God in a drug-induced haze.
Anyway. So I was kind of intrigued listening to this man talk about his son and the things he had seen. I was enjoying a program that I normally find to be kind of lame.
And then the program host said, "...and then he met a certain little girl. Tell us about that."
I'm going to have a hard time writing this.
One evening, the boy blurted out, "I have another sister." And he ran back to his room.
The man's wife stopped cold - what did he say?? They had never told him about a miscarriage they had had years before, at around two months gestation. The parents followed him into his room, telling him you don't just say something like that to your mom and then leave the room.
"I have another sister. She looks a lot like Cassie (their other child)." And he went on to describe how she looked, how tall she was, and things she had said to him. She was so excited to see someone from her family.
"But she already has a family there, because He adopted her," the little boy told his dad.
You mean Jesus adopted her?, his father clarified...
"No. His Dad did."
God adopted his tiny sister into his family of children - that I love to imagine at times - playing around His throne.
I had started to lose it when he started the story about "I have another sister." By this point, I was face-down and sobbing on my bed.
I still miss Levi's sister. I know Glory Baby was a "she" and most anyone who's lost a baby before you even have a chance to wrap your mind around it will tell you they know the baby's gender in their heart. It's not like I think about it all the time or dwell on it or anything like that. It's just that at this time of year - the week that it all started to unravel - the loss is just that much more apparent. I love my little boy to pieces. But I loved that baby too. And I find myself just weighted with uncharacteristic sorrow - but then I look at the calendar and think, "Is it already that time again?"
I feel stupid that I still grieve one loss, one early-pregnancy miscarriage, when so many other people have lost so much more. But grief is grief, no matter what he wears when he waltzes into your home unbidden and unwelcome. Whether it's the death of a child, a relationship, a dream...it leaves a wound that eventually heals but is still blaringly obvious to the one who bears it.
After sobbing again on my basement floor (surrounded by laundry, mind you),I went for a walk this afternoon just to do anything to shake the fog that insisted on following me all the livelong day. I began thanking the Lord for anything I could think for which to be thankful. And then I began, instead of dwelling on my loss, to pray for an armload of people I know right now who would give anything to have a child. Who would give anything to be pushing a bundled-up little boy in an over-sized jogger on a cold afternoon. People I know and love who never thought Grief would show up at their door and muscle his way in. Who never once imagined that this was a road they'd have to walk.
So you know who you are. I prayed for you today. I prayed you'd be comforted to know that your child is adopted by the Creator Himself. I prayed the desire of your heart would be answered and your womb would open to receive and nurture life. I prayed for you by name.
And I came home feeling revived. We ARE loved by a mighty God.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Mundane post #4
Wow, now that I have to write only about mundane things, I have a lot more to say!!! Huh.
A couple years ago I went to a nursing conference in Phoenix with one of my friends from work. Every night as we relaxed in our hotel room we cracked up at the number of times this commercial came on for Pillow Pets. I can still sing the jingle. After three nights of listening to the Pillow Pets jingle and seeing the rapturous joy the Pillow Pets apparently impart (how's that for subtle alliteration), I was duly convinced that I needed one myself. I'm sure you've seen them. They're these stuffed animals who, when folded, have "legs" and when you unvelcro the "legs" - voila!! - they become a soft little pillow!!
Anyway, I bought Levi a giraffe Pillow Pet for Christmas. It's actually a Pillow Pet Pee-Wee - so a smaller version of one. It will fit perfectly in his mini crib. In our mini house. Anyway, I showed it to him when I found it at Meijer and he wanted to snuggle it (he coos and buries his face in stuffed animals), so we had a winner. And sadly, we won't wait till Christmas to give it to him. He's too little to know the difference, so he may as well enjoy it.
Well guess who's snuggling with the Pillow Pet now? Me. I really don't want to give it up. It's really, really, really soft and cozy. And to think that Nancy and I laughed and scoffed at the Pillow Pet commercial two years ago.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Anyway, about a month ago I had written in my little spiral notebook of randomness (prayers, thoughts, Bible verses, Bible study notes), What are my priorities and what is my purpose for today?? One thing that's really been challenging me over the past year is that tension - and I mean tension - of what's important, in what areas should we serve, in what places do we need to step down, how much is too much, how little is too little...and what it always comes down to for me is Proverbs 31:27 - How does this fit into looking well to the ways of my household?
One paradox of working in the Special Care Nursery at work is, from those who look in from the outside (proverbially, though we do have windows and people DO peer in from the outside), it often looks like we're doing nothing. From their point of view, we're sitting at our computers, actually DOING something with the baby every few hours, and then going back to our computers. What I always tell nursing students is that one of the best nursing interventions is to leave. the baby. alone. That is how a preemie is allowed to grow and develop. Me fussing with them to be busy and feel like I'm doing something is actually detrimental to the very person I'm trying to serve.
It applies at home too. The more Matt and I do, the busier we are, the more stuff we're involved in and the more we say 'yes' to people...the more our home suffers. There are weeks that we just spin...it happens about once a month or every other month...and then I get frustrated and shut the household down. It looks like we're doing nothing - the calendar squares are fairly empty, and saying no to people makes me feel guilty and silly, but in doing nothing we're doing something very significant, something that prompted us to make the decision to cut back my hours at work, to serve this very purpose: to allow the best environment for Levi to grow and develop and thrive. To keep a consistent nap routine. To follow his own quiet (or not so quiet at times) rhythm. It might seem a bit much but we have one little lamb and we're guarding the gate.
But still, guilt creeps in, and I have to keep reminding myself what our priorities are and what they're supposed to be...and what IS looking well to the way of my household? So I have to turn back to my page in my journal from a month ago and refresh:
1. To serve and glorify God, and tend to my relationship with Him. I NEED to carve out that time in the day - right when Levi goes down for his first nap, before I dive into housework.
2. To serve my husband and tend to my relationship with him. Whether or not Levi recites his letters or knows his colors before the other kids isn't the point; he needs to grow in a stable home where the marriage is a priority.
3. To serve Levi. Play with him, feed him, teach him, sing to him, read to him, provide structure and rest. He CAN play alone too. Teaching him to play alone and not need my constant attention is important too!!
4. Take care of my home. Things are washed, food is prepared, and things are reasonably in order and welcoming.
5. Tend to others. Encourage and serve them. But they cannot come before the other 3-4 things!
It looks easy on paper but is so hard to apply when you feel like it's better to do-do-do.
But sometimes NOT doing is what we SHOULD be doing.
It's still such a tension though, isn't it???
A couple years ago I went to a nursing conference in Phoenix with one of my friends from work. Every night as we relaxed in our hotel room we cracked up at the number of times this commercial came on for Pillow Pets. I can still sing the jingle. After three nights of listening to the Pillow Pets jingle and seeing the rapturous joy the Pillow Pets apparently impart (how's that for subtle alliteration), I was duly convinced that I needed one myself. I'm sure you've seen them. They're these stuffed animals who, when folded, have "legs" and when you unvelcro the "legs" - voila!! - they become a soft little pillow!!
Anyway, I bought Levi a giraffe Pillow Pet for Christmas. It's actually a Pillow Pet Pee-Wee - so a smaller version of one. It will fit perfectly in his mini crib. In our mini house. Anyway, I showed it to him when I found it at Meijer and he wanted to snuggle it (he coos and buries his face in stuffed animals), so we had a winner. And sadly, we won't wait till Christmas to give it to him. He's too little to know the difference, so he may as well enjoy it.
Well guess who's snuggling with the Pillow Pet now? Me. I really don't want to give it up. It's really, really, really soft and cozy. And to think that Nancy and I laughed and scoffed at the Pillow Pet commercial two years ago.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Anyway, about a month ago I had written in my little spiral notebook of randomness (prayers, thoughts, Bible verses, Bible study notes), What are my priorities and what is my purpose for today?? One thing that's really been challenging me over the past year is that tension - and I mean tension - of what's important, in what areas should we serve, in what places do we need to step down, how much is too much, how little is too little...and what it always comes down to for me is Proverbs 31:27 - How does this fit into looking well to the ways of my household?
One paradox of working in the Special Care Nursery at work is, from those who look in from the outside (proverbially, though we do have windows and people DO peer in from the outside), it often looks like we're doing nothing. From their point of view, we're sitting at our computers, actually DOING something with the baby every few hours, and then going back to our computers. What I always tell nursing students is that one of the best nursing interventions is to leave. the baby. alone. That is how a preemie is allowed to grow and develop. Me fussing with them to be busy and feel like I'm doing something is actually detrimental to the very person I'm trying to serve.
It applies at home too. The more Matt and I do, the busier we are, the more stuff we're involved in and the more we say 'yes' to people...the more our home suffers. There are weeks that we just spin...it happens about once a month or every other month...and then I get frustrated and shut the household down. It looks like we're doing nothing - the calendar squares are fairly empty, and saying no to people makes me feel guilty and silly, but in doing nothing we're doing something very significant, something that prompted us to make the decision to cut back my hours at work, to serve this very purpose: to allow the best environment for Levi to grow and develop and thrive. To keep a consistent nap routine. To follow his own quiet (or not so quiet at times) rhythm. It might seem a bit much but we have one little lamb and we're guarding the gate.
But still, guilt creeps in, and I have to keep reminding myself what our priorities are and what they're supposed to be...and what IS looking well to the way of my household? So I have to turn back to my page in my journal from a month ago and refresh:
1. To serve and glorify God, and tend to my relationship with Him. I NEED to carve out that time in the day - right when Levi goes down for his first nap, before I dive into housework.
2. To serve my husband and tend to my relationship with him. Whether or not Levi recites his letters or knows his colors before the other kids isn't the point; he needs to grow in a stable home where the marriage is a priority.
3. To serve Levi. Play with him, feed him, teach him, sing to him, read to him, provide structure and rest. He CAN play alone too. Teaching him to play alone and not need my constant attention is important too!!
4. Take care of my home. Things are washed, food is prepared, and things are reasonably in order and welcoming.
5. Tend to others. Encourage and serve them. But they cannot come before the other 3-4 things!
It looks easy on paper but is so hard to apply when you feel like it's better to do-do-do.
But sometimes NOT doing is what we SHOULD be doing.
It's still such a tension though, isn't it???
Monday, November 7, 2011
Weary of doing good
Levi developed a plan recently that serves zero purpose to either of us:
A 45-minute morning nap.
I really try to make it a discipline to do my quiet time/work on my Bible study as soon as he goes down for the morning. No. Matter. What. I need at least an hour so I can do that AND get some housework done, take a shower, or whatever.
But this 45 minute nonsense doesn't exactly work wonders for me. Mama needs an hour.
Levi wasn't pleased with my method to reinforce this today. But I can tell from the moment my baby gets up if his nap was as much as he needed, or if he simply woke up in the middle of a sleep cycle and thought it was simply time to get up. I knew that if I went into his room his eyes would be glazed and nearly rolling into the back of his head, but he would be just certain it was time to get up. And then he'd be crabby for the next few hours, I would be frustrated, and then he'd be so overtired that his afternoon nap would go similarly. And then the terrible attitude would roll into dinnertime.
So I let him stay in his bed. I know he was mad. I knew the exact moments that he flung his giraffe and three pacifiers over the railing so he'd have something about which to be even MORE mad. After fifteen minutes, I went in and collected his things, gave them back, saw the glazed and rolling eyes, and told him he needed more sleep and laid him back down.
Then, he was REALLY mad.
And then he....fell asleep.
When Levi turned one a week ago, I swear a toddler-tantrum switch was flicked onto "on" and I am desperately looking for the "reset" button...to no avail. Life is frustrating for him right now - he can't talk, is on the verge of walking, and is cutting six teeth. So you can't communicate (yes, I do signs with him but it's slow in being reciprocated), can't move like you want, and are in pain. Honestly, I'd be mad too.
Galatians 6:9 has become my big-cheese verse lately. I think it'll be my life verse for the next two decades:
And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.
I can't tell you how many times a day now that I have to tell this to myself. It's so much easier to give in and give him the food off my plate, to get him up even though I know he needs more sleep, to pick him up and carry him with me e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e to avoid the whining. But I will reap later what I sow even now. If I'm in the habit of giving in now, I'll continue that habit. I can't take the easy road.
*Now please don't think I'm a tyrant mom. I do feel like one sometimes! But it's not like I expect him to behave like a five-year-old boy. We just try to keep boundaries and structure in our home. But there are some days when you just have to let the house blow up around you because a little boy just needs to be cuddled and comforted and rocked and read to.
But how much does that verse just apply anywhere in life? In trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle, hitting recurring issues head-on, working on a marriage relationship, parenting....
...don't become weary of doing the right thing. Because you WILL reap a harvest. Don't. Grow. Weary.
A 45-minute morning nap.
I really try to make it a discipline to do my quiet time/work on my Bible study as soon as he goes down for the morning. No. Matter. What. I need at least an hour so I can do that AND get some housework done, take a shower, or whatever.
But this 45 minute nonsense doesn't exactly work wonders for me. Mama needs an hour.
Levi wasn't pleased with my method to reinforce this today. But I can tell from the moment my baby gets up if his nap was as much as he needed, or if he simply woke up in the middle of a sleep cycle and thought it was simply time to get up. I knew that if I went into his room his eyes would be glazed and nearly rolling into the back of his head, but he would be just certain it was time to get up. And then he'd be crabby for the next few hours, I would be frustrated, and then he'd be so overtired that his afternoon nap would go similarly. And then the terrible attitude would roll into dinnertime.
So I let him stay in his bed. I know he was mad. I knew the exact moments that he flung his giraffe and three pacifiers over the railing so he'd have something about which to be even MORE mad. After fifteen minutes, I went in and collected his things, gave them back, saw the glazed and rolling eyes, and told him he needed more sleep and laid him back down.
Then, he was REALLY mad.
And then he....fell asleep.
When Levi turned one a week ago, I swear a toddler-tantrum switch was flicked onto "on" and I am desperately looking for the "reset" button...to no avail. Life is frustrating for him right now - he can't talk, is on the verge of walking, and is cutting six teeth. So you can't communicate (yes, I do signs with him but it's slow in being reciprocated), can't move like you want, and are in pain. Honestly, I'd be mad too.
Galatians 6:9 has become my big-cheese verse lately. I think it'll be my life verse for the next two decades:
And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.
I can't tell you how many times a day now that I have to tell this to myself. It's so much easier to give in and give him the food off my plate, to get him up even though I know he needs more sleep, to pick him up and carry him with me e-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e to avoid the whining. But I will reap later what I sow even now. If I'm in the habit of giving in now, I'll continue that habit. I can't take the easy road.
*Now please don't think I'm a tyrant mom. I do feel like one sometimes! But it's not like I expect him to behave like a five-year-old boy. We just try to keep boundaries and structure in our home. But there are some days when you just have to let the house blow up around you because a little boy just needs to be cuddled and comforted and rocked and read to.
But how much does that verse just apply anywhere in life? In trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle, hitting recurring issues head-on, working on a marriage relationship, parenting....
...don't become weary of doing the right thing. Because you WILL reap a harvest. Don't. Grow. Weary.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Mundane post #3
Are you tired of mundane posts yet????
My heart is so incredibly burdened right now over a number of things - people who are very close to me - and either I will implode, or I will write another mundane post.
So the other day my gaze swept across our landscape (all 1/4 acre of it) and I hearkened back to last year right at this time - well, days before I had Levi - and thought, "This yard will NOT get raked this year."
And sure enough, it didn't.
So this week I thought to myself, "Self, you need take thine backside out and rake."
But I did NOT have time. And I was trying to figure out WHEN I (or Matt) would have time, and as I counted ahead for the next several days, it was becoming clear that the leaves may stay right where they are.
A few hours later, there was a knock at the door.
Two kids, clearly a brother and sister, probably about 10 and 12 years old, stood on my front porch with RAKES.
RAKES, I say.
At first I almost didn't answer the door because I was in an enormous hurry to get to something, and I had no time for underage Jehovah's Witnesses, scouts selling more popcorn, or whomever. But then I saw their rakes. And I answered the door.
"We're, um, raking yards to raise money for (this is where I'm waiting to hear a spiel about a mission trip, orphanage in Africa, local school or food pantry) a ferret."
A ferret?
"Do you want us to rake your yard??"
At that moment, I pictured myself standing in front of a blue-eyed, blond-haired little boy in about ten years, my eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose, saying, "If you can come up with a way to pay for (whatever it is that I would rather die than have in my house but this is a great learning opportunity about responsibility), you can get it." And then hoping against all hopes that no one will turn my little blue-eyed blond down as he goes door-to-door with a rake.
My other thought was, Does a bear poop in the woods? Heck YES you can rake my yard!
I asked what they were charging. The 10-year-old boy cast an entrepreneurial eye around our front yard and said, "Seven dollars?"
Me: TEN! Do you take a check?
And then this kid and his sister raked. our yard. And they totally spanked it. Like, there was not a leaf in sight. Granted, the yard's covered in leaves again two days later, but it's better than it would be. And some kids are gonna get their ferret.
So there you have it. Another slice of a mildly mundane life.
My heart is so incredibly burdened right now over a number of things - people who are very close to me - and either I will implode, or I will write another mundane post.
So the other day my gaze swept across our landscape (all 1/4 acre of it) and I hearkened back to last year right at this time - well, days before I had Levi - and thought, "This yard will NOT get raked this year."
And sure enough, it didn't.
So this week I thought to myself, "Self, you need take thine backside out and rake."
But I did NOT have time. And I was trying to figure out WHEN I (or Matt) would have time, and as I counted ahead for the next several days, it was becoming clear that the leaves may stay right where they are.
A few hours later, there was a knock at the door.
Two kids, clearly a brother and sister, probably about 10 and 12 years old, stood on my front porch with RAKES.
RAKES, I say.
At first I almost didn't answer the door because I was in an enormous hurry to get to something, and I had no time for underage Jehovah's Witnesses, scouts selling more popcorn, or whomever. But then I saw their rakes. And I answered the door.
"We're, um, raking yards to raise money for (this is where I'm waiting to hear a spiel about a mission trip, orphanage in Africa, local school or food pantry) a ferret."
A ferret?
"Do you want us to rake your yard??"
At that moment, I pictured myself standing in front of a blue-eyed, blond-haired little boy in about ten years, my eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose, saying, "If you can come up with a way to pay for (whatever it is that I would rather die than have in my house but this is a great learning opportunity about responsibility), you can get it." And then hoping against all hopes that no one will turn my little blue-eyed blond down as he goes door-to-door with a rake.
My other thought was, Does a bear poop in the woods? Heck YES you can rake my yard!
I asked what they were charging. The 10-year-old boy cast an entrepreneurial eye around our front yard and said, "Seven dollars?"
Me: TEN! Do you take a check?
And then this kid and his sister raked. our yard. And they totally spanked it. Like, there was not a leaf in sight. Granted, the yard's covered in leaves again two days later, but it's better than it would be. And some kids are gonna get their ferret.
So there you have it. Another slice of a mildly mundane life.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Mundane post #2
Nothing emotionally and physically exhausts me more than hearing my baby cry. Days like this come so rarely and I count the minutes till Matt gets home...and I can't imagine what it's like to be a single parent, or have a kid with issues that make them scream all day.
I think the combination of him teething and getting a new cold now just push him over the edge. Germs come in without knocking, I've noticed. They brazenly enter unannounced with their muddy shoes on and expect me to clean up after them. We wash our hands meticulously, he's getting breastmilk, we don't go out-out that much, he's not in daycare, and has hardly been in the church nursery in the past few weeks. I never wanted to be that mom with the kid who has a glazed donut for an upper lip, and here I am. Chasing after a toddler with a piece of Kleenex.
And over and over to myself I say, This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.
There are days that I want to be doing something really spectacular. Thinking smart thoughts about smart things among smart people. Make no mistake, chasing a giddy baby around the house with a string-pulled tooty train (thank you so much Kelly!!!!) is where I'd rather be than anywhere else...but it's easy for discouragement to creep in. I know what I'm doing serves such a great purpose - just providing Levi with consistency and routine and security and comfort is exactly what he needs to grow and thrive. I know I'm sowing little seeds of purpose and Truth into his little heart.
But when he's cutting six teeth at once and has a runny nose and a raw bottom and is sobbing in his crib...I kinda want to join him.
The other day I went to a friend's house for tea with another friend. We've been planning this day for the past couple of months, just a chance to see each other since I never see them at work anymore. These friends aren't old enough to be my mom (well, technically they could be; they would have been teenagers, and that's not so unusual anymore, let me tell you), so I guess I'll say that they're like my big sisters. So we planned to have tea, and I have to leave them unnamed and the pictures to myself because one of them is quite interested in protecting her professional image (guffaw). Why, you ask? Because one of them (the professional one, mind you - I know you're reading this, friend) calls me like five minutes before I leave the house to pick her up to tell me I needed to come RIGHT NOW because she had an idea. So I throw Levi in his car seat and leave without even putting on my shoes. Upon my arrival at her house, my professional friend greets me at the door dressed in what I can only describe as a dress that once was a flamingo. She pulls me up the stairs, grabs my bewildered baby, and shows me MY dress: a sparkly blue number with a tiered ruffled black skirt. Had I been able to pull my hair in a side ponytail, I would've been a spittin' image of Deb from Napolean Dynamite. With hot pink knee-high tights (why did she have these in her drawer?). Alarmingly, the dress fit.
And that is how we showed up at tea. Not to be outdone, my other friend ran upstairs to put on a leopard-print dress over her running tights. We had a dance party to Toby Mac (my poor bewildered Levi clutched his stuffed giraffe) before dining on donuts, cookies, Cheetos...and, of course, tea.
Our lovely tea party spread
I would love to show you the picture I have of the three of us, but sure don't want to wreck our very, very professional image. ;) I'll just let you wonder exactly who it is that is so much fun.
But it's good to have big sisters like that.
I guess things aren't so mundane after all. :)
I think the combination of him teething and getting a new cold now just push him over the edge. Germs come in without knocking, I've noticed. They brazenly enter unannounced with their muddy shoes on and expect me to clean up after them. We wash our hands meticulously, he's getting breastmilk, we don't go out-out that much, he's not in daycare, and has hardly been in the church nursery in the past few weeks. I never wanted to be that mom with the kid who has a glazed donut for an upper lip, and here I am. Chasing after a toddler with a piece of Kleenex.
And over and over to myself I say, This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.
There are days that I want to be doing something really spectacular. Thinking smart thoughts about smart things among smart people. Make no mistake, chasing a giddy baby around the house with a string-pulled tooty train (thank you so much Kelly!!!!) is where I'd rather be than anywhere else...but it's easy for discouragement to creep in. I know what I'm doing serves such a great purpose - just providing Levi with consistency and routine and security and comfort is exactly what he needs to grow and thrive. I know I'm sowing little seeds of purpose and Truth into his little heart.
But when he's cutting six teeth at once and has a runny nose and a raw bottom and is sobbing in his crib...I kinda want to join him.
The other day I went to a friend's house for tea with another friend. We've been planning this day for the past couple of months, just a chance to see each other since I never see them at work anymore. These friends aren't old enough to be my mom (well, technically they could be; they would have been teenagers, and that's not so unusual anymore, let me tell you), so I guess I'll say that they're like my big sisters. So we planned to have tea, and I have to leave them unnamed and the pictures to myself because one of them is quite interested in protecting her professional image (guffaw). Why, you ask? Because one of them (the professional one, mind you - I know you're reading this, friend) calls me like five minutes before I leave the house to pick her up to tell me I needed to come RIGHT NOW because she had an idea. So I throw Levi in his car seat and leave without even putting on my shoes. Upon my arrival at her house, my professional friend greets me at the door dressed in what I can only describe as a dress that once was a flamingo. She pulls me up the stairs, grabs my bewildered baby, and shows me MY dress: a sparkly blue number with a tiered ruffled black skirt. Had I been able to pull my hair in a side ponytail, I would've been a spittin' image of Deb from Napolean Dynamite. With hot pink knee-high tights (why did she have these in her drawer?). Alarmingly, the dress fit.
And that is how we showed up at tea. Not to be outdone, my other friend ran upstairs to put on a leopard-print dress over her running tights. We had a dance party to Toby Mac (my poor bewildered Levi clutched his stuffed giraffe) before dining on donuts, cookies, Cheetos...and, of course, tea.
Our lovely tea party spread
I would love to show you the picture I have of the three of us, but sure don't want to wreck our very, very professional image. ;) I'll just let you wonder exactly who it is that is so much fun.
But it's good to have big sisters like that.
I guess things aren't so mundane after all. :)
Friday, October 21, 2011
Mundane post #1
I know he's barely one year old, but he can totally level me.
It's been gray this week. Rainy. And we've been....icky sick. He's been cutting what I thought were four upper teeth, but upon closer inspection it almost looks more like maybe six. I think he's in a growth spurt. And he's trying to learn how to walk.
That's a lot for one 20lb person and a tired, stir-crazy mama.
This morning he came undone. He took a sad little one-hour nap and I barely had a chance to get in some quiet time and start something in the crock pot for the weekend (working! shuttle launch!). And I mean, barely start cutting the stuff up to put in the crock pot. He's been clingy this week, and not that I really blame him. So of course he was in no mood to play by himself while I put together a meal. I set him up in his high chair with a snack and his sippy. He took two bites and started to yell at me again. A little blond 20lb dictator. He spilled his milk down his shirt. The milk I struggle to produce anymore. Still yelling, spitting out his food. Oh my word. In my mind I'm yelling SHUUUUTTTT UPPPPP!!!!! But I sing hymns instead because that seems a little kinder. But I still feel like a louse because I really want to tell my poor baby to, well, shut up.
I really wanted to call my friend. She beat me to it. Her morning was even more award-winning (zero thanks to the GI bug we shared with her kid). Misery really does love company, because I admit my spirits lifted. She also reminded me that Levi's teething. Oh yeah. I hold him, the phone, and draw up some ibuprofen and squirt it in his mouth with one hand, and he happily receives it. Thirty minutes later he's a new kid.
Usually naps are fairly smooth around her, but not so much today. He sobbed - deep, gulping sobs - like I had locked him in a dungeon (with four pacifiers, his giraffe and three beanie babies) and thrown away the key. Thrice I pulled him out to comfort him and thrice I returned him, and thrice he came unglued.
What happened to my easy baby??? I know this is nothing compared to some people's normal day, but Levi is not this...this...clingy, fussy, or any other form of -y.
He slept thirty minutes and it all started again.
I fed him his bottle. He gulped it like it was going to grow legs and walk away.
And then, for the first time since he was about four months old, he turned to me and plopped his head on my chest and laid there, eyes wide open and quiet, for about fifteen minutes. I rocked my baby - no, my little boy, now - in the quiet of (another) gray day. Did you hear that? It was the world righting itself again. All he needed was something for pain, something in his tummy, and his mama to rock him for a few minutes.
Then he pulled himself up, looked me square in the face, grinned, and slid off my lap. And that was that.
He's been more himself than he has in the past week ever since. He chowed down three quarters of a banana (yes, on the heels of an enormo bottle) while I ate my (very late) lunch, and then we walked around the neighborhood and waved at cars.
And now he's back down for a nap. No fanfare, no drama, no to-do.
The stew's in the crock pot. The diapers are washed and folded. Levi's veggies are steamed.
The preparations are almost complete for takeoff.
I don't know what just happened, but apparently Levi feels better and that's all I care about. :)
It's been gray this week. Rainy. And we've been....icky sick. He's been cutting what I thought were four upper teeth, but upon closer inspection it almost looks more like maybe six. I think he's in a growth spurt. And he's trying to learn how to walk.
That's a lot for one 20lb person and a tired, stir-crazy mama.
This morning he came undone. He took a sad little one-hour nap and I barely had a chance to get in some quiet time and start something in the crock pot for the weekend (working! shuttle launch!). And I mean, barely start cutting the stuff up to put in the crock pot. He's been clingy this week, and not that I really blame him. So of course he was in no mood to play by himself while I put together a meal. I set him up in his high chair with a snack and his sippy. He took two bites and started to yell at me again. A little blond 20lb dictator. He spilled his milk down his shirt. The milk I struggle to produce anymore. Still yelling, spitting out his food. Oh my word. In my mind I'm yelling SHUUUUTTTT UPPPPP!!!!! But I sing hymns instead because that seems a little kinder. But I still feel like a louse because I really want to tell my poor baby to, well, shut up.
I really wanted to call my friend. She beat me to it. Her morning was even more award-winning (zero thanks to the GI bug we shared with her kid). Misery really does love company, because I admit my spirits lifted. She also reminded me that Levi's teething. Oh yeah. I hold him, the phone, and draw up some ibuprofen and squirt it in his mouth with one hand, and he happily receives it. Thirty minutes later he's a new kid.
Usually naps are fairly smooth around her, but not so much today. He sobbed - deep, gulping sobs - like I had locked him in a dungeon (with four pacifiers, his giraffe and three beanie babies) and thrown away the key. Thrice I pulled him out to comfort him and thrice I returned him, and thrice he came unglued.
What happened to my easy baby??? I know this is nothing compared to some people's normal day, but Levi is not this...this...clingy, fussy, or any other form of -y.
He slept thirty minutes and it all started again.
I fed him his bottle. He gulped it like it was going to grow legs and walk away.
And then, for the first time since he was about four months old, he turned to me and plopped his head on my chest and laid there, eyes wide open and quiet, for about fifteen minutes. I rocked my baby - no, my little boy, now - in the quiet of (another) gray day. Did you hear that? It was the world righting itself again. All he needed was something for pain, something in his tummy, and his mama to rock him for a few minutes.
Then he pulled himself up, looked me square in the face, grinned, and slid off my lap. And that was that.
He's been more himself than he has in the past week ever since. He chowed down three quarters of a banana (yes, on the heels of an enormo bottle) while I ate my (very late) lunch, and then we walked around the neighborhood and waved at cars.
And now he's back down for a nap. No fanfare, no drama, no to-do.
The stew's in the crock pot. The diapers are washed and folded. Levi's veggies are steamed.
The preparations are almost complete for takeoff.
I don't know what just happened, but apparently Levi feels better and that's all I care about. :)
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Profound? Or profundly mundane?
I have no idea what I'm going to write. But I'm sitting alone in a busy coffee shop and it's way too cliche...I absolutely *need* to write something.
I don't blog very often in part because I feel like I should have something terribly profound to say. And lately...well...right now I can rattle off forward and backwards the order of the animals in "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" Unless you're in the learning-colors-and-animals set, substance is lacking. Anyway, I really enjoy reading the "mundane" things that other people write on their blogs. I just like knowing the little day-to-day things. So maybe you do too?
So I made the mildly catastrophic mistake of blinking, evidently. About two days ago I was holding a newborn and singing him Christmas carols late into the night. He's not walking yet but he just this evening started walking while holding onto one of our hands. Not both hands, but one hand. Side-by-side. I followed him and Matt on this new venture tonight while they were heading into his room to get ready for bath time. Daddy and little boy hand-in-hand, side-by-side.
A few months after he was born I was commonly asked what surprised me most about being a new mom. My first answer? Guilt. Not sleepless nights, not how much they cost, not how fast they grow. Guilt. How on earth is it that from the moment we see the two lines on the pregnancy test, we feel that we can be personally held responsible for just about everything that could potentially go wrong?
Second answer: judgment. I'm profoundly astounded at the judgment that moms pass on one another. I'm right in the throng with them, so let me be clear that no matter how hard I try to convince myself I'm not nearly as judgmental as the rest, I am. Perhaps moms have always been judgmental of how others' parenting styles are somehow inferior to their own, but with the buzzing and ongoing conversation of Facebook, Twitter, and blogs (mommy blogs, oh my), it seems a little more in-your-face than I imagine it was in previous years. People can now loudly state their opinion in the form of "shared" articles and posts about sleep methods, feeding, immunizations, discipline, and whatever else can possibly come up in the world of parenting. And I think, yikes man. Please don't tell anyone that our baby sleeps in his own crib, in his own room (heck, downstairs from our room), I've pumped for nearly a year now but only given him breastmilk in a bottle, sometimes we let him cry it out (within reason, I feel I should clarify), and he gets his shots. All of them. On a traditional schedule. We've never worn him or co-bedded with him, and I'm probably not the gentlest mom on the block. (I'm not here to dog those things, I'm just saying that's not what we choose to do.)
But we seek to be a student of his heart every day. And I beg God to fill in the spots where I lack. And to help us pour Truth into him.
Anyway, moving on. We were sick this week. For Levi, I tried to pass several things off as teething. When I started having the same symptoms, I was pretty certain I was not teething as well. Matt left on Tuesday morning with my assurance that Levi and I would lie as low as possible for the day, but he need not worry about us. Fast forward, oh, five minutes, and Levi's looking at me with mild alarm while I grip the counter with nausea (stop thinking what I know you're thinking, because that's unquestionably NOT what it was!). And then his banana made an encore appearance. Yeah no, this was not going to go well today. A couple of episodes later, Matt texted, "Are you sure you don't want me to come home?" He was in the parking garage in Grand Rapids. I caved. He came home. My hero!! Later, he said, "Man, it's scary when you get sick." I get it. The universe pretty much tips on its axis when Mama is sick.
But we're better now and the Gouveia universe is back in order - and it's well sanitized.
We had a birthday party for Levi a couple weeks ago (though his birthday isn't till next week). He slept through half of it. I'll post pics soon!!
Well, there's the semi-mundane for you!! I have now slurped the last few drops of my latte smoothie, pretending to blend in with the college students and not look too 30-something-married-mom-ish, but probably my hundred-year-old refurb laptop is the first dead giveaway. I'll try to be more consistent with blogging the profound AND the mundane. Because even mundane life is profound. Or profoundly mundane? Whatever the case may be, it's life and I should share it more. :)
I don't blog very often in part because I feel like I should have something terribly profound to say. And lately...well...right now I can rattle off forward and backwards the order of the animals in "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" Unless you're in the learning-colors-and-animals set, substance is lacking. Anyway, I really enjoy reading the "mundane" things that other people write on their blogs. I just like knowing the little day-to-day things. So maybe you do too?
So I made the mildly catastrophic mistake of blinking, evidently. About two days ago I was holding a newborn and singing him Christmas carols late into the night. He's not walking yet but he just this evening started walking while holding onto one of our hands. Not both hands, but one hand. Side-by-side. I followed him and Matt on this new venture tonight while they were heading into his room to get ready for bath time. Daddy and little boy hand-in-hand, side-by-side.
A few months after he was born I was commonly asked what surprised me most about being a new mom. My first answer? Guilt. Not sleepless nights, not how much they cost, not how fast they grow. Guilt. How on earth is it that from the moment we see the two lines on the pregnancy test, we feel that we can be personally held responsible for just about everything that could potentially go wrong?
Second answer: judgment. I'm profoundly astounded at the judgment that moms pass on one another. I'm right in the throng with them, so let me be clear that no matter how hard I try to convince myself I'm not nearly as judgmental as the rest, I am. Perhaps moms have always been judgmental of how others' parenting styles are somehow inferior to their own, but with the buzzing and ongoing conversation of Facebook, Twitter, and blogs (mommy blogs, oh my), it seems a little more in-your-face than I imagine it was in previous years. People can now loudly state their opinion in the form of "shared" articles and posts about sleep methods, feeding, immunizations, discipline, and whatever else can possibly come up in the world of parenting. And I think, yikes man. Please don't tell anyone that our baby sleeps in his own crib, in his own room (heck, downstairs from our room), I've pumped for nearly a year now but only given him breastmilk in a bottle, sometimes we let him cry it out (within reason, I feel I should clarify), and he gets his shots. All of them. On a traditional schedule. We've never worn him or co-bedded with him, and I'm probably not the gentlest mom on the block. (I'm not here to dog those things, I'm just saying that's not what we choose to do.)
But we seek to be a student of his heart every day. And I beg God to fill in the spots where I lack. And to help us pour Truth into him.
Anyway, moving on. We were sick this week. For Levi, I tried to pass several things off as teething. When I started having the same symptoms, I was pretty certain I was not teething as well. Matt left on Tuesday morning with my assurance that Levi and I would lie as low as possible for the day, but he need not worry about us. Fast forward, oh, five minutes, and Levi's looking at me with mild alarm while I grip the counter with nausea (stop thinking what I know you're thinking, because that's unquestionably NOT what it was!). And then his banana made an encore appearance. Yeah no, this was not going to go well today. A couple of episodes later, Matt texted, "Are you sure you don't want me to come home?" He was in the parking garage in Grand Rapids. I caved. He came home. My hero!! Later, he said, "Man, it's scary when you get sick." I get it. The universe pretty much tips on its axis when Mama is sick.
But we're better now and the Gouveia universe is back in order - and it's well sanitized.
We had a birthday party for Levi a couple weeks ago (though his birthday isn't till next week). He slept through half of it. I'll post pics soon!!
Well, there's the semi-mundane for you!! I have now slurped the last few drops of my latte smoothie, pretending to blend in with the college students and not look too 30-something-married-mom-ish, but probably my hundred-year-old refurb laptop is the first dead giveaway. I'll try to be more consistent with blogging the profound AND the mundane. Because even mundane life is profound. Or profoundly mundane? Whatever the case may be, it's life and I should share it more. :)
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