This one is going to be short, and will most likely not have anything to do with motherhood at all. This is about my faith, which has undergone significant challenges. Here is what I have learned, and whether it is what others know to be the truth, or is something that is simply getting me by, I will cling to it in the times of hardship and ease.
I am learning that God has nothing to do with some things. I am learning that saying miracles happen sometimes gives a hope that can lead to a loss of faith. While I know miracles can happen, and that can and does God cure some of those who are sick and hurting, I think it is important not to pray for one. What happens if I pray for my miracle and it is never revealed? I can't hold onto that prayer because after the "let down" the reality of loosing my faith becomes all too real. So instead of clinging to the hope of divine healing, I will hold onto the fact that sometimes God doesn't get Himself involved in human trials. Afterall, in the book of Job God did not cause any injury to Job or his family, he simply instructed Evil to not take the life of Job. He did not give a miracle for the man, he did not heal his hurts, he simply gave an instruction to Evil.
A friend of mine once said that praying for a miracle is sometimes selfish. She went on to say that by praying for a miracle of healing we are praying a person stays with us on this earth, and we are praying that they are kept longer from their eternal kingdom. I agree with her. So instead of praying for a miracle, I will pray for the ease of hurting and anguish. I'll pray that when these times of trial end we all still have our faith. And I will pray that miracles do happen for those who deserve them.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. (Proverbs 3:5-6)
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Should I Stay or Should I Go Now....
I can remember so clearly a moment when I looked at my beautiful red faced screaming newborn and I thought "Wow, I can really see how some moms just jump up and run away from this." The fleeting thought never came again, but in that moment I was terrified, lonely, exhausted, and lost. I don't think any class can prepare you for the amount of yourself that you give away when you have a baby. Everyone talks about labor as this enduring process that "you will get through" and "in the end you have the most precious gift" but for me it has been the aftermath that is the process I have had to work through.
I am the youngest of my family, and that youngest complex has stayed with me throughout my adult life. I think after I had my son, despite the fact I was well into my twenties, I still felt like I had to measure up and surpass any expectations of me. Looking back I realize I had what were probably normal longings for some sort of an out, and I wish I had spoken up sooner than I did. My husband was a miracle worker those first few weeks. He gave of himself more than any man should have had to. I cried every night the first week we were our new family unit at home. R would sleep, I would cry, and A would read me stories trying to get my mind off of how terrified I was. What a mess we were. And to be honest, it just got messier from there.
I hit my breaking point a couple of months ago. I was riding in the car and had such anxiety about being in a horrible wreck I could barely contain my fears enough so we could get to where we were going. Again, A put up with a lot from me, including me tapping his shoulder every 90 seconds telling him to slow down. I finally was able to admit my fears, my anxiety, and even my depression had gotten to a point that was unbearable for any of us.
I sought help from a trusted doctor. I was prescribed an SSRI that I will admit has been a life changer. I am a new wife, a new mom, and a new person. I recently wrote to someone how I regret not asking for help sooner, that looking back on the past year I see myself as simply surviving and not living. While I know not everyone needs medication, and I am a big proponent for talk therapy, I encourage anyone who doesn't see themselves as a life but only sees one step to another to talk to someone and seek help from different sources. I know I will never be the same after what I have experienced, but I hope that means I will be better, and maybe I can use my honesty about how I felt to encourage others.
Oh, and I am glad I didn't run that day. Of course, the cries of my boy eventually faded to smiles and giggles. And as we sat in church this morning and he pointed at all of the people around us saying "Who dat?" I thanked God for the clarity I have of how incredibly blessed my life is, and for the precious gift of my son and husband.
I am the youngest of my family, and that youngest complex has stayed with me throughout my adult life. I think after I had my son, despite the fact I was well into my twenties, I still felt like I had to measure up and surpass any expectations of me. Looking back I realize I had what were probably normal longings for some sort of an out, and I wish I had spoken up sooner than I did. My husband was a miracle worker those first few weeks. He gave of himself more than any man should have had to. I cried every night the first week we were our new family unit at home. R would sleep, I would cry, and A would read me stories trying to get my mind off of how terrified I was. What a mess we were. And to be honest, it just got messier from there.
I hit my breaking point a couple of months ago. I was riding in the car and had such anxiety about being in a horrible wreck I could barely contain my fears enough so we could get to where we were going. Again, A put up with a lot from me, including me tapping his shoulder every 90 seconds telling him to slow down. I finally was able to admit my fears, my anxiety, and even my depression had gotten to a point that was unbearable for any of us.
I sought help from a trusted doctor. I was prescribed an SSRI that I will admit has been a life changer. I am a new wife, a new mom, and a new person. I recently wrote to someone how I regret not asking for help sooner, that looking back on the past year I see myself as simply surviving and not living. While I know not everyone needs medication, and I am a big proponent for talk therapy, I encourage anyone who doesn't see themselves as a life but only sees one step to another to talk to someone and seek help from different sources. I know I will never be the same after what I have experienced, but I hope that means I will be better, and maybe I can use my honesty about how I felt to encourage others.
Oh, and I am glad I didn't run that day. Of course, the cries of my boy eventually faded to smiles and giggles. And as we sat in church this morning and he pointed at all of the people around us saying "Who dat?" I thanked God for the clarity I have of how incredibly blessed my life is, and for the precious gift of my son and husband.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Perspective
As I sit here, attempting to read the last of the Epic of Gilgamesh, holding my breath that R doesn't wake up screaming in terror from not breathing, and planning my bed time for about three hours earlier than usual, I can remember being younger and saying "I'm so tired, you really cannot understand how tired I am." I can hear the young freshman at college complaining about their exhaustion, or rambling about how much work their classes are. Each one proclaims that they are in fact more "spent" than the other, and they don't know how they will go on.
When I think about this, and how I was "tired" when I was younger, I long to have those days back. I now know what tired is. I would venture to in fact say that I now know tired more or at least much differently than I did a year ago when R was a newborn.
Tired is the mom or dad who sits with their sick child listening to every breath, counting respirations, and administering breathing treatments. Tired is that parent who God forbid has to sit in the hospital trying to entertain their bored little one who despite being sick is still determined to leave their room with tornado level destruction. Tired is my friend who I read about driving hundreds of miles to care for her son and give him the best life she could ever hope for. Tired is the parent who faces the unimaginable pain of having a sick little one, and the exhaustion that comes with caring for them.
These small trials we have faced the past few weeks are minuscule compared to those of parents who have children with much more serious issues. I do, however, now know a much deeper level of exhaustion than I ever knew before. Maybe its the worry that comes with having a sick child that makes you feel numb, or maybe its the wakeful nights. Maybe its listening to the beautiful small person who carries around a piece of your soul be so uncomfortable that makes you want to scream for the world to listen so someone will come running with a miracle cure. Maybe it is a combination of all of those things, and the stress that accompanies them that makes you feel as if you are living in a video game, trying to find the right exit to get out of the underworld.
I pray for those parents who deal with illness of any kind on a continual basis. I would say they are stronger than I could ever be, but in this tiny trial I have learned this... I am as strong as I want to be. In the face of adversity I am given a choice, I can let go and bow out, or I can overcome thresholds I never thought I would be able to. By choosing the latter I learn more about myself as a wife, a mother, and a believer. (This in retrospect to while A and I held R down I watched the nurse dig in his tiny arm with that evil needle trying to get blood, I stood there wanting to pass out, getting the hot tingly I'm going to pass out feeling, but pushing through it and focusing on the task at hand....big steps for me...)
My friend, the one who drives her son so far for medical care put this on my facebook, I thought it was beautiful...
"I always say God gives us EXACTLY what we can handle, never more, and rarely less. In the hardest times I remind myself that God sent "K" to us because we're the best parents for him. The same is true for you and never forget it!"
Such a trooper through his latest treatment. he kept his mask on the whole time! Of course, the Backyardigans made for a great distraction.
When I think about this, and how I was "tired" when I was younger, I long to have those days back. I now know what tired is. I would venture to in fact say that I now know tired more or at least much differently than I did a year ago when R was a newborn.
Tired is the mom or dad who sits with their sick child listening to every breath, counting respirations, and administering breathing treatments. Tired is that parent who God forbid has to sit in the hospital trying to entertain their bored little one who despite being sick is still determined to leave their room with tornado level destruction. Tired is my friend who I read about driving hundreds of miles to care for her son and give him the best life she could ever hope for. Tired is the parent who faces the unimaginable pain of having a sick little one, and the exhaustion that comes with caring for them.
These small trials we have faced the past few weeks are minuscule compared to those of parents who have children with much more serious issues. I do, however, now know a much deeper level of exhaustion than I ever knew before. Maybe its the worry that comes with having a sick child that makes you feel numb, or maybe its the wakeful nights. Maybe its listening to the beautiful small person who carries around a piece of your soul be so uncomfortable that makes you want to scream for the world to listen so someone will come running with a miracle cure. Maybe it is a combination of all of those things, and the stress that accompanies them that makes you feel as if you are living in a video game, trying to find the right exit to get out of the underworld.
I pray for those parents who deal with illness of any kind on a continual basis. I would say they are stronger than I could ever be, but in this tiny trial I have learned this... I am as strong as I want to be. In the face of adversity I am given a choice, I can let go and bow out, or I can overcome thresholds I never thought I would be able to. By choosing the latter I learn more about myself as a wife, a mother, and a believer. (This in retrospect to while A and I held R down I watched the nurse dig in his tiny arm with that evil needle trying to get blood, I stood there wanting to pass out, getting the hot tingly I'm going to pass out feeling, but pushing through it and focusing on the task at hand....big steps for me...)
My friend, the one who drives her son so far for medical care put this on my facebook, I thought it was beautiful...
"I always say God gives us EXACTLY what we can handle, never more, and rarely less. In the hardest times I remind myself that God sent "K" to us because we're the best parents for him. The same is true for you and never forget it!"
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Whoopy and Croupy
After R was born I was absolutely terrified of him getting sick. RSV was my biggest fear. Because of this and other reasons A and I decided that we would alternate watching him, keep him out of daycare and even church nursery as much as possible. It was tough, but we made it through an entire year with only an ear infection to worry about.
Right at R's first birthday he was diagnosed with pertussis. I knew he had it, his cough was undeniable "whoopy" and he looked pitiful. Then, a little over a week later after refusing to eat for days he was diagnosed with strep, and subsequently after overcoming the strep we noticed he was breathing harder and faster, and making a horrible noise with his breathing. Afraid of complications from the pertussis we took him back to see his pediatrician with a video of his difficult breathing episodes (because every mother knows that no matter what the child is doing at home as soon as you walk into the doctor they will no longer show any symptoms at all) and we were told he has croup along with everything else.
I stood there in the little room waiting to see if he needed breathing treatments or a hospital visit and I became increasingly sick with worry, and confused as to how he managed to contract three big childhood diseases at once. We wash our hands, still keep him out of daycare, and he had only visited the church nursery once. All that night I wondered and worried. I watched him play then stop to breathe while making the horrible noises, talked with A about when will we know if we have to take him to the hospital, and dealt with the manic outcomes from the steroids he was prescribed.
That night I found a blog about a family who is currently in the PICU with their daughter who has a cancerous brain tumor. They outlined their struggles, fears, experiences, and hopes. I sat and cried for them, unable to comprehend the fear they are experiencing. I realized that as parents we feel every cut, every cough, every pain that our children feel. Its an incredible phenomenon, unmatched by any other.
This brought me to the understanding that although we felt as if we were doing all we could do to prevent R from getting sick, we are not in control of everything. Unlike some I do not believe God gives us struggles so we can become closer and more faithful to him, I believe bad things happen because we live in a world where sin was introduced to humanity and that sin brought with it pain and suffering. I do believe that as struggles and adversities come to us its our job to remain faithful. I don't think we can bless God with our thoughts and prayers (for me blessings come from above, not the other way around), but I do think we can praise him in good times and bad and that he will in turn bless us.
R is getting better, praise God. I am thankful that through this small struggle I have a greater understanding that as his mother I can't control every aspect of his life. I can guide him, do what I think is best, pray that God keep him safe, and be there when he needs me.
I can take all the classes a college has to offer and attend every Sunday school session, but my beautiful boy has taught me more in the past year than I could possibly learn anywhere else.
Right at R's first birthday he was diagnosed with pertussis. I knew he had it, his cough was undeniable "whoopy" and he looked pitiful. Then, a little over a week later after refusing to eat for days he was diagnosed with strep, and subsequently after overcoming the strep we noticed he was breathing harder and faster, and making a horrible noise with his breathing. Afraid of complications from the pertussis we took him back to see his pediatrician with a video of his difficult breathing episodes (because every mother knows that no matter what the child is doing at home as soon as you walk into the doctor they will no longer show any symptoms at all) and we were told he has croup along with everything else.
I stood there in the little room waiting to see if he needed breathing treatments or a hospital visit and I became increasingly sick with worry, and confused as to how he managed to contract three big childhood diseases at once. We wash our hands, still keep him out of daycare, and he had only visited the church nursery once. All that night I wondered and worried. I watched him play then stop to breathe while making the horrible noises, talked with A about when will we know if we have to take him to the hospital, and dealt with the manic outcomes from the steroids he was prescribed.
That night I found a blog about a family who is currently in the PICU with their daughter who has a cancerous brain tumor. They outlined their struggles, fears, experiences, and hopes. I sat and cried for them, unable to comprehend the fear they are experiencing. I realized that as parents we feel every cut, every cough, every pain that our children feel. Its an incredible phenomenon, unmatched by any other.
This brought me to the understanding that although we felt as if we were doing all we could do to prevent R from getting sick, we are not in control of everything. Unlike some I do not believe God gives us struggles so we can become closer and more faithful to him, I believe bad things happen because we live in a world where sin was introduced to humanity and that sin brought with it pain and suffering. I do believe that as struggles and adversities come to us its our job to remain faithful. I don't think we can bless God with our thoughts and prayers (for me blessings come from above, not the other way around), but I do think we can praise him in good times and bad and that he will in turn bless us.
R is getting better, praise God. I am thankful that through this small struggle I have a greater understanding that as his mother I can't control every aspect of his life. I can guide him, do what I think is best, pray that God keep him safe, and be there when he needs me.
I can take all the classes a college has to offer and attend every Sunday school session, but my beautiful boy has taught me more in the past year than I could possibly learn anywhere else.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
I dreamed a dream...
Many of my friends and family members have recently announced their upcoming arrivals which has made me pretty nostalgic, and has made my mommy clock tick a little louder. I think of those sweet feelings of the baby moving around in my tummy, watching him grow on the ultrasound, imagining what he will be when he is older, and the way his head fit perfectly under my chin when we were napping. Those beautiful memories somehow overcome any of the adversities that come with a newborn, so instead of planning a trip to the doc to see if we can have another little bundle within any time period soon, I will remember the more difficult parts to hold off that baby itch for a while.
One such memory is the hallucinations that come along with sleep deprivation. There was one specific morning that I can clearly remember as being the most difficult R and I had shared together. After finally getting him to sleep I woke up in horror to the sound of a baby screaming. I remember flying out of my bed, tripping over the dog, and running into the nursery to find him sleeping soundly in his crib. Seeing his peaceful face brought me to the realization that I could now relate more closely with the psychiatric patients I was at the time working with. I had experienced my first (and only) auditory hallucination. I was so exhausted that my brain must had slipped into this strange universe and decided that if I wasn't going to actually be awake with a upset infant, I should be dreaming about one. I slowly and quietly made it back to my bed, but I didn't go back to sleep. I remember lying there, terrified he would wake up, terrified I was going crazy, and counting the minutes until A got home from work so I could have some adult interaction.
And yet, I'd do it again. Not now, I am enjoying having my little boy all on his own and even a year later I am still trying to catch up on sleep, but...someday...because those smiles make every auditory hallucination enhanced morning worth it.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Queen of the Night.
All I remember after R was delivered was thinking he was huge, thinking his ear was smushed and wondering how we could afford plastic surgery to fix his deformed lobe, and then immediately wondering why he wasn't crying. He eventually did let out that beautiful sound thanks to the fast working nurses at JCMC, but I didn't join him in his tears which surprised me even more than the size of his enormous, curly red haired head.
Reflecting back I wonder how many moms experience this lack of emotions. I watched the videos of live births where the moms would be hysterically crying saying "I love you! I love you!" to their new bundles of joy, and I always assumed that would be me. My experience was much different. It was as if I hit a plateau of emotions and there were no more to be had in those first few weeks. During our 3 day stay at the hospital he was out of my sight and arms for maybe a total of 2 hours. He slept on my chest, I attempted breast feeding as much as possible, and I stared at him with such intensity that I'm not sure I ever blinked. No matter how hard I looked at him, he never looked like my baby. He was beautiful, and I loved him, but it was as if I kept waiting for his parents to come in and take him home.
The next few weeks were exhausting, as they are for any new parent. A took care of R during the days when he wasn't at work and he was without a doubt the stronghold of the family in those long days. I took over the nights. All night long he slept on my chest, and trust me if he would have slept anywhere else he would have but thats the only place he would actually go into a deep slumber. We had a routine of watching late shows, sleeping for 2-3 hours, watching Kardashian re-runs, eating and sleeping, then Gilmore Girls. I now joke that he probably thought he was a Kardashian those first few weeks. However, despite our nightly routine I still often felt like I was in the room with a complete stranger. Then one evening when R was about 6 weeks old I had him propped up on a pillow between my feet, he had just finished eating and I was singing The Queen of the Night aria from Mozart's "The Magic Flute" (who needs Twinkle Little Star when you have Mozart in your brain.) He looked up at me with those big dark eyes and started humming and cooing along. I stopped mid arpeggio and started crying. It was in that very simple, tiny beautiful moment that he was my son. I felt it. We connected, I looked at him and he was without a doubt mine and I loved him more than imaginably possible.
From that moment on our bond has grown to this incredible strength that only other mothers can understand. I still feel like I was cheated out of those first sweet emotions that some mothers have, but I wouldn't trade my experience as the queen of his nights with anyone. I once felt ashamed that I was numb to the emotions of being a new mother for so long, but I now realize if I experienced this phenomenon, I am sure someone else out there has. So, for me there is no shame in honesty.
And by the way, his ear is fine. I'm blaming that crazy thinking on the epidural.
Reflecting back I wonder how many moms experience this lack of emotions. I watched the videos of live births where the moms would be hysterically crying saying "I love you! I love you!" to their new bundles of joy, and I always assumed that would be me. My experience was much different. It was as if I hit a plateau of emotions and there were no more to be had in those first few weeks. During our 3 day stay at the hospital he was out of my sight and arms for maybe a total of 2 hours. He slept on my chest, I attempted breast feeding as much as possible, and I stared at him with such intensity that I'm not sure I ever blinked. No matter how hard I looked at him, he never looked like my baby. He was beautiful, and I loved him, but it was as if I kept waiting for his parents to come in and take him home.
The next few weeks were exhausting, as they are for any new parent. A took care of R during the days when he wasn't at work and he was without a doubt the stronghold of the family in those long days. I took over the nights. All night long he slept on my chest, and trust me if he would have slept anywhere else he would have but thats the only place he would actually go into a deep slumber. We had a routine of watching late shows, sleeping for 2-3 hours, watching Kardashian re-runs, eating and sleeping, then Gilmore Girls. I now joke that he probably thought he was a Kardashian those first few weeks. However, despite our nightly routine I still often felt like I was in the room with a complete stranger. Then one evening when R was about 6 weeks old I had him propped up on a pillow between my feet, he had just finished eating and I was singing The Queen of the Night aria from Mozart's "The Magic Flute" (who needs Twinkle Little Star when you have Mozart in your brain.) He looked up at me with those big dark eyes and started humming and cooing along. I stopped mid arpeggio and started crying. It was in that very simple, tiny beautiful moment that he was my son. I felt it. We connected, I looked at him and he was without a doubt mine and I loved him more than imaginably possible.
From that moment on our bond has grown to this incredible strength that only other mothers can understand. I still feel like I was cheated out of those first sweet emotions that some mothers have, but I wouldn't trade my experience as the queen of his nights with anyone. I once felt ashamed that I was numb to the emotions of being a new mother for so long, but I now realize if I experienced this phenomenon, I am sure someone else out there has. So, for me there is no shame in honesty.
And by the way, his ear is fine. I'm blaming that crazy thinking on the epidural.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Reflections
This post is coming a few days late, but so did "R" so I guess it fits appropriately. I will first say that the past year of my life has been the most exciting, hardest, emotionally taxing, and beautifully blessed I could have imagined it to be. I find it incredible that just when you feel you are on the brink of destruction someone or something steps in and you hear a tiny laugh, or receive a much unexpected kiss and you are snapped back into the reality that you cannot control everything, sometimes you have to let go and let life control you.
8 days after his due date, 50 hours into labor, "R" was brought into this world by his aunt via c-section. I was exhausted, numb, terrified, and relieved. 3 days later on Christmas morning we were sent home, and looking back we should have clawed and grabbed anything in sight to stay just a few hours longer. As we walked into our living room I looked at the Christmas decorations, the crib and cradle, the dog and cat, our excited friends and I realized I had no idea what I was doing, and that was just the beginning. "A" and I were mostly on our own, heading down a new road that we were not prepared for, nor were we ready for the changes it would bring.
A year later I woke up on "R's" birthday and looked at my husband and said "We did it. We kept him alive for an entire year. Can you believe it?"
Our reflections have changed, our memories are construed to what we want them to be, and our faces are a little older, we are now showing more wear and lessons learned. But we are who we are now because of those changes, and I'll take a couple brow wrinkles in exchange for some extra knowledge and understanding. Of course, the slobbery kisses are a good trade off too.
8 days after his due date, 50 hours into labor, "R" was brought into this world by his aunt via c-section. I was exhausted, numb, terrified, and relieved. 3 days later on Christmas morning we were sent home, and looking back we should have clawed and grabbed anything in sight to stay just a few hours longer. As we walked into our living room I looked at the Christmas decorations, the crib and cradle, the dog and cat, our excited friends and I realized I had no idea what I was doing, and that was just the beginning. "A" and I were mostly on our own, heading down a new road that we were not prepared for, nor were we ready for the changes it would bring.
A year later I woke up on "R's" birthday and looked at my husband and said "We did it. We kept him alive for an entire year. Can you believe it?"
Our reflections have changed, our memories are construed to what we want them to be, and our faces are a little older, we are now showing more wear and lessons learned. But we are who we are now because of those changes, and I'll take a couple brow wrinkles in exchange for some extra knowledge and understanding. Of course, the slobbery kisses are a good trade off too.
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