{Maylin and Hartlie} That Sister Love

When we decided to get pregnant again when Maylin was five months old, THIS is what I prayed for.

Built-in best friends for life.

The playmate that never has to go home.

Endless nights of sleepovers.

Peals of giggles from the next room.

A tapestry of memories woven together from threads of shared experiences.

Although I'm pretty certain I had no idea what I was getting myself into, I knew that I wanted children close together in age. There were many, many desperate times over the first year. Sleepless nights where both girls were up crying simultaneously; two under two in diapers; one wanting to be held while the other needed to be nursed; I could go on. {It's funny though, that now as I'm sitting down trying to think of the hardest moments of the first year, not that many really come to my mind.}

Now they are finally {finally!} at an age where they play together, and much of the logistical difficulty of having two children fourteen months apart in age is decreasing. More and more often I'm becoming the third wheel. More and more often they share with each other more than they share with me.

Sometimes God calls us to a marathon of prayer. Sometimes there are weeks, or months, or years before any answer is obvious. In this particular case, my marathon lasted a little over a year. But it was worth it. Now I'm blessed with a feast of joy while watching my daughters, and goodness, the fruit is so sweet. 

{Miss Maylin} Maylin Turns Two: A Letter for the Night Before Your Birthday

Dear Maylin,

You're Two! Two little years in your wake, two little candles on your cake. You wear Two well. You wear it in all it's two-year toddler glory. You wear it with confidence, with brilliance, with laughter, with pizazz. You wear Two unlike any toddler has worn it before. You wear it with your head thrown back in wonder and joy, peals of giggles bubbling from your soul. You wear it with a tiny, darling gap between your two front teeth. You wear it with stomping feet, and high pitched "No!"s, and flailing limbs. You wear it with the tenderest pat-pats on my back, the most undeniable "hep pease mama!" and the greatest love of bananas and apple juice the world has known. 

The You you are becoming is extraordinarily unique, the juxtaposition of the best and worst parts of your parents combined with attributes all your own. You are dainty and poised and feminine, yet stubborn and tempermental and emotional. You have unending wells of passion and a deep determination to hold fast your obsessions. You don't stop. You don't let go. You are tenacious and determined. You are my firecracker, my brilliant little firecracker that lights up my life. You are my strong little warrior, filled with what it takes to win whatever battle you've decided to fight. You are friendly and outgoing and willing to wring the life out of life, yet simultaneously quiet and reserved, thoughtful and pensive.

You have the endearing habit of calling Deuce "Bouf" or "Boucey." You respond with "No, I don thin so" when a simple no would work just as well. Milk is pronounced "pickle" and you call Hartlie just plain "Ha."  

You greet everything with a cheery "Hi!": 

"Hi soos!" {shoes}

"Hi red!" {any red object}

"Hi ban!" {banana}

"Hi no why!" {Snow White}

"Hi boo!" {any blue object}

"Hi shishy!" {sissy}

"Hi ap soo!" {apple juice}

"Hi lello!" {any yellow object}

"Hi Man Beahr! {Manni Bear}

"Hi Muh mah!" {Mama- my favorite}

My wish for you, during this next year while you're Two, is that you remain: curious, expectant, wide-eyed, wild-eyed, innocent, alert, brilliant, friendly, confident.

My wish for you, while you're Two, is that you grow: in compassion, in kindness, in thoughtfulness, in meekness, in gentleness, in patience with understanding, in humility, in graciousness. 

Above all, my lovely green-eyed girl, may you remain to your core the truest version of You- my Maylin.

Happy Birthday.  

{Motherhood} Handling It

I took my girls to the mall yesterday. Solo.

It was a rainy Friday, and I was meeting my mom later in the afternoon so she could keep the girls for the weekend. I wanted an outing for us, an excuse to get out of the house, and going to the mall where we'd be meeting my mom later just seemed like the logically convenient and fun thing to do. I could look for a new shirt, the girls could ride in the stroller, we could see other human beings. It had the possibility of being a disaster, but I was mentally and physically prepared. Confident. A bit anxious, and probably overly laden with snacks, but confident.

When we left the house I expected to have a hilariously disastrous story to tell about some sort of meltdown or public fiasco upon returning home. But I don't. The day went surpisingly well. Smoothly. You might even say effortlessly.

It was an anti-climatic outing.

There was a moment, somewhere between watching the water gurgle up from indoor fountains and making a second trip to the bathroom, when the thought entered my mind: I'm handling this. I'm a mom with a baby and a toddler by myself in a very public mall, and I'm handling this. And {shocker} this is fun!

I'm handling this.

That is a phrase that I thought would take years for me to believe. An emotion I was unsure I would ever feel as a mother. There have been days over the course of being a mom to two under two when I longed for anti-climatic days, boring trips to the store, and uneventful public outings. And yesterday, that happened. I fielded and I tossed and I encouraged and I nourished and I manipulated and I laughed and I mothered. And it was fun. So, so fun. For the first time, I allowed myself to feel and believe that I had the whole motherhood thing under some semblance of control. And it felt good.

The highlight of the day was the carousel ride. The way Maylin's face absolutely broke open with awe and delight when we entered the center of the mall made me know before I could even formulate the thought that we'd be riding that carousel. It was as sure as if we'd already done it. There was no room in my mother's heart to deny her that pleasure, even if it meant spending some of the cash I had saved for eating dinner on a mom's night out later that evening. {Which it did.} I think the small sacrifice, though, of spending money I had earmarked for my personal pleasure made the carousel ride that much more special and satisfying. And her face. Oh, her face. This memory I will tuck away.

Afterwards, I "splurged" a bit more, and bought a pretzel for the three of us to share. Maylin, Hartlie, and I sat on a bench in front of the carousel and watched it go round and round, the taste of warm cinnamon sugar on our tongues. 

Motherhood can be hard, but it is beautiful and breathtaking, empowering and humbling. My girls are the loveliest, most exquisite pieces of my life that I never expected. I am their mother. God designed me to be mother to them. On purpose. Sure, there are times when the task of raising them, of "handling" them is daunting, but I've got this. No, more than that. I excel at this.

I excel at motherhood.

{Motherhood} Those Things

Things I Don't Want to Take for Granted::

{1} Lunch with my Girls~ it may be loud. It may be chaotic. It may be wild to the fullest extent. But right now, I get to have lunch with them. Every day, right here in our kitchen, at our table. And even if it's eating fish sticks and apple slices for Maylin, a handful of blueberry puffs for Hartlie, and a piece of peanut butter toast for me, I'm going to relish it. Because my girls, they're what make it gourmet and memorable and so, so unforgettable. And this sicky mess, this chaotic wildness? It's only for a little while.

{2} Afternoon Walks ~ The breeze, the sun, the monotonous yet familiar and comforting circle of the neighborhood. The spying of a cat, the bark of a dog, the frisk of a squirrel. Maylin's pointing finger. The delaying of the witching hour. The waves of friendly neighbors from driveways or front porches or passing cars. The walk that has brought and nurtured so many neighborly friendships, a community for this skeptical, hermit of a girl who never thought she'd enjoy living so close to people. The late afternoon light that promises the quiet of evening. These walks refresh my soul. {And make me believe that why yes, yes I can face dinner prep and bath time.}

{3} Storytime in the Teepee ~ This is my time. My attention can be pulled in a thousand different directions at other times of the day, but these few minutes before naps or before bed, this is MY time. This is where I pass on my legacy, what I want them to remember about me. This is where I share my love of reading, of literature, of delving deeply into someone else's story and letting it sweep you away to places far beyond your imagination. This is where I can share stories of courage and kindness, of spunk and friendship, of hope and humor and honesty and heroism. This is where I share stories that teach lessons, provide knowledge, and impart integrity. THIS is where memories are made and characters are formed that will bind themselves together into a cord, a cord that will become a heartstring, a heartstring that will forever be a piece of the deepest parts of the soul of Maylin and Hartlie. I may feel inadequate in so many other areas of motherhood, but THIS is where I shine. This is what no one can take away from me. This is what I don't want to forget.

{Motherhood} Spoken Blessings

Recently I've become increasingly aware of the power of words. Not just the written word, with which I've always had a love affair, but also the power of spoken words. Particularly the power of positive truth spoken directly to yourself or directly to someone else. Words have a way of affecting us like little else does, especially if we hear the same words or are presented with the same idea repeatedly. We begin to believe those words, live those words. They become a part of our psyche, sometimes almost impossible to shake {body image, anyone?}.

Not long ago I participated in a Bible study led by Priscilla Shirer, which was not really about blessings or words at all, but during a particular video segment she mentioned her habit of speaking Scripture in the form of a blessing over her three sons. I was intrigued. I had not ever really heard of this before. Memorizing Scripture, yes. Reciting Scripture, yes. Writing Scripture, yes. But using it as a blessing spoken over someone? It was a little foreign to me. The concept is that she would routinely, several times a day, like when dropping her kids off at school or before bedtime, repeat parts of Scripture to her boys that she wanted them to believe was especially true for their lives. She mentioned that though her oldest is still in elementary school, he and his younger brothers could all repeat this blessing to her because she'd said it so often to them. The idea was fascinating to me. I loved it. And I wanted to do it for my girls.

After a little bit of thought, and not really much direction, I settled on saying a Hebrew blessing from the book of Numbers to Maylin {this was before Hartlie was born} as I rocked her to sleep. It was a short verse: The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make His face shine on you and be gracious to you. The Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace. {Numbers 6:24-26} It was a good blessing and I liked the cadence of the words, but after a while it didn't seem to be enough. I wanted more. This is not to imply that any part of God's Word is not "enough," because it absolutely is, all the time and in every circumstance. It's just that I wanted to put a bit more thought and effort into choosing what to say over my daughters. Especially after Hartlie was born, I began to desire a specific blessing for each of my girls, something that would be meaningful to them individually.

I began to really consider what truths I wanted Maylin and Hartlie to know and believe in their very core. I looked ahead to what their future might hold- to the teenage years, onto college, through marriage, and careers, and children, and potential heartbreak and probable tragedies. I thought about their individual personalities, the little quirks and nuances that set them apart from each other. I pondered the meaning of their names, and how amazingly through no fault of my own, the meanings of their names happen to fit right in with their personalities. I thought about what lies they might be faced with and what lies they might come to believe about themselves. And then I turned around and thought about my Lord, about His personality, His character traits, His promises. What about Him do I feel is essential for Maylin and Hartlie to know? And not just know, but believe as absolute, unshakable truth? Then I began to search the Bible, marking down meaningful verses, underlining certain phrases, making a list of passages I wanted to include. 

After some time, I landed on my spoken blessing for each of my girls. I finished Maylin's first, and have been saying it to her for many months. I speak it over her after our bedtime story, as we're either rocking or lying in the teepee, chest to chest and heart to heart. It's the final words I speak to her before she goes to sleep, and it's become such a routine that now when I begin speaking her blessing, she quiets down, her little body relaxes, and she listens. It's the final sleep cue.

I finished compiling Hartlie's blessing this week after waiting for her own personality to emerge. I will speak it to her for the first time tonight, as I'm giving her her final bottle with the lamp off, chest to chest and heart to heart.

An unexpected, but wonderful result of compiling and saying these blessings to my girls is that I have read and written and spoken them so often that I now have them memorized. And it's quite amazing how much these words, with which I started out intending to bless my daughters, have actually blessed me as well. I'm sharing them below.

For Maylin, my strong little warrior::

You are a woman of strength and dignity, a woman who speaks words of wisdom and kindness. You are confident and can joyfully laugh without fear of your future. {Proverbs 31:25-26} No weapon that Satan tries to use against you will ever succeed in doing you harm, for this is your inheritance as a daughter of God. {Isaiah 54:17} God is in the midst of you, my strong little warrior, surrounding you, you shall not be moved. God's help will rise at the break of day, as the morning dawns. {Psalm 46:5} Therefore, my strong little warrior, be strong in the Lord and in the full strength of His might. Put on the full armor of God so that you can stand firm against the schemes of Satan. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against forces of darkness and wickedness. {Ephesians 6:10-12} But you have already conquered all of these things through Christ who loves you. For I am convinced from the depths of my soul that nothing, neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor powers, nor things that are happening to you today, nor things that will happen to you in the future, nor depth nor height, nor anything that has been created can ever separate you from God's love in Jesus Christ. {Romans 8:37-39} 

This is my prayer and this is my blessing. I love you. Amen.

For Hartlie, my peaceful favored one::

You are a woman of strength and dignity, a woman who speaks words of wisdom and kindness. You are confident and can joyfully laugh without fear of your furture. {Proverbs 31:25-26} You are blessed, my little peacemaker , for you are a daugher of God. {Matthew 5:16} The Lord is your Keeper and He is a shade to the closest parts of you. Nothing under the sun will not smite you by day, nor will anything under the moon harm you by night. The Lord will protect you from all evil and will keep your soul. The Lord guards your every move from now through the rest of your life. {Psalm 121: 5-8} Therefore, my little peacemaker, let your light shine in front of all people in such a way that you illuminate your Father in heaven, so that you shine as a light in the darkness. {Matthew 5:16, Philippians 2:15} For the mountains may be removed and the hills may shake and fall, but the Lord's lovingkindness will not be removed from you and His faithful promise of peace will not be shaken, for He has great compassion for you. {Isaiah 54:10}
This is my prayer and this is my blessing. I love you. Amen.

Note:: I also wrote a little bit more here about praying Scripture.

{I have taken a few liberties with the verses by paraphrasing my blessing, but I believe I have not compromised the integrity or meaning of each Scripture.}

{Real Mom Life} At Rest

Ever have so much stuff running through your head that ya run around like a crazy person trying to do all the things?

Yeah, me too.

You ever just get overwhelmed by stuff? Chores? Clutter? To-dos?

Yeah, me too.

Glad I'm not the only one over here.

My world is a small one, I'll admit. Home. Grocery store. Home. Park. Home. Church. Home. Walgreens. Home. No big bells and fancy whistles over here. I'm pretty much the most average stay-at-home mom you'll ever meet. And it's not like I have a whole bunch of stuff to be overwhelmed by, BUT for some reason, I still get stressed. And uptight. And crazy busy. I've set a certain standard for myself, certain expectations, goals. And when I'm failing to meet this self-imposed standard, I start to feel waaaay more stressed out than I should.

One of my expectations as a mama and our household manager is to keep a clean, tidy home. I like everything in its proper place: dishes in the cabinets, jackets and shoes put away, clothes folded and in drawers, floors swept and vacuumed, books on the shelves, and toys in the box after playtime. {I'm a Nazi, I know. I worry far too much about the dirt on our baseboards.} The errands and to-do lists? Check. Check. Check. These things help me feel accomplished and in control.

These expectations, though? They're completely unrealistic for my life right now. They're kinda unrealistic for anyone actually who lives a full life. But here's the thing: sometimes, okay most of the time, I totally forget those expectations are unrealistic and I stress about making them happen anyway. 

And who suffers from it? My daughters. 

I left my job as a teacher specifically because I didn't want to be stressed out all the time. I didn't want them to see their mother as a harried, irritable, worn out woman who worried about her job too much. This is who I was when I was teaching. It's always been difficult for me to handle intense stress of any kind, and being a teacher was definitely intense. What I've discovered, though, is that sometimes my daughters get that woman anyway. They see that me when I want to get everything checked off but know my time is running out. They see that me when I force one extra errand that bleeds into naptime. They see that me when the house is a complete wreck but I don't have the energy or the extra hands to get it all picked up before bedtime. They see that me. 

I'm not saying I should {or could} have perfect control over my emotions all the time. But I am saying that I should be more aware of how I'm acting around my daughters. It's hard to believe in the moment, but that kind of action rubs off on them. 

The other day I was watching Maylin play. She was moving her things from one part of the room to the other. Babies, her teddy bear, books, blocks, random small objects. She's not a sit still player. Never has been. She's more of a doer. An explorer. An open the cabinets and pull out the dishes, an empty out all the trash, and transport the dog food to the water bowl kind of player. She's a piddler. No puzzles. No stacking blocks. No movies. Barely even 30 minute Daniel Tiger episodes. She's not interested in sitting and touching the buttons to make the lights come on. 

At first I didn't understand it. Why does she do that? Where does she get it? I used to get frustrated. So frustrated. I would whine, "She doesn't just sit and play. She doesn't want to stack blocks or do puzzles. She doesn't just sit and watch a movie. {whine, whine, whine} She doesn't play the way I used to as a child. She doesn't do things like me." 

Oh. 

Oh but she does.

She does things exactly like me. 

Because that's what I do. That's what she sees me do. That's the example I'm giving her. I move things from one room to another. I take things out. I put things away. I don't sit. Rarely sit. I'm always busy doing something around the house. Always trying to complete the chores, do the list, clean the clutter. I haven't modeled to her how to sit and play. I haven't modeled to her the learned trait of being still. Of resting. 

What's important here? In my home? Is it that the house always has to be picked up and dishes can't be left in the sink? Or is what's important that my girls see me sitting still, being with them, taking a break, resting. 

What am I showing my kids? What are my actions teaching them?

Having a clean house and getting all the chores done is a good thing. It keeps our lives running smoothly and effectively. But you know what? It's okay to be still too. And also? It's not worth being that woman who's stressed about it all the time.

It's okay to rest. To take a break. Sitting still to watch a movie is just as learned as riding a bike. Sitting still to stack blocks, or play with puzzles, or play house with the stuffed animals is just as important as all the chores.

So from now on? That's my new goal. To make time during the day to be still and rest with my daughters. To be intentional about setting aside the list to make time for breaks. Hopefully, one day my daughters will know the value of being still. Hopefully, one day I'll know that too.

{Miss Maylin} Suddenly

I feel I'm a pretty positive person in general, but for some reason my writing tends to lean toward the melancholy. I don't know why this is, but for some reason I do my best writing when my mood is less than sunny. I tend to write about the hard things. And often. It's just easier for me than writing about the great things. 

But!

I don't want to look  back on my blog and read about only the hard, difficult, less than perfect times in my life, in motherhood. {I'm sure you don't either!} I want there to be some sunshiny posts smattered along the way, too. 

Because it is. My life is super sunny. A "charmed life," as one of my dear friends once labeled it. I'm reminded of that more and more often as news gets more and more grim. I am blessed. I am fortunate. I have so, so much to be thankful for.

And one of those reasons {and a very BIG one at that!} is sitting right there in that rocking chair on our front porch. 

I love her. It will be forever astonishing to me how quickly children develop. On one day, she's not doing something, is completely disinterested in it. The next day, the very next day, she will have mastered it. Not thanks to any help I've given her along the way. She just does it.

Like sitting in this rocking chair, for instance. We play outside on this front porch a lot. Mainly because our back yard is carpeted with pine needles and dog poop, and who wants to play in that? Um, not me. And our front yard is just more open and sunny and clean. I'll sit in the rocking chair while Maylin plays on the steps or carries the pumpkins around. We'll blow bubbles or balance on stumps or say "ah ah" with flat palmed hands to bugs. A jolly time is had by all.

Not once has Maylin been interested in sitting in the rocking chair. Until one day she was. And in that very moment that she was interested in it, she put her little feet on the bottom rungs and climbed up all by herself. She stretched out her two arms to reach the armrest and started rocking back and forth, back and forth. All by herself. I wasn't even in the vicinity. I was on the other side of the porch. She did it all by herself.

My mama heart was so proud. And so pleased. And so surprised. And in such amazement at the versatility of my daughter's learning. Yes, she's learning to talk, and eat at the table, and that no means no means no. But she's also learning to climb. Learning to make decisions and take risks. Learning to take what she's seen someone else do and do it for herself. 

She's learning to be a human. 

It comes in stops and starts. It comes in pieces and parts. But that learning, it comes. Some days it feels like I've been trying to teach her the same thing for weeks. Other days she's mastered a milestone in a matter of minutes. Suddenly, it's there.

Suddenly, she's sitting in the rocking chair looking at me with that sweetly coy expression.

Suddenly she's saying "Mama" and "please" and "down."

Suddenly she's done with being rocked to sleep and wants to go to bed by herself.

Suddenly.

I'm learning to greet "suddenly" as a great friend, to welcome it rather than lament it. And surprisingly, suddenly, that's an okay thing with me.

{Real Mom Life} That Pre-Dawn Moment

You know that moment, that moment when you open your eyes in the morning and feel so full of rest and realize that it's morning and not 1:30 or 3:00 in the AM and that your baby has slept through the entire night without waking you? Yeah, I had that moment this morning.

For a split second it's pure exaltation. You want to fist pump the air with both arms high above your head. Yessssss. The baby slept through the night!

And then that split second is gone. Vanished. Vaporized. Because then, like a ton of bricks, the thought hits you. Gasp! There's something wrong with the baby! There's absolutely no logical reason why she would suddenly sleep all night long when she hasn't done so for weeks and weeks. SIDS. Oh my gosh, I bet it's SIDS. Why else would she have slept all night long??

From that moment on, you're consumed with agonizing worry, and you can't even enjoy the feeling of rest or a quiet morning drinking coffee with your husband because you suddenly must go check on the baby right this very instant.

Yeah, I had that moment this morning, too.

But, this being my second child and all, and being much more calm and relaxed as a mom {ahem}, I made myself wait until her 7:30 wake up time before tiptoeing upstairs and cracking open the nursery door and peering intently at her little body until seeing the very faintest movement of her chest rising and falling as she slumbered in the early morning.

And there she was. Just beginning to stir and open her eyes.

And then there's that moment when you know your baby is perfectly fine, she has slept through the night, and now she's starting to wake up for the day. There's that moment when you think, No! Wait! Not yet! as you frantically back out of the room and shut the door as softly as you can.

That moment? Yep, had it this morning, too.

Such is the emotional seesaw of motherhood, I suppose. 

{Hartlie Anne} A Birth Story

Writing about a birth is a heavy thing. Mainly because it takes me so long to process through everything that encompasses bringing a tiny, brand new human into the world. There's so much to think through, so many emotions to categorize, a lot of physical pain from which to heal, a new household and familial routine to implement, and the inevitable writer's block that sleep deprivation induces.

It only took me eleven months to write about my experience birthing Maylin, and by that time Hartlie was almost here herself. One thing I'm learning in mothering this second child is that I'm able to emotionally recover sooner, better.  I was barely {okay, hardly at all, let's be real} over Maylin's birth when we discovered we were pregnant with Hartlie, and I'm afraid to admit it took me more than a few weeks to accept the new life growing inside me. It was difficult to cope with that reality.

Now, though, only four months after delivering Hartlie, I was able to not just start, but finish writing about her birth. This is huge progress, people! Writing in itself has always been therapuetic to me, so part of working through my emotions and memories requires this written rendering of our story.

I issued a disclaimer before jumping into Maylin's birth story, and I'll warn you again. Stories about childbirth tend to be pretty graphic, so if you're not into that sort of thing or are easily grossed out, just click away. No hurt feelings here.

Hartlie's due date was Monday, June 2, and after six weeks of walking an hour a day {sometimes twice, my neighbor called me out on doing "two a days"} at 1 cm dilated and no signs of baby, we chose to induce on Tuesday, June 3. The whole pregnancy I was convinced {due to some descrepancy with Hartlie's due date which is a very long and boring story} that Hartlie would be born early. By at least a week. I had consistent Braxton Hicks contractions from 20 weeks along, and by 36 weeks I had dilated 1 cm. "Hartlie is soooo coming early. A May-Baby. How sweet!" Nope, nope, and no. When I went to my appointment on my due date and I was still only at 1 cm, we decided, with the support of my doctor whom we trust and respect explicitly, to induce the following day. 

We arrived at the hospital at daybreak to get settled in a room and prepped for labor. I actually don't mind this part because it is somewhat soothing to watch the nurses prepare the room and set up the monitors. They have a calm efficiency that sort of pervades the atmosphere and puts me at ease. Like even though I'm an anxious ball of nerves whose heart is fluttering wildly and have no idea what I'm doing even though this is my second birth, at least the nurses do. They do. They know everything and are never nervous or unsure ever and you can not convince me otherwise or else I'll never have another child again. Because birth is scary. Even in today's modern world with our conveniences and medical advcances, childbirth is scary. Beautiful and exhilarating and empowering and one of the best experiences in human existence, but still scary. Also, I'm thankful to have birthed my children in America. I don't know how mothers in third world countries do it. I just don't. Anyway...

Our most beloved and favorite {I can have a favorite, right?} nurse from Maylin's birth with whom we've kept in touch over the past year no longer works in labor and delivery. BUT{!} since she has a bit of freedom with her new position and since her father-in-law is our doctor, she was able to be our nurse for Hartlie's delivery. Another positive for deciding to induce- she was able to plan to be there. When you spend hours with a person who is intimately involved in one of your most life-changing experiences, a bond is formed that's difficult to explain. I can't say enough how much we adore and trust her, and we are so thankful she was able to attend Hartlie's birth.

At 8:15 AM, after prepping everything and putting monitors in place, our nurse checked me. I was at 2 cm. Apparently I'd dilated another centimeter overnight. I was very encouraged by this because that meant my body had already arrived a little early to the party that was delivery day. Better early than late or never in this case. All systems were a go and I was relieved that my body "remembered" how to go into labor. {That my body might forget to go into labor has always been an irrational pregnancy fear of mine.} Our nurse went ahead and started the Pitocin drip, and Michael and I sat back to respond to texts and idly watch the contractions on the computer screen. Or so I thought. But oh, not such the case this time.  I started feeling contractions much sooner and much stronger than I did with Maylin. Which was good! I was glad my body was responding so readily and so well. I soon put my phone away and sat thoughtfully and prayed and "listened" to my body.

At 9:00 AM, my doctor came in to check on my progress and to break my water, which may be one of my least favorite parts of childbirth, and that's even including the contractions. It's just real uncomfortable, and I'll leave it at that. My contractions continued to strengthen and after about another 45 minutes I was having to concentrate and breathe through them, no longer able to participate in conversation with Michael or my nurse during a contraction.

At 10:30 AM, the contractions were painful, not just pinches of pain, but waves of rolling pain that I couldn't silently endure. They were regular and fast with not much recouperating time in between. My nurse checked me. I was at 4 cm and decided to order the epidural.

From this point, things are a little hazy to me due to concentrating so much on riding out each contraction. I know the contractions hurt. I know they were fast. I know that an entire bag of fluid was required to drip into me before I could get the epidural. I know Michael held my hand and was encouraging. That's about it. It was during this time that my nurse decided to turn off the Pitocin drip until after the epidural was administered to give my body a little break. My body had other plans...

Surprisingly, my labor didn't stop, or even slow down. It's like the Pitocin was the kickstart that my body needed to get labor started, and it completely took over from there. The Pitocin stayed off for good for the rest of my labor and delivery. Therefore, I didn't get that little "break" before the epidural was given. Unfortunately.

At 11:15 the anethesiologist arrived to give me the epidural. Mentally, I knew I only had to ride out the pain of contractions until the epidural, so I kept eyeing that fluid bag and doled out my measure of strength until I saw that man in the green scrubs wheel his little cart in my room. Relief would soon be mine, I was sure of it. Yet again, surprise, surprise.

The anesthesiologist explained the procedure while my nurse sat me up on the edge of the bed to get in position for him to insert the needle into my back. I barely remember any of this because the contractions were so forceful, and sitting up to lean over the side of the bed made them stronger. Much stronger. The epidural has to be administered during the peak of a contraction. I remembered from Maylin's birth that the pain of getting the epidural was inconsequential because it was dwarfed by the contraction, so I expected that to be the case this time, too. However, I knew the moment he stuck the needle in my spine, and I knew immediately that something was wrong. My right leg gave a violent, involuntary kick, like it had been hit by that little hammer on the kneecap, and a shocking jolt went through the right side of my body, almost electrifying. I must've cried out or said something, or maybe our nurse did, because the needle was pulled out leaving only the sensation of a contraction. The anesthesiologist apologized, said something about "missing the spot" and being a little "too far to the right." {Ya think??} He would have to start the whole procedure over. We had to wait until the next contraction, and this time, thank goodness, there wasn't an issue. I was told to lie back flat so the epidural could work its way to the lower half of my body, which would take several minutes.

As soon as I lay back, I felt tremendous pressure, like the biggest contraction I'd had yet, and it didn't go away. I breathlessly told my nurse that I didn't think the epidural was working, I could feel so much pressure. "You mean, you feel like you have to push?" she asked. "I don't know!" I almost yelled at her. I realize this is my second time to give birth, but I still felt pretty clueless. She quickly decided to check me, and I could tell by the sensation and the look on her face that, yes, it was indeed time to push. She looked at me and said quite calmly {to her credit}, "You're complete. Time to push. We're about to have a baby." 

It was 11:40. I'd dilated 6 centimeters in the space of an hour. With no pitocin. While getting an epidural.

At this point, to say I freaked out would be putting it mildly. Panic is more the correct term. Mentally, I absolutely was not prepared to be at the delivery stage of labor so soon. I had expected at least another couple of hours after the epidural was given, especially since usually labor is slowed by an epidural. I expected a couple hours of slight sensation from contractions while catching my breath. I expected to be energized and perky with renewed vigor. And nope. That wasn't happening at this point.

It was time to push, and the epidural hadn't kicked in yet. In addition, my nurse explained very calmly during the waves of pain, it was highly unlikely that the epidural would have time to work before delivery, especially due to the fact I'd be sitting upright in pushing position instead of lying flat, which is needed for the epidural to spread to the lower half of the body. I immediately wanted to cry, not from excitement that we were about to meet our baby {like I did with Maylin}, or even from the pain, but because I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to get through the pain to push the baby out. "I'm not sure I can do this! This hurts so bad!" was all I could say over and over. 

Y'all. It hurt. I can't reitterate that enough. I've read numerous accounts from women claiming childbirth for them was "a spiritural experience," with dark rooms and soft music and lots of meditation and suddenly they have a baby and they're not even sure if the contractions were painful because they were "in the zone." Ha, ha, ha, ha, HA! So NOT the case! I'm lucky my nurse and Michael were there to calm me down because literally I was in way over my head with the whole pain management and breathing thing. I had carefully mentally measured out my strength until the epidural came, and when it didn't have time to work, it's like I'd used all the strength I'd mentally prepared to use. I didn't think I had anymore. Cue wide-eyed, breathless panic.

Meanwhile, while I was panicking, the room was transforming from a calm, quiet, labor room into a fully functional delivery room, complete with scurrying nurses, beaming spotlights, tables of instruments, and a nursery nurse standing in the corner with her little cart waiting to bathe and weigh the baby. My doctor was paged. My legs were put into stirrups. My bed was raised. Pain or not, it was go-time.

My nurse was right in my face the whole time, breathing with me through each contraction, helping me get into a rhythm. After a few contractions the pain was manageable, but I was still doubtful I could push through it. My nurse ordered a bolster {I think I'm remembering that word correctly}, basically a local numbing anesthetic administered to a specific area, which would work quickly to numb the, ahem, "lady parts" in preparation for pushing. I've found that it helps me during delivery to see my progress, so I had a mirror brought into the room. And just like that, in a matter of minutes, my nurse was counting 10, 9, 8, 7.... and I was bearing down with all my leftover strength, pushing through the contraction, breathing out long and steadily, gripping the bars on the bed, and locking eyes with my man for extra support. I remember when I birthed Maylin my doctor's calm, low voice telling me to pushpushpushpushpush. He didn't have to say a word with Hartlie. She was coming whether I was pushing or not.

It's not every day you get to see something come from nothing, watch an empty void be filled with living, breathing, screaming life. A life that started as a whispered "what if..." between my man and me, that was created by the both of us and grew inside my body.  It's not every day you witness the fulfillment of a long awaited dream, the embodiment of an idea, a hope that was talked about, planned for, prayed over become a reality. I watched the crown of Hartlie's head appear, and nothing in all the world was so precious, so right, so perfect. Then, due to strength that barely registered in my mind, she was in the arms of my doctor, a dream become reality, a thought turned human.

When Hartlie came out, it's as if my entire world telescoped to that tiny baby girl. I heard nothing but the sound of her. I saw nothing but the color of her. Silent, wide-eyed, and purple. And a rock hit my stomach.

A million questions at once, "Is she okay?" 

"What's wrong with her?" 

"Why isn't she crying?" 

"Is she okay?" 

"Is she breathing?" 

"Why is she purple?" 

"Is she okay?

My doctor, so fast I barely registered what he was doing, suctioned mucus from her mouth and nose, rubbed her tiny back.

And then she cried.

And then I cried.

And then I held her, slick with fluid and blood, warm and writhing and wailing, right up against my chest as if I'd never let her go.

12:03 PM, June 3, 2014, my heart expanded to twice its size, letting in another soul to be knit to mine. Another, "Oh, hello, it's you; I've been waiting" moment of meeting.

Reluctantly, I gave her over to the nurse to have her Apgar score checked, not taking my eyes off her for a second, relishing in the sound of her teeny newborn cries. 6 pounds, 15 ounces, 19 1/2 inches, and badly bruised due to such a quick descent through the birth canal, bruising made worse due to traveling most of the birth canal while I was sitting up, leaning forward to get the epidural. Which was kicking in nicely now that the delivery was over. Fancy that.

And suddenly, where once were three, there are now four. Another life is wrapped up so tightly in mine that I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. It's as if I've flecked off portions of my heart, segments of my soul, watched as they've been given breath and form, and set them loose to flutter around outside my body, where they will at times be oblivious to me, but I never oblivious to them.

"Children are a gift of The Lord..." Psalm 127:3 

I couldn't be more convinced.

{Real Mom Life} Self Denial

Motherhood is one long college course in which I attend class all day, every day. Except rather than sitting in a desk dilligently taking notes in my pristine, unwrinkled notebook with my brand new gel pen that assists in creating the perfect curly-qs on my Ys, I'm hip deep in the messy, grungy middle of it all taking field notes in a damp, tattered journal with fly-away pages and a dull stub of a pencil with no eraser. In other words, though I'm learning daily, I'm barely hanging on by the seat of my pants and only just managing to digest and commit to memory what I've learned. 

My newest revelation has come from hard-won daily battles. I should rephrase that. Hard-fought daily battles. Not won. Never won. {When do parents start winning?} And the revelation is as follows:: 

If motherhood could be summed up in two words it would be this-- Self Denial.

Always, relentless, day in and day out, never stopping, never ending self denial. {Can I get an amen?}

It's been a hard lesson to learn. I've been resistant. Very resistant. I haven't wanted to accept this fact. I haven't wanted to have this realization. I haven't wanted to come to this conclusion. But it is real and it is true. Motherhood is drenched in self-denial.

There are many things that I want to do that I don't, or can't, or decide against. 

For example, the other weekend Michael came in from a weekend away canoeing. We'd been apart- he with his buddies, I enjoying a stay at my parents' home- and all I wanted was to spend the evening cuddled on the couch listening to stories about his adventures. I wanted uninterrupted alone time with my husband after a weekend away. What we got instead was a chaotic meal of reheated leftovers, a very loud, splashy bathtime, an exhausted toddler howling that she was exhausted, and a newborn wailing that she was hungry {again}. By the time Maylin was in bed and Hartlie had been nursed {again}, Michael and I were both flat on our backs on seperate couches barely able to keep our eyes open, let alone form coherent sentences used in the types of conversations that make up quality time. 

Last night, I wanted to soak in a warm, sudsy bath complete with fragrant bath salts, a good book, and that expensive goat's milk soap under my bathroom cabinet. But again, supper time, nurse time, bath time, story time, bed time, nurse time, pump time all kind of took priority. So I settled for a hasty shower in which I didn't shampoo my hair and bathed with Johnson and Johnson baby wash. 

I want to spend a good hour every morning at the gym chipping away at this baby weight. I want to get dressed before 10:00 AM in something other than a milk-stained t shirt. I want the time to vacuum the living room rug and fold a load of laundry before it wrinkles beyond the power of the dryer's "fluff" cycle. I want to sleep past 6:00 on the weekend, snuggled deep under the covers with my husband, never mind the uninterrupted night of sleep from the night before. I want a good, stout margarita. {With the expensive tequila, please and thank you.}

But, alas, none of those things are happening at this phase in my life. 

I'm not saying that I'll deny myself these things forever. It's just during this phase of my life, and my children's lives, there are certain things that take priority over what I want to do. When I became a parent it's like my wants and needs traded places with the wants and needs of another person. Instead of putting myself first, I automatically put my babies first. For the first time in my life I think of others more often than myself, even if sometimes it's with gritted teeth and a pounding head. {After typing those sentences I realized this probably should have started with marriage instead of with kids. Sorry, Michael! I do think this seflessness is carrying over into my relationship with my husband, and hopefully will continue to spread outward.}

Adapting to mom life is hard. I hadn't fully accepted my role as a mother before we discovered we were expecting Hartlie, so at times I feel as if I've been hit with a double-whammy. And putting aside what I want to do in leui of caring for my babies and making sure their needs are met has been one of the most difficult changes to come to terms with. Maybe it's not that hard for everybody, but for me it's been a struggle.

One thing I do know. I want to mother my girls and I want to do it well. I want to be present in their lives. I want them to feel emotional stability and security. I never want them to wonder if mom is listening, or if she cares, or if they're second place {with the exception of their father} to whatever it is I'm doing. For the short term, it may be inconvenient to "sacrifice" my long baths, uninterrupted reading {or blogging!} time, and a favorite adult beverage or two. But in the long term, I will look back upon these early years when my babies are still babies, and rather than seething over not getting to polish my nails while listening to Grant Terry, I'll fondly cherish the memory of Winnie-the-Pooh replaying {over and over and over} while tickling my toddler with one hand and cuddling a nursing babe with the other.

Motherhood is drenched in self-denial, yes. But it's also dripping with an indescribable sweetness.

Please don't misunderstand this post as a rant about not loving my children or not loving being a mom. You can read posts here, here, here, and here that prove otherwise. I'm merely documenting honest feelings. 

Also, it took me three days of single-handed finger pecking to type this post, in which I wrote during a toddler's dwindling naptime and a newborn's lengthening nursing session. Self-denial in it's purest form right here. 

{Sweet Hartlie} An Introduction

Hartlie Anne has been living and breathing and wriggling in our arms and warming our hearts for a little over a week, and I'm finally starting to feel the reality of having two children. Two daughters.

Not a day has gone by that I haven't marveled over Hartlie. I suppose I expected every baby of ours to be exactly like Maylin, probably because that's all I've known. {Of course, I should've known that no baby could be exactly like the personality that is Maylin.} I'm continually astounded by how different Hartlie is from what I expected. 

She is calm and serene. She is relaxed and content. She is not bothered by the noise of toddler screams or the constant pat pat of chubby toddler hands on her face, feet, back, belly. The ebb and flow of noise that surrounds the daily activities of our household have yet to interrupt her naps or distract her while she's nursing. 

Hartlie is a snuggler. The closer she can be to a warm body the happier she is, which leads to long nursing sessions for the two of us. Surprisingly, this hasn't bothered my mobile, independent, fiery Maylin a single bit. Occasionally Maylin will want to sit next to me while I'm nursing, but more often than not she's more interested in pounding the hardwood on newfound legs or packing and repacking the old diaper bag with blocks and miniature Winnie the Poohs. And Hartlie nurses on, one hand cupped by her cheek {which I find endearing because Maylin had that same habit} one hand on my chest, eyes closed and expression peaceful.

Since she's such a good nurser {Maylin and I struggled a great deal with breastfeeding}, Hartlie has been sleeping long stretches at night in the portable crib by our bed. I mean like, 3+ hour stretches of nighttime sleep. This is uncharted territory for me so early in the newborn stage because it was weeks and weeks before Maylin ever slept that long in a single stretch, be it day or night. I dreaded nighttime most when Maylin was in the early stages. When dusk started creeping in, I'd get a sick, queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach knowing that I was about to spend the entire dark night amidst fitful nursing sessions, unraveled swaddle blankets, and an almost hourly mewl from my Maylin, all by the light of a bedside lamp and accompanied by all the loneliness and uncertainty a first time mother feels in the wee hours of the mornings.

This time around has been different. Whether it's the difference in the personalities of my girls or the quasi-experience of a second time mom, I'm not quite sure. I've actually been going to sleep at the same time my husband goes to sleep. I'm getting decent stretches of uninterrupted sleep in between the few times Hartlie wants to nurse. I wake up when my alarm goes off at 5:00 feeling sufficiently rested and mentally prepared to face the day. I pull on my robe, brew my coffee, and sit down to pump with my Bible and a pen before the next nursing session around 6:00. It's amazing how much more ready I am to greet my days when I'm not dreading my nights.

Now that Hartlie is here, our family feels full to the brim. I mentioned this briefly on Instagram, but before Hartlie was born I was secretly fearful I wouldn't love her with the same intensity with which I love Maylin. How could I possibly love two people as fiercely as I love Maylin? Surely Hartlie would get the short stick. Surely my heart wasn't capable of it. 

Oh. But it is. 

To all the second-time-parents-to-be {and I have a hunch more than a few feel exaclty how I did}, you needen't be afraid of not having enough love to go around. My heart has expanded to twice its size, capable, willing, ready, and involuntarily loving both my children, my first and my second, with equal force.

Before Hartlie, when it was just the three of us, Michael, Maylin, and myself, our lives seemed complete. Our lives were complete at that time. But now with Hartlie here, it's like a layer we didn't know existed before has been added to our lives. A layer that makes everything more full, more joyful, more right.

We gave Hartlie the middle name of Anne for many reasons, not the least of which is its meaning: The Lord Has Favored Me.

Yes, little girl, your arrival is proof. The Lord has favored us indeed.