Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Exactly three months in and the little Bean laughs for the very first time, the single sweetest most magical little glimpse of heavenly cuteness I’ve ever encountered (just, gah!! So cute!!!), and poof! I’m beginning to forget. 

I’m forgetting all the initial horror of this lovely experience- the way you’re expected to care for a brand new vulnerable little life immediately upon the conclusion of the most ridonkulous experience you’ve ever endured. Nevermind that your entire body was just hit full-force by a semi, a very mean semi that targeted your ladyparts- It’s go time mama! 

I’m forgetting the weeks upon weeks of being so sleep deprived that every time she cries my eyes well up, not because I’m filled to the brim with motherly compassion, but because I am. SO. DANG. TIRED. So tired that I actually think I am going to die. I wonder how many times in the last three months I've thought to myself being this child’s mother is very literally going to end my life? I mean people say things like that, adults and moms are always saying things like that, but I had no idea that they meant it. 

Many many things did I not understand about the life of a mom before becoming a mom. And I am certain I hardly have a clue now. I feel like I’m slowly being inducted into this secret society of women who, seemingly operating outside of reason, choose (over and over again) squishy little baby cheeks, heavenly giggles, and soft sweet-smelling baby skin over the right to live a normal self-concerned sort of life. 

And by normal I mean one wherein personal hygiene, general physical appearance, and sanity are given priority, or heck at least a friendly nod from time to time. Last summer, I would have been buggin about the lack of tan on this pasty body of mine. We’re halfway through September, and I feel like I’m looking pretty fresh if I’ve changed out of my husband’s pajama pants (new hips require man-sized apparel), my pits don’t stink, and I’ve brushed my teeth in the last twenty-four hours. Oh and then there’s the five solid colored v-neck tees that account for the totality of my wardrobe. Sexy I know. 

But I am starting to get it- I mean baby laughter is pretty much crack for the soul. The laugh occurred early yesterday morning, whilst I was eating her scrumptious little chicken neck, and I have been relentlessly assaulting said baby neck in similar fashion ever since. Too much cuteness. Must have more. 

Life is so different. I haven’t thought about myself, like REALLY thought about myself in a really reallllllly long time. Not because I’m special or extra holy or anything, jus because I happen to for the first time in my life have zero time to waste on me. And it’s kind of a really awesome sort of blessing. Because now that the ucky transitional fog of new motherhood is beginning to lift it’s like I was accidentally (or not so accidentally) given a really sober picture of how screwy my priorities were before Babygirl. I’d always kind of thought, in typical christian girl fashion, I’m not SUCH a bad person. I mean, I could totally be worse right? And all of a sudden it’s like boom the lights are on and all I can see is how incredibly selfish I was before I was forcibly stripped of all opportunity to think or do for myself. Whoa, My Abba is so much better at loving me, so much more merciful than I even knew. I’m sure I’ll eek my way back toward being self-centered, I mean it’s kind of what us human-types do. But it’s been stinking cool (and more than a tiny bit painful) to get a glimpse of what it’d be like to really not think about myself, and the kind of freedom there must be in being so like Jesus, that your whole person, your very life, is up for ransom. Not taken from you, but given (Jn 10:18). Because you so LOVE the world (Jn 3:16). I hope He’s slowly making me into that kind of person. I mean I know He is. And partly through this tiny beautiful insanity-inducing gift that’s got a pretty firm grasp on my heart.

My Baby's Daddy

Maybe it’s that we just spent a whole weekend loving on our dear friends as they tied the knot, or maybe it’s that it’s fall again, but I feel like I have to write a shout-out post to the incredibly handsome guy who got me into this mess- my husband. This time last year I had finally exhausted every logical (and not so logical) argument- begging, pleading, guilting, and generally manipulating this boy who I totally love to get me pregnant! I said CRAZY things- things that a sane healthy adult would never say. I cried. A LOT. Because, as I tried to explain to my sweet husband, there was this person that I didn’t even know yet that I was aching to know, like a very real deep sick to my stomach sort of ache. How could he keep me from meeting this person?! From making this life?! Poor poor Matt. He was reasoning with pure madness. I was restless and desperate and hardly lucid: I had contracted a serious case of baby fever. Sounds absurd, but until it gets you, you have no idea how very tangibly it seems to infect your heart, complete with green-ooziness, and a very morbid sounding prognosis.

Not only did he willingly come home to my unpredictable emotional state every day, but he was patient and gentle and he didn’t even tell me that I was a complete whacko. He listened to me over and over again as I tried the same crazy rationalizations, the same selfish strategies, to get what I wanted (what I NEEDED!!) from him. The boy also gets major cool points because he didn’t let me wear him down. He kept loving me, even when I was mad at him and throwing a temper tantrum. He kept praying for me and with me about it, even though it was super weird because he was also telling me no.

So it was this time last year, as I was railing on my husband about how he was coming between me and a call that God placed on my life to be a mom (yeah, I fought pretty dirty), that God dealt with me, and my selfishness and my confusion. I had wrongly assumed that since God had given me this desire, He would fill it IMMEDIATELY, and I was mad at Matt and even God when I didn’t get what I wanted, when I wanted it. After about nine months of striving with Matt and with God, I said uncle. And in very gracious, “I totally deserve the opposite of this” God fashion, He let my sweet husband who had been praying and loving me and working with me in the midst of my insanity finally come to a place where he was really honestly ready to be a dad.

And now that he is our Sadie’s dad, he blows my mind like a million times a day. This is going to sound like an exaggeration, but having him with me in labor and those first two weeks at home with the baby, there were times he was so giving and selfless and just plain awesome that I literally would feel like I couldn’t be in better hands if Jesus himself were in the room (that would sound a bit sacrilegious, if you didn’t know that it was Jesus being reflected in my wonderful husband, because seriously there was no way he could have loved both his ladies that perfectly and beautifully all on his own). I remember being completely delirious after an all-night feeding frenzy, completely overwhelmed by this tiny new person who was so dependent on me, and he would be so kind in the way he served me or talked with me that I would be totally stunned, and think how in the world did this wonderful, handsome, loving man of God end up choosing someone like me?! and forever no less! Totally unbelievable.

The craziest piece of this awesome gift is that it’s not like he didn’t know what he was getting into. Matt got a front-row seat to my ridiculous over-dramatic teenage version in all of its embarrassing glory, and he never chose to bail. It’s crazy to think that there was a time when he was just a guy in my freshman computer class that I really liked, who happened to be incredibly gorgeous and pretty into me too. 

And now he is the one person I would trust with my life, the single safest place in my world, and the perfect ending to a really bad day. Feeling crazy blessed to be his wife today.

A Good Day

So today was an AWESOME day. In fact, today AND yesterday were both awesome days with the munchkin. I know, I should probably keep it down because she’s likely to hear me, laugh a very naughty diabolical sort of baby laugh, and start to pull out the crazy on me. But really she has been so freakin’ sweet and cute I can hardly stand it!! Like who would have ever thought I’d be looking forward to (what’s been recently dubbed) “snuggly morning time” with the nutty little peanut, who insists that at 7 am (and apparently 6:15 this morning) her bassinet is henceforth completely unacceptable, and thus she must sleep not just with me, but ON me? I know, totally weird. These last two days she has been absolutely hilarious! Like her little personality just broke through the one-track-mind neediness that is infancy, so now I’ve got this cute tiny person to share my day with. And to top it off it’s been like magical no-humidity gorgeous heavenly perfection outside (that’s right all of those lovely adjectives at the very same time.) Can’t you just feel the uncanny level of cheeriness going on over here? I seriously wish I could just bottle up these last couple of days and hit repeat on them until the end of time.

And what’s totally weird is that things haven’t been perfect or even easy. Babygirl’s been teething and so she’s having a hard time nursing, which has meant lots of popping off the boob to wail at the sky in a very melodramatic sort of way, or just kind of looking at me with this horribly pathetic pout like “why mom, why?!”- teething is just plain unfair.

So then what was so good about it? (I mean other than her extreme level of cuteness, and the insanely perfect weather). For one thing, getting something done, ANYTHING other than sitting and holding the baby, nursing the baby, pacing with the baby, rocking the baby, standing whilst nursing the baby… anything else is a huge exciting accomplishment that totally cheers me up, and I have done real live things that needed doing a few times this week!!

But what’s really been different is that (by the miraculous grace of a very good God), I actually let myself off the hook. Shock of all shocks! 

When I stop walking around like all of the Babybean’s happiness is completely dependent on me, I actually enjoy pieces of my day- which translates into having a “good” day. 

When I stop looking at her like she’s a very inconvenient non-formulaic little nutball that makes every single plan I have go to pot the second her little eyes pop open, I actually enjoy her. And weirdly enough, when I’m free to enjoy her, I actually get something done along the way.

In a weird (word of the day I guess) sort of round-about way I feel like it all has to do with forgiveness. 

If I can just forgive myself for not being able to keep the child from all pain and unpleasantness than I enjoy being with her. 

If I can forgive the munchkin for being unpleasant at various points during the day and thus making me feel bad about myself as a mom, then I can enjoy being with her.  

Yes, my perfectionism IS showing.

We’re together, her and I, permanently assigned to this crazy new mama/baby relationship that is totally foreign to both of us, and like all relationships, intrinsically messy. But relationship is good. Some days hellish, some days cheery, but always good. And even better when it's bathed in GRACE. Here's hoping I remember that tomorrow!

Oh Joy

Today was a less-than-dreamy, oh-good-lord-how-are-we-supposed-to-go-on-like-this sort of day. And before you go all “oh hang in there! it’ll get better!” on me in your sweetest most consoling voice, let me just say that I KNOW. And you know what, it doesn’t change the fact that today was just not any fun. Not fun for baby. Not fun for me. I’m trying to keep it real here people.

What was it that slowly robbed me of that motherly joy I’m “supposed” to experience every waking moment that I am honored to spend with my baby? (which by the way, if my sarcasm didn’t just accomplish my expression of it, then let me be frank - is a completely INSANE expectation to put on a woman, because really people, moms have bad days too, even when they’re staring right in the of face of a freakin’ squishy little angel. This does not mean that said-angel is less squishy or less angelic, just that mom is indeed a human being.)…

I should probably just remove the parentheses around that last statement because I feel like this post is steadily becoming a raging rant against the grandiose amount of guilt I feel about having a bad day. COMPLETELY uncool that when people ask how it’s going I feel like I have to say things like “oh I’m enjoying every second of her sweet little life” or oblige their reminiscent bliss rather than express the truth of what this experience has been like:

Beautiful, awe-inspiring, the most insane all-consuming kind of love AND ridiculous, draining, impossibly hard self-denial.

Actually, let’s just leave it there. Guilt is evil! I won’t spend anymore time tonight (this morning?) humoring it, and worrying about very Christian-y things like being “robbed of my joy.”

So the life and light and truth I need right now is this: Jesus loves me in my joylessness. He sees my love for my baby, my dying to myself even if/especially when it’s not fun. I don’t have to clean it up and act like it is super-duper fulfilling or play the martyr and “whoa is me” all day to make it meaningful. He sees me. He gets me. Yeah, he could restore my joy if I let him, but the pressure to “do better” in that phrase alone is enough to make me squirm. And anyway, just being reminded of His with-me-ness makes the “blah” days of mommy-hood a whole lot more bearable. I’m so not into doing the impossibly hard alone (at all honestly). But Jesus? He’s pretty good at that kind of thing. And I am certainly not going to arm-wrestle with him over who can handle this baby. Go for it, Lord. Show me how it’s done.

A Crazy, Sorta Scary Kind of Love

I have come to a disturbing realization this afternoon. Brace yourselves:  I believe that my baby is the single most beautiful little person ever created. She has the softest cheeks, the sweetest most joy-filled gummy smile, the brightest blue eyes, etcetera, etc. 

You laugh. But I am completely 100% serious, which is the terrifying bit. 

An outsider can see how insane this sounds, how insane it actually IS. How logically speaking, of the billions of humans to ever enter this crazy world in all their infantile cuteness, there has most likely been, and will most likely be again, at least one baby who may be considered cuter than my Babygirl by the public at large. Those that are really intellectual may even present to me the argument that beauty is a culturally defined concept, one that has been restructured over and over again by various communities over the course of time, and thus beauty is scientifically, methodically, and actually in the eye of the beholder (note how I made that sound very important, official, and accurate.)

I hear this, I really do. But I just don’t care. They’re wrong. I believe with the entirety of my being that my little baby is quite actually perfectly beautiful. No, the most perfectly beautiful. That’s right - more perfectly beautiful than your baby. 

I know that last bit was offensive, but you know what’s more offensive: I mean it! So what to make of it? 

Have I hopped the crazy-train to that blind uncritical sort of love that mother’s of axe murderers seem to profess on every other episode of CSI? Am I on the fast track to becoming one of those whacko moms whose kid is obviously the most wretched child that ever walked, but who insists that her baby-angel is just a tender spirit who is totally misunderstood? Maybe. Only time will tell.

Or could it be that she is perfectly beautiful to me and me alone, that I could use every superlative out there to describe her little forming self because she is mine. 

And because she is mine, it doesn’t matter that I’m technically wrong. 

It doesn’t matter that her only expression of physical affection is to look at me like I’m a boob sandwich, because she’s mine. 

It doesn’t matter that she’s incredibly un-ladylike, giggling and smiling when she poops or toots, usually in my lap, because she’s mine. 

It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know any words yet and can’t express herself via an intricate vocabulary (although man does the girl try!), because she’s mine.

She is imperfect. 

She is in progress. 

She is a little tiny sinner. 

BUT she is mine. 

And so I claim her perfection to be truth. I cover her places of lacking and her failures with the truth of my love for her. It doesn’t matter who she is in reality, because WHOSE she is, is also a reality. 

And I can’t help but see my Abba in all of it. In this blind sort of love that sounds really dangerous, so incredibly uncouth. I mean you can’t just go around sayings things are what they are not?! That’s just crazy!! But He is SO like that! And praise God that that’s exactly what He does. That’s exactly how big His love is. It is indiscriminate. It looks like madness. It says to the adulterer, and the rebel, and the thief, “you are clean, you are perfect, you are loved- Because you are Mine.”

See: 1 Cor 1:26-31, Rom 7:14-8:1, Rom 8: 14-17, did I say Rom 8:1 (heck, just all of Romans 7 & 8!!)

Bearing with the Very Small

Sweet Sadie has been here almost two months, and I am still kind of skimming the surface of what this new life as a mommy means for me, sometimes embracing it. But mostly shooing away the change, and making it through each day as if tomorrow I will wake up and have what I now refer to as “freedom” again. 

What I mean is, I’m stalling. 

I’m hanging out with the baby bean and dealing with her belly gas frustrations, her hiccups, her hunger pangs, her over-tiredness (like all day everyday) moment by moment, but never really stepping back into what was my life with her in tow. I don’t know that that’s wrong because she’s super needy right now and I don’t want to exasperate the tiny one, but I imagined this part of her life so differently. I thought we’d be out shopping together and I’d look down at her little smiley face from time to time and be refreshed by her existence, not plum tired from the sheer number of minutes passing by as she gets increasingly more tired and more inconsolable. Not bouncing and burping and soothing and holding and nursing until “holy crap the sun is setting” and I haven’t even brushed my teeth. 

Weird how expectations can ruin a thing. Almost. And then there’s the women who have gone before me standing in the sidelines full of mushy memories of how glorious this time was with their own sweet babies now grown and not so squishy cute. Really?! 

The truth is I am enjoying her, but I am also so eager to get back to normal life that I am spending so much of my day frustrated with my lack of progress- when really, the progress is in the baby in front of me. She is getting plump and learning to laugh and what it means to love, just because I hang out with her all day and try to comfort her and figure her out. 

I need to remember that it’s the being with her that is the best work I could be doing with this day, with this moment. 

Glued to the sofa for the umpteenth time this week just so she’ll FINALLY take a full two hour nap, I am pleading with God to make these truths more real to me than the urge to go about my life. Because yeah it’s true that one day she’ll be big and I’ll miss being able to hold her yada yada… but really- one day, she’ll be big. And something will be different in that big person because when she was a little person her mom conceded to her pleas to sit and suckle for hours on end, and tried to love her (tried!) through all the unpleasant gas bubbles, and every un-restful day she had. 

There’s something to just being with a person, even a very small person, that really can change things. That’s why the King of the Universe stoops low each morning to bring us brand new mercies, to hear our complaints, and to be with us in our frustrations and failures. That’s what Love looks like. He’s present with the very small.

Someone's In There

(thoughts from Feb. 25, 2012)

Tiny Beautiful is getting much stronger. And though I could hardly wait to feel her wiggling around inside of me, I was wholly unprepared for the left hook she took to my bellybutton  last night. The force of it knocked my hand from its resting place on the sweet girl in my tummy, and my mind into a realization of what she is, of who she is. 

We have made an individual- a separate squirmy little alien identity that is just now residing in my tummy, but will not do so forever. 

She has been given to me to house for now, but she will be her own one day. 

She is at the same time my sweet baby and a little woman with muscles and force and, one day, choices all her own. 

This may sound like a string of the most obvious truths about creating a new life, a new person, but the experience of it, of her tiny fist making an impression on the inside of my belly totally rocked me. There is a person in there. I will sustain her for a time. I will call her mine. But she will also be her own. 

Am I okay with that? 

Last night I felt this twinge of fear accompany that thwack to my insides. She isn’t me, but she is in me. That could be mad disorienting! I don’t want to rob this little person of her autonomy, her identity, her right to be a uniquely crafted individual with her own talents and struggles and journey. But it is strange to be given responsibility, to be given authority for a time, over a tiny being, seemingly a piece of myself, that I cannot control. Even more that I should not control! 

Ha, oh Lord how must You feel?!

If I love her, truly want her to experience my love for her, I will let her live. Lord, help me let this little girl live! Let her breathe and run and fight for her passions, and find You in her own way, in her own time. Jesus, give me the wisdom to bless this baby with the kind of love and grace that You offer each of Your children. Big love, Big grace. The kind that selflessly lets us rail against You until we get it. The kind that holds us close when we’re hurting even when our own choices have led us to the pain. Let me lay aside my desire to control (often guised in those pretty clothes “protection”), my fears for my tiny daughter, even now. Teach me. Even now Lord.