Babies don't keep

I am struck with gratitude this morning. I am tired, I am worn out, and I am grateful. I get to hold my sweet babies. I get to watch my babies grow. I get to see Lily ride her bike, and watch Samuel nurse and begin to smile.

Some other parents are right now letting go of their children, giving them up to heaven. They are holding their child's hand, whispering words, sitting silent. They are crying, weeping. They are praying. I cannot imagine.

So many times I get caught up in the stress of my day. I look past the sweet moments and see the piles of laundry. I miss the chance to hug, kiss, cuddle...because I am too busy. I am not in the moment as often as I should be. I am, instead, making lists in my head of what I should be doing.

Truth be told, what I should be doing is loving my babies. I should be taking every opportunity to kiss and cuddle and read books and play play-dough and talk and laugh. I should stop getting caught up in what is not getting done, and focus on what I CAN do, right now, in this moment.

I found a blog yesterday. It is heartbreaking and beautiful. It made me think. It made me cry. And most of all, it made me make the decision to be in the moment, right now, with my children.

Dust can wait. Laundry can pile up. E-mail can go unanswered. One day my children will not want to spend time with me. They will not want to be picked up or read to. They will want me to fade into the background.

So today, I will not rush. I will not spend each moment of a feeding with Samuel thinking about what I could be getting done. I will not rush through a book with Lily so I can return a phone call. I will love, and pay attention, and give, and let the mundane details of life wait.

Hug your babies today. Love them, and SEE them. Do it for those parents who cannot.

Fly high, sweet baby Layla.

http://laylagrace.org/?p=392

The walk

Lots to say. Lots of thoughts and feelings to convey. But the words are a bit lost, buried beneath the busy-ness. Thoughts get swept away with the crumbs of lunch, deep meaningful conversations are given up to sleep. We are living life in the moment here, in our little house. We are getting through it all second by second.

It occured to me that I hadn't spoken to God in nearly a week. All of my words and thoughts and time go to my two little people. There is not much left for anyone else, and God has gotten lost in the shuffle. So last night as I sat up nursing Samuel, I apologized to Him. I got a bit teary eyed- I miss those times of silence and peace and the give and take of love. But then I looked down at Samuel, and it was as if God had spoken directly to my soul- with every moment of care, every kiss and cuddle and diaper change, I am worshiping my Savior. With every moment I put Lily's needs before my own, every time I struggle with how to give her all the attention she needs, with every time I hold her and rock her and make sure she is happy, I am doing God's work.

He put me here to mother. He created me to carry these babies. I was born to raise these children, and right now, at this moment, I am fufilling a destiny He created for me.

What we do as moms is not glamorous. It is thankless at times. It is tough. It is busy. It leaves little time for ourselves. But it is so sacred. It is beautiful. We are creating a little bit of heaven here on earth- a place of peace, of love, of acceptance and affection. We are the face of God for our children.

So I am walking this line right now. The one where I can do it all, and where I cannot. I have cried many times these past weeks, and laughed and felt more joy than ever before. But I know with every step, God is with me. He is helping me to see the divine in the mundane, to create love and laughter and memories, and to give more of myself when I feel there is nothing left. He is opening me, teaching me. And He is inviting me to lean deeper into Him, to draw strength from Him. He is asking me to love more, yell less, look deeper, give more, speak less and listen more. He is inviting me into a deeper walk with Him, just by mothering my babies.

And I am listening, and loving, and finally living the life He intended me to.

2 weeks

He is perfect. His hands are beautiful, the fingers long and almost elegant. His hair is dark and full, his face exactly as I saw it when I dreamed of him. He is sweet, and sleepy, and loves his milk and snuggles.

Today my son is 2 weeks old.

I want to write that I was head over heels in love with him the first moment I saw him...but that would be a lie. I was terrified as the room filled with people, as they worked on him. I was in pain. And then I was...angry. Angry that I did not get to hold him right away, that his first feeding was formula, that I was hurting so damn badly.

In the hospital I was drugged. When I came home, I was focused on Lily and holding it together. My in-laws were here. I was trying to find a way around the physical pain, trying to recover. I held him, and I fed him, and I changed him, but in an odd way, I barely noticed him.

I felt guilty, because when I had Lily, I looked into her eyes, and I KNEW her. I had been waiting forever for her. And there she was, and I was lightning struck and in love within moments. I gazed at her for hours. Nothing kept my focus from her.

I wondered if I would ever feel that with Samuel. I waited for it.

And then...he opened his eyes the other night after his feeding. And he looked up at me. The world abruptly fell off a cliff as I stared into his eyes. I got chills as I whispered "Oh, THERE you are." He just looked up at me, and he knew me as well. It was a most sacred moment in the quiet. It was not lightning, it was not as bold or as breathless as I had with Lily, but it was exquisite.

So here we are, a family of four. We have spent the last week here at home, snuggling, playing, learning our new dynamic. I have spent it adjusting to being a mommy of 2. There has been very little sleep and some tears from all of us. But the moments I watch Lily kiss her brothers cheek, when I watch Mark take on the role of daddy again, changing diapers expertly, making bottles, rocking the baby, playing with Lily, I am so proud of who we are and how we have grown together. Samuel is the last piece of the puzzle, the one who makes the home complete.

And now I cannot stop gazing at him, tracing his fingers with mine. I cannot keep my lips from his forehead or my fingers from his hair. And I cannot help but feel my heart swelling as I look at his perfect face. I am utterly and totally in love with my son, the one I have waited for and longed for and prayed for.

A year away

The heartbeat was stilled, the soul gone. But he still is with is, and lives in us, forever.

Joshua, you will never be far from me. I love you. Someday...

And just like that...

Today was a good day. Manageable. Happy. I am sitting now with a sweet baby girl sleeping in her room, a baby boy sleeping on his daddy, and my laptop next to a warm cup of decaf.

Today was calm. I got out and a bout a bit, I got a great nap, and I prayed...alot.

I came to realize last night that I do not have to go about this on my own. I do not have to answer "I am fine." and put on a happy face when I don't feel it. I can ask for help. It is more courageous to do so than to not. It is not weakness to admit you can't do it all.

And I can't do it all. And that's okay.

My house is dusty. It is not picked up. Dishes are in the sink and flowers sit rotting in their vases. Trash cans are overflowing. But my baby girl laughed all day. She danced and sang. My boy slept all day while his sister danced around him. We all got out and got sunshine on our faces.

So this, for now, is what I can do. I can feed my boy and hold my girl. And I can throw a load of laundry in and scramble some eggs. And I can get through each moment knowing that if my kiddos are happy, warm, fed, and loved, my job is done. Everything else is icing.

I promise you one thing. I will never be less than honest here. It would be tough for me to admit if you asked me in person that I am struggling, but here is different. And if you struggled or are struggling, tell me. Be honest with me too. I know I can't be the only one. And I also know we are "supposed" to be fine. We are supposed to be so suffused with joy at the birth of a child that we cannot say anything negative.

But you know what? Joy in the first few days is fleeting. There are moments of intense beauty, but also sleeplessness and weepiness and insecurity.

So day 10 has come and gone. And I am trying to focus on blessings and what I CAN do rather than what I can't.

Here's to more days like this one.

In the mist

I am not myself these days. I can feel the disconnect from the rest of the world, a free floating feeling that takes over. My world has shrunk to my home and my family and my children. I am here, looking out. And it is as it is for every other mother in the world when they bring their second home, but I didn't know it would be this hard.

I am weepy from hormones. I have tracks along my arms from the countless IV sticks they gave me in the hospital. I am bruised and in pain. My back, shoulders and side hurt. It hurts to sit and it hurts to move. My breasts are full and aching and they bleed and split.

When I was in the hospital being induced, I spent the night alone. Mark had gone home to be with Lily. The room was quiet. The nurse came and went nearly silently as I sat and watched TV. I felt myself pulling away from the world, preparing myself for this new time in my life when I will not be as carefree. When I will be more tied down, busy and frazzled. I spent the night alternately crying and rubbing my belly. It was lonely...but it was also a freedom I hadn't had for nearly three years.

I had no idea that the first few days would be like this. I didn't know what to expect, really. I am happy holding my precious son, I am sad watching Lily adjust to this new life. She is my best friend and buddy and I feel as if I have betrayed her in a way. There is a polar opposite dynamic in almost all I do right now, and I am trying to find the balance.

Lily will be okay. She is loving and nurturing and smart. Samuel's needs are easy. But I am wondering if I will ever not be torn between the two and what is best or at the very least, what is not the worst. Am I making sense?

This past month has been a time of upheavals in our home. Mark has a new position which means less travel, but also less flexibility to help me when I need it. His hours are now much more rigid. Our home is on the market. And now a new baby.

I know I am supposed to get on here and tell you how dreamy this all is. But you know what? I can't. I won't pretend. This is not terrible, but it is difficult. I want to be everything to everyone, and it's just.not.possible. In the least. Somebody, for now, will always come up short. Whether it's Lily not getting to go to the park on a beautiful day, or Samuel not getting a bath everyday, there is going to be constant compromise. With Lily I could give 100% everyday. With two, I can only give 50%.

This is like moving through fog, through mist. It's figuring out what life looks like through a veil. There is such love and devotion here, but there is also frustration and sadness that I cannot give all to them both.

Nine days ago our family changed, grew, and became complete. I have never felt more love or more of my soul opening than now at this moment. God is stretching me, moving me to a place where I can grow as a mother and as a person. He is allowing me these feeling of inadequacy and confusion so that I can move to greater clarity. I have no doubt that life will turn, as it always does, and that things will fall into place as they always do. But I cannot say right now that it is easy. It is sacred and beautiful and exhausting and humbling. But it is mine. It is my experience, and my family, and my sweet little girl and my strong son. And together we will figure it all out.

A new day

Friday began like any other day. But by 4:30, I was being admitted into the hospital to be induced. I was thrilled.

On Sat morning at 8:30, they began pitocin and I walked the halls. I walked myself to 3 cm within an hour and then returned to bed.

My OB predicted that when I dialated, it was going to be quick and suggested pain medication earlier than later. So by 4 CM and 10:30, I was receiving an epidural.

From the start the epi went badly. The needle hit a vein and my leg literally felt like it would explode. Once it was placed, however, and the pain meds administered, I felt wonderful. Euphoric. Sleepy. Happy. This lasted about 1 hour. Then feeling started slipping back. I could feel how sore my calves were. I could feel the contractions coming back. I could feel the tightening in my lower back, the slipping of the baby into place.

I sat up and discovered that the epi had slipped out. I had been receiving no medication for nearly 2 hours. They reconnected it and gave me a bolus of more pain meds, but it had already failed. There was no getting ahead of the pain.

From that point onward I felt everything, except for a 1 hour window after they gave me a 1/2 c-section dose of lidocaine.

I hit 9 1/2 cm at 8 PM. I wanted to push. They refused. I was feeling everything, and the pressure was the most intense thing I had EVER known. My world shrank to the pain only. In the end, I was simply sitting indian style, moaning and screaming and rocking until they agreed to let me push. This went on for nearly 3 hours.

There was hardly time for the doctor to get into the room. It felt so good to push that even when they told me to stop I couldn't. Samuel was born at 11:12 PM, after only a few hard contractions. The cord was around his neck.

I watched as the baby nurse worked on him, as people piled into the room. As the NICU team showed up. Their voices were hushed and their faces unreadable. I went from relief that it was over to terror as he didn't cry. 5 minutes passed, then 10. Mark went from Samuel to me, and at one point, everyone left my side to go to the baby. Those 2 minutes were easily the scariest of my life.

Suddenly, a cry. Small and wimpy and full of fluid. Then another, then suction. One by one, people left the room. My doc came back to me and began joking and smiling. I watched them as they kept working on the baby, but it was no longer with frantic precision, but with purpose. He was breathing, but shocked by the quick birth. His face was a mass of bruising. His blood sugars were low. I watched with a heavy heart as my precious baby's first feeding was administered- glucose and formula to boost his sugars.

I would like to tell you that when I held him for the first time, there was a chorus of angels. That the heavens opened and I fell in love. But that would not be true. The pain overrode everything, the intense after contractions in my back were like lightining. My blood sugar plummeted, and I was so pale and shaky Mark had to feed me.

They took me to the mother/baby wing. I was told that the baby would need to be in the nursery for the night because of his sugars and slow start. To tell you the truth, I was relieved. I took vicodin, Mark left, and I fell asleep.

I woke at 6 AM. The hall was quiet. I couldn't get out of bed, so I watched the sun come up through the shutters. And then, finally, like a wave it hit me. I have a boy. I have a son. And I NEED him. I have to get to him. I called the nurse and was told he had an incident in the night, turning dusky and needing suction and close supervision. He couldn't come to me.

I could have lain there and cried. I could have waited. But I didn't. I got up. It took an easy 10 minutes to make it to the bathroom. It took forever just to put on clean underwear. My leg was numb, but I slipped my feet into slippers and walked to the nursery. I held the handrail. I took one step at a time. But I made it.

When I saw my boy, my whole world shifted. I could not stop smiling. I sat in the rocker and put him to my breast. Without a moments hesitation, he latched on. His eyes were closed, but his little hand reached and laid on my breast. I have never felt such joy. All of the agony of my body faded.

His little head is covered in fine black hair. His eyes are gray. His feet and hands are perfect. His ears and nose are his father's. I looked him over again and again. My little boy, so hoped for and so loved, is here.

Recovery has been difficult this time. I lost alot of blood and have been very tired and a little lost. I am striking the balance between one child and the other, and it is difficult. But I am utterly in love with my family. It is perfect and complete.

And my little boy? The one I carried and wrote of and longed for and expected- he is perfect and a joy.

I am blessed. I am fufilled. And God is great and good.