"Your voice becomes your child's inner voice" are most definitely wise words to take to heart. I think the phrase should be modified slightly to "Your words directly to your child, what they overhear, and what you model in your life becomes their inner voice."
It always happens to me at a gathering outside of my closest friends. A couple of women are talking, sometimes idle chatter or polite small talk, sometimes about something interesting. Then the conversation takes a sharp left turn into the newest diet/how much weight so and so lost/how fat someone feels/ those five pounds they gain. My eyes instantly glaze over. I don't think anything ruins a meal for me more than when someone talks the whole time about how much calories are in it and whether they "deserve" to eat it or not based on what else they've eaten that day.
I grew up around this chatter and learned it well. Something in my brain absorbed in my surroundings this constant talk of "right" food, talking about the losing ten pounds, opening conversation with how someone looks like they lost weight - are the ways women talk to other women.
It's imprisoned me for years, made me feel self conscious and worst of all, subconsciously sabotaged deeper conversations that I could be having.
Those of you who know me in person know that I'm overweight. It started as an antidote to the crazed, navel-gazing vanity that consumed my life for years and turned into a lifelong battle of wearing life's wounds on the outside of my body. I'm working on it. And by that, I mean the root problems, not just the calories.
Meanwhile, my daughters are learning what it means to be a woman from me and the other women that they see regularly - their grandmothers, aunts, my closest friends. Whether we all are willing to take on the task of being examples to emulate, it's ours anyway. And I don't want me daughters obsessing about five pounds and thigh gaps when they are nine years old. Or ever, really.
I have great friends now who rarely talk about size. Books on our reading lists, recipes, faith, our interior lives, marriage, community, our children - these are normal topics of conversation. Years and years of healing have brought me to these full, rich friendships. It's jarring for me to overhear other women's conversations and how the diet/exercise/personal appearance topic is in such high rotation.
Ladies, listen to me.
It's not unfeminine to be hungry.
It's not unwomanly to eat food to satisfaction.
It's not a mark of being female to be obsessive about food intake, thigh gaps, exercise, etc, etc.
I'm not saying I want my girls to be overweight. I'm saying I don't want them, at any weight, even their ideal weight, to struggle with the pathological thought that food and one's size must be obsessed and hyper analyzed until they are reduced to vain shells of who they used to be. Because I've been there. It's a terrible, hellish wasteland.
Looking at the Christian faith, much points to the fact that the body is good. Christ came in human form. The death of the body. The resurrection of the body. Hundreds of years ago, heresies were refuted that said that the body was bad or inconsequential. The body is a great thing. It brings life.
I recently got to see a dear college friend who is now a Carmelite sister. She was gushing over our girls and remarking how well we seemed to be doing. She kept repeating to me how good we seemed and how happy I seemed. I knew what she meant. I was kind of a mess and a not very peaceful person when we were friends. At one point in my life, I desperately longed for a vocation to religious life. But I can see my friend now and see why her vocation is right for her and mine is most definitely right for me.
Marriage and motherhood has peeled back my ugliest layers of selfishness and pain. It has made my mind and body ripe for healing. Marriage and motherhood - completely giving my saggy, embarrassing, stretch-marked body to my family in every way that marriage requires -has redeemed it. Seeing my two amazing girls and knowing that my body grew their bodies, birthed their bodies, nourished their bodies has been my resurrection. I am grateful God knew me so intimately that He knew that the way I could heal and redeem the wounds of my body in such a specific, excruciating way could not be realized in religious life. I understand his big, clear NO when I asked him if He might call me to be a nun. Because for me, this is far more redeeming.
As for their views of their bodies, these spunky almost 2 and 3.5 year olds couldn't be prouder. Evie loves when her hair is down and flowing and crazy (she told me it makes her feel beautiful). She thinks the hair on her legs helps her breathe. Jo is proud of her climbing skills (and practices often) and rejoices over each body part as she learns to say its name. They're proud of their strength and flexibility. They have hearty appetites and love to pick vegetables straight from the garden into their mouths.
And I have a lot to learn from them.
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Friday, May 30, 2014
Comparison is the thief
One of my favorite quotes is by Theodore Roosevelt: "Comparison is the thief of joy." It's taken me too many wasted years to realize that comparison is also the thief of holiness.
From as far back as I can remember through the beginning of my married life, I have zeroed in on people, especially other females, who seemed to have that special "thing". I wasn't always sure what it was - peace, maybe? In tune with the Creator and their life's purpose? Whatever it was, it was beautiful and I wanted it.
I have a few stories to share on this that might resonate with you. They are still embarrassing for me to recall, but also helpful for me to remember in trying to be more grounded in who I'm called to be.
I can remember as far back as being a young child in a children's prayer group. There was another young girl, about my age, who was a little homely and shy, but she seemed to have "it". As evidenced by the fact that I can only remember her as "homely" and was slightly jealous of that thing she had, I obviously was far from possessing whatever it was that made her that way.
The summer before college, my fervent prayer was for just one or two great friendships with other women. I knew I needed a support system incredibly badly. I was blessed with an entire community (so, like 20 or so more friendships than I prayed for, plus lots of inspiring acquaintances) of wonderful, genuine, unconditionally loving young women, many of whom I am still friends with today. The unconditional love towards me and the general living of their lives was healing, inspirational and motivating for me to grow in my emotional and spiritual lives. I took away many gems from their words and examples that have helped form the person I am today.
Yet, I still fell into the trap of trying to imitate the specific practices and traits of one of these fabulous ladies I perceived as having a close relationship with God.
Susie seems like she has it spiritually together and she prayers the Liturgy of the Hours, so I'll try that.
Oh, Mary Beth, comes across so centered and wise with her composed face and soft spoken voice. If only I had a sweet voice and a sweeter disposition, maybe I can be holy.
If only I could go to daily Mass and smile at everyone after and approach everyone with the most sincere small talk, then I would be doing a small part of God's work by lifting people up.
I distinctly remember sitting behind this row of radiant nuns at daily Mass and noting their posture and general countenance. They sat incredibly straight and still and managed to never lean against the back part of the chair the entire Mass. I (a life long sloucher) tried to imitate this the entire Mass. I didn't hear a word the priest said or really even pay attention during the consecration, but I walked out of the Church after the final blessing feeling doomed to never be holy because I couldn't manage perfect sacrificial posture for 30 minutes even for JESUS.
Sometimes this came from a place of vainly wanting to appear holy (not cool, but occasionally true). Sometimes it came from a genuine desire for peace and union with the Creator. But I was still going about it in the wrong way.
I was not made with a sweet, soft voice. Small talk makes me nervous and itchy. I'm much better in small group settings where people like to talk about substantial things. If I smiled at everyone, it would surely come across as fake and/or creepy because I'm not a naturally sunny-all-the-time kind of person (and there's nothing wrong with that, fellow melacholics!) For the lay person, the rosary, Liturgy of the Hours, etc. are all optional devotions because the Church knows that it's made up of individuals who aren't all going to use the same tools from the giant toolbox the Church offers.
It took a long long time for me to learn these other people had "it" because they were on the path intended for them. "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you..." (Jeremiah 1:5) is not Before I formed you, and all other human clones exactly like you, in the womb, I knew you. Our paths to Creator are as individual as our personalities, temperaments, struggles and gifts.
In The World's First Love, Fulton Sheen makes a beautiful analogy. He says that if we could imagine for every person there are two portraits - one is how they are perfectly created to be and one is how they are. Between everyone's two pictures are a minus sign with the exception of the blessed Mother, who perfectly matched who she was created to be.
His point is that Mary is set apart from the rest of us in this respect. What I also find interesting is that our "perfect portrait" doesn't look like Mary's perfect portrait. We're called to look like our own self's perfect portrait.
This is why I think that comparison is also the thief of holiness. I feel that my own comparison robbed me of ever hopping on the right path. I wasted a lot of time dawdling around in the brush on the side of the road, watching other people run down their own paths. Comparison leads us astray.
Two tools that have helped me from continually falling in the comparison trap.
1) Knowing myself and asking God in prayer to reveal things about me that I am overlooking.
Even things that I don't want to see and make me cringe. I also pray to not be overcome by the fear of dealing with my own issues or traits that seem insurmountable or too embarrassing to work through. Even just talking to my husband about who he perceives I am, since he knows me more intimately than anyone, is enlightening for me. I'm also a bit of Myers-Briggs junkie and I've found a lot of peace and direction in understanding my personality type and the gifts and flaws that come with it. (I'm in INFP, who are, surprise, massively introspective) A friend recently pointed me to some sources for Myers Briggs and spirituality matching, which I'm still exploring to help me have a pray life that feel more organic and less forced.
2) Rejoicing in others.
The last few months I've been absolutely fixated on this beautiful prayer, The Litany of Humility. It's a great way to scare away the comparison thief! (There's a beautiful sung version by Danielle Rose you can listen to here). It's an absolute antidote to a range of struggles, especially the one I mentioned earlier about being jealous or resentful of another's peace. Especially striking for me in this prayer is asking for the grace to desire "that others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should."
I'm practicing in little ways. Being genuinely happy that someone wiser than I explained something better that resonated with more people instead of feeling embarrassed or resentful of the person for one-upping me. Being happy for someone's growth and peace instead of wallowing in the valley and trying to imitate their actions to get out of my rut.
Painful baby steps. But there is so much joy in finding out our own perfect portrait painted by the Creator!
From as far back as I can remember through the beginning of my married life, I have zeroed in on people, especially other females, who seemed to have that special "thing". I wasn't always sure what it was - peace, maybe? In tune with the Creator and their life's purpose? Whatever it was, it was beautiful and I wanted it.
I have a few stories to share on this that might resonate with you. They are still embarrassing for me to recall, but also helpful for me to remember in trying to be more grounded in who I'm called to be.
I can remember as far back as being a young child in a children's prayer group. There was another young girl, about my age, who was a little homely and shy, but she seemed to have "it". As evidenced by the fact that I can only remember her as "homely" and was slightly jealous of that thing she had, I obviously was far from possessing whatever it was that made her that way.
The summer before college, my fervent prayer was for just one or two great friendships with other women. I knew I needed a support system incredibly badly. I was blessed with an entire community (so, like 20 or so more friendships than I prayed for, plus lots of inspiring acquaintances) of wonderful, genuine, unconditionally loving young women, many of whom I am still friends with today. The unconditional love towards me and the general living of their lives was healing, inspirational and motivating for me to grow in my emotional and spiritual lives. I took away many gems from their words and examples that have helped form the person I am today.
Yet, I still fell into the trap of trying to imitate the specific practices and traits of one of these fabulous ladies I perceived as having a close relationship with God.
Susie seems like she has it spiritually together and she prayers the Liturgy of the Hours, so I'll try that.
Oh, Mary Beth, comes across so centered and wise with her composed face and soft spoken voice. If only I had a sweet voice and a sweeter disposition, maybe I can be holy.
If only I could go to daily Mass and smile at everyone after and approach everyone with the most sincere small talk, then I would be doing a small part of God's work by lifting people up.
I distinctly remember sitting behind this row of radiant nuns at daily Mass and noting their posture and general countenance. They sat incredibly straight and still and managed to never lean against the back part of the chair the entire Mass. I (a life long sloucher) tried to imitate this the entire Mass. I didn't hear a word the priest said or really even pay attention during the consecration, but I walked out of the Church after the final blessing feeling doomed to never be holy because I couldn't manage perfect sacrificial posture for 30 minutes even for JESUS.
Sometimes this came from a place of vainly wanting to appear holy (not cool, but occasionally true). Sometimes it came from a genuine desire for peace and union with the Creator. But I was still going about it in the wrong way.
I was not made with a sweet, soft voice. Small talk makes me nervous and itchy. I'm much better in small group settings where people like to talk about substantial things. If I smiled at everyone, it would surely come across as fake and/or creepy because I'm not a naturally sunny-all-the-time kind of person (and there's nothing wrong with that, fellow melacholics!) For the lay person, the rosary, Liturgy of the Hours, etc. are all optional devotions because the Church knows that it's made up of individuals who aren't all going to use the same tools from the giant toolbox the Church offers.
It took a long long time for me to learn these other people had "it" because they were on the path intended for them. "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you..." (Jeremiah 1:5) is not Before I formed you, and all other human clones exactly like you, in the womb, I knew you. Our paths to Creator are as individual as our personalities, temperaments, struggles and gifts.
In The World's First Love, Fulton Sheen makes a beautiful analogy. He says that if we could imagine for every person there are two portraits - one is how they are perfectly created to be and one is how they are. Between everyone's two pictures are a minus sign with the exception of the blessed Mother, who perfectly matched who she was created to be.
His point is that Mary is set apart from the rest of us in this respect. What I also find interesting is that our "perfect portrait" doesn't look like Mary's perfect portrait. We're called to look like our own self's perfect portrait.
This is why I think that comparison is also the thief of holiness. I feel that my own comparison robbed me of ever hopping on the right path. I wasted a lot of time dawdling around in the brush on the side of the road, watching other people run down their own paths. Comparison leads us astray.
Two tools that have helped me from continually falling in the comparison trap.
1) Knowing myself and asking God in prayer to reveal things about me that I am overlooking.
Even things that I don't want to see and make me cringe. I also pray to not be overcome by the fear of dealing with my own issues or traits that seem insurmountable or too embarrassing to work through. Even just talking to my husband about who he perceives I am, since he knows me more intimately than anyone, is enlightening for me. I'm also a bit of Myers-Briggs junkie and I've found a lot of peace and direction in understanding my personality type and the gifts and flaws that come with it. (I'm in INFP, who are, surprise, massively introspective) A friend recently pointed me to some sources for Myers Briggs and spirituality matching, which I'm still exploring to help me have a pray life that feel more organic and less forced.
2) Rejoicing in others.
The last few months I've been absolutely fixated on this beautiful prayer, The Litany of Humility. It's a great way to scare away the comparison thief! (There's a beautiful sung version by Danielle Rose you can listen to here). It's an absolute antidote to a range of struggles, especially the one I mentioned earlier about being jealous or resentful of another's peace. Especially striking for me in this prayer is asking for the grace to desire "that others may become holier than I, provided that I may become as holy as I should."
I'm practicing in little ways. Being genuinely happy that someone wiser than I explained something better that resonated with more people instead of feeling embarrassed or resentful of the person for one-upping me. Being happy for someone's growth and peace instead of wallowing in the valley and trying to imitate their actions to get out of my rut.
Painful baby steps. But there is so much joy in finding out our own perfect portrait painted by the Creator!
Letters From Your Sanity and Happiness: Crafting Guilt
When the coffee or wine starts flowing and women feel safe, they stop talking in polite, socially pre-approved scripts and start talking from the deeper recesses of their minds. What I'm hearing in these talks is that we feel guilty. And crazy. And guilty that our kids have a crazy mother and our husband's have a crazy wife and we don't know how much longer we can trick everyone into believing we're balanced. Then sometimes we start to feel comfortable and confident with ourselves and the crazies quiet down and we hear other women talk about the things they feel guilty about and we feel guilty that we are not feeling guilty about these things that are so obviously vital and important since every other woman is worrying about them.
All this guilt is crippling us. It's depriving our families and our communities of vibrant, peaceful, confident women. I don't want my girls to be crippled with needless guilt, so I'm not going to accidentally passively teach it to them. I'm going to actively squash it within me. I understand that other women need encouragement to do the same, which is prompting a series on my blog, Letters From Your Sanity and Happiness.
The first letter seems simplistic. Men may think this is insane. Crafting? Women have guilt about not crafting? I can't even tell you how often I hear this from other women. "Oh, but I can't craft at all, I guess I'm a bad mother." Seriously. Let's stop the madness.
Dear Mama,
You do not need to feel guilty for not doing Pinterest worthy crafts if that is not your skill set. Craft-making is not the mark of a good mother. Your children will survive (and maybe, gasp! thrive) with blank paper, a drawing implement, and their imaginations. You will strive to shun all other forms of contrived mom guilt perpetuated by photoshopped blogs, insecure mean girl moms, and your own crazy sleep deprived mind.
Sincerely,
Your Sanity and Happiness
All this guilt is crippling us. It's depriving our families and our communities of vibrant, peaceful, confident women. I don't want my girls to be crippled with needless guilt, so I'm not going to accidentally passively teach it to them. I'm going to actively squash it within me. I understand that other women need encouragement to do the same, which is prompting a series on my blog, Letters From Your Sanity and Happiness.
The first letter seems simplistic. Men may think this is insane. Crafting? Women have guilt about not crafting? I can't even tell you how often I hear this from other women. "Oh, but I can't craft at all, I guess I'm a bad mother." Seriously. Let's stop the madness.
Dear Mama,
You do not need to feel guilty for not doing Pinterest worthy crafts if that is not your skill set. Craft-making is not the mark of a good mother. Your children will survive (and maybe, gasp! thrive) with blank paper, a drawing implement, and their imaginations. You will strive to shun all other forms of contrived mom guilt perpetuated by photoshopped blogs, insecure mean girl moms, and your own crazy sleep deprived mind.
Sincerely,
Your Sanity and Happiness
Friday, October 25, 2013
Becoming Sisters
When we announced we were pregnant with our second baby, most reactions involved some version of the question "How far apart will they be?" accompanied by a nervous little dance. Nervous for me or at that having 2 kids under two years might be contagious, I'm not sure.
Of course it's 10 times more hectic than just having one kid. Of course I'm tired and have developed a relationship with coffee never before seen between woman and beverage.
But I have gotten to see something really really cool happen. I've gotten to watch these two little loves become sisters.
There are countless sweet moments.
Of course it's 10 times more hectic than just having one kid. Of course I'm tired and have developed a relationship with coffee never before seen between woman and beverage.
But I have gotten to see something really really cool happen. I've gotten to watch these two little loves become sisters.
I willed myself to be confident that the magical bond of sisters would happen. I thought it would be later in life actually, when they were both toddling around or maybe after Josephine started talking.
But these two have loved playing together since as long as I can remember.
Sometimes it was terrifying trying to teach a 1 1/2 year old what "soft" and "gentle" mean.
Until we very recently upgraded to a minivan with captain seats in the middle, the girls would often hold hands in the car. Makes your ovaries twitch, right??
There are countless sweet moments.
And there are special challenges. Like during the first six months when the only way anyone would nap is if I rocked them to sleep together. When everyone is crying at the same time. When both desperately need me at the same time. The logistics of grocery shopping. Then there's the unfortunate incident that happened a few weeks ago involved a fast toddling baby who fell hands first into *not her own* dirty diaper that was in process of being changed.
But overall, there has been lots of giggling, snuggling, a surprising amount of wrestling!, character-building and life lessons learned that would not have happened organically at this young of an age without a sibling.
Nine times out of the ten that I set my alarm early to get some work done or some alone time, the littlest decides it would be great to wake up two hours earlier than usual and spend some quality time with Mama. She toddles after me as I fix my morning coffee and tend to chores, but seems out of sorts - clinging to me, randomly fussing, walking around aimlessly. The minute her sister wakes up and walks into the room, the two embrace like one just returned from an arduous journey. Eleven unconscious hours is a long time to be apart, y'all.
Now at 1 year and 2.5, I feel like the dust is settling a bit. The logistics of a two kid 2 and under family are more second nature now. Sometimes there are classic "sister arguments" and someone gets bopped on the head or smacked with a toy.
But most days while I'm doing chores or cooking, I'll hear things get suspiciously silent and find two sisters snuggling in a cat bed behind an old wicker chair with a spoon they've stolen from their mama's kitchen. And it's worth it. So worth it.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Confessions From a Former Lurker
You know what I do all day? I wipe little noses and bottoms. I play chase and hide-and-go-seek and peekaboo. I sing silly songs and read books and wrestle around on the floor and make my little fairies fly and squeal with delight.
I drink a lot of coffee. I work two jobs from home. And I love it.
However.
It can be isolating.
I still have an itty bitty baby in the house who requires a lot of milk to sustain her ever-growing leg rolls. At least eight times a day, we curl up together for a little baby nourishment. I gaze in her eyes and stroke her little baby head and her fat baby fingers. As she drifts off, I pull out my trusty smartphone that I never thought I'd use, and I read. And read and read and read. I consume articles and blogs and podcasts written by normal people. I've noticed my consumption of this sort of writing directly correlates with how much support I'm longing for at that moment.
I've got some great girl friends, but we're all moms and our kids are our priority. Sometimes it seems impossible to find a time to have a heart to heart when there are babies to care for, relationships with husbands to nurture, households to run, businesses to keep afloat.
On my toughest days, a strained conversation over the phone with kids in both houses shouting in the background just ain't cuttin' it. And it's not anyone's fault. It just is what it is. This is the crazy, beautiful season of motherhood.
I'm re-realizing the original reason of this blog. I often think, Why don't I just shut it down? But something in me can't do it. I can't just consume all of these other people's stories and not give back. If one person stumbles across one post that helps her feel supported, then my goal is accomplished.
I've been re-realizing in my "real" life as well. When I started college, I swallowed my pride and weird hangups and threw myself into situations to make friends. I prayed the summer between high school and college for at least one or two solid girl friends. He blessed me with an entire community of outstanding, inspiring women, many of whom I am still friends with today.
My husband and I spent the first 2 years after we moved to a new city craving community. Whining about it really. This past year, my husband and I decided that instead of waiting for a community to fall into our laps, it was time to create one. I've been letting go in ways I thought I never could. I made myself call acquaintances and invite them over. (I've been known to have trouble ordering pizza on the phone). We shyly asked people to come over for dinner. The more we did it, the easier it got.
Maybe these aren't big feats for most people, but I never thought I'd be in this place. We strike up conversation and drop our judgments and open our home to whoever needs support or coffee or laughter. And it feels good.
I've noticed this ability to easily create community is something lacking in my generation. Sometimes it still doesn't feel natural to me, online or in real life, to actively engage with those around me. It's easy to lurk on blogs and facebook pages and never comment, never contribute to a discussion. It's easy to listen in on others' conversations, but not hold meaningful ones ourselves.
I think when I succumb to this passive position, I tend to let toxic feelings creep up in my heart. When I don't participate, I sometimes feel smart and elitist. I don't have a chance to sound dumb and be humbled because I'm never taking a risk to say anything or grow or learn.
It's time to consciously form community. Maybe someone needs you to speak up or lend an ear or be silent but available.
I drink a lot of coffee. I work two jobs from home. And I love it.
However.
It can be isolating.
I still have an itty bitty baby in the house who requires a lot of milk to sustain her ever-growing leg rolls. At least eight times a day, we curl up together for a little baby nourishment. I gaze in her eyes and stroke her little baby head and her fat baby fingers. As she drifts off, I pull out my trusty smartphone that I never thought I'd use, and I read. And read and read and read. I consume articles and blogs and podcasts written by normal people. I've noticed my consumption of this sort of writing directly correlates with how much support I'm longing for at that moment.
I've got some great girl friends, but we're all moms and our kids are our priority. Sometimes it seems impossible to find a time to have a heart to heart when there are babies to care for, relationships with husbands to nurture, households to run, businesses to keep afloat.
On my toughest days, a strained conversation over the phone with kids in both houses shouting in the background just ain't cuttin' it. And it's not anyone's fault. It just is what it is. This is the crazy, beautiful season of motherhood.
I'm re-realizing the original reason of this blog. I often think, Why don't I just shut it down? But something in me can't do it. I can't just consume all of these other people's stories and not give back. If one person stumbles across one post that helps her feel supported, then my goal is accomplished.
I've been re-realizing in my "real" life as well. When I started college, I swallowed my pride and weird hangups and threw myself into situations to make friends. I prayed the summer between high school and college for at least one or two solid girl friends. He blessed me with an entire community of outstanding, inspiring women, many of whom I am still friends with today.
My husband and I spent the first 2 years after we moved to a new city craving community. Whining about it really. This past year, my husband and I decided that instead of waiting for a community to fall into our laps, it was time to create one. I've been letting go in ways I thought I never could. I made myself call acquaintances and invite them over. (I've been known to have trouble ordering pizza on the phone). We shyly asked people to come over for dinner. The more we did it, the easier it got.
Maybe these aren't big feats for most people, but I never thought I'd be in this place. We strike up conversation and drop our judgments and open our home to whoever needs support or coffee or laughter. And it feels good.
I've noticed this ability to easily create community is something lacking in my generation. Sometimes it still doesn't feel natural to me, online or in real life, to actively engage with those around me. It's easy to lurk on blogs and facebook pages and never comment, never contribute to a discussion. It's easy to listen in on others' conversations, but not hold meaningful ones ourselves.
I think when I succumb to this passive position, I tend to let toxic feelings creep up in my heart. When I don't participate, I sometimes feel smart and elitist. I don't have a chance to sound dumb and be humbled because I'm never taking a risk to say anything or grow or learn.
It's time to consciously form community. Maybe someone needs you to speak up or lend an ear or be silent but available.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Good morning, little loves
I recently gave birth to another little beauty. I love this stage where they're still small and floppy and cross-eyed and perfect.
The toddler years, on the other hand, challenge me on every. single. level.
Being a mother can be isolating. After a few rough days, I find myself thinking crazy things. Like that my kid is plotting against me, trying to push my buttons, that she's out to get me.
And then I take a deep breath, make a cup of tea and call someone who has more than 300 words in their vocabulary to try and undo the crazy I'm feeling. And I repeat to myself.....They're basically brand new to the world. They're still learning. I'm still learning. The way I respond to this behavior lays the groundwork for how they will learn to behave. Patience.
I was feeling guilty about this until recently when I read a blog post where a mom confessed that she doesn't really love babyhood, but is really enjoying her older children. Somehow just reading another mom's experience soothed my heart, reassured me that it's okay to feel this way. The fact that I struggle with a certain child's temperament or stage she is going through is not a reflection of how much I love her.
What's important is the way I strive to grow personally so I can meet her where she's at in her little life. Is she frustrated? How can I demonstrate peace? Is she grumpy when things don't go her way? How can I exemplify joy in all situations?
The years go by so fast, but a mother's day is incredibly long. This song has given me so much encouragement and perspective this week. I've been singing it to my girls and dancing with them in the kitchen :) You can listen to it here.
[VERSE]
Good morning
You and the sun are up before I'm ready
But ready or not, you need me
So here I am
I'm learning that in the long hard days
There is beauty
Do you know my favorite place to see it
It's when I look at you
And though I'm tired now
You're worth every sleepless night
You're worth it all, cause I know...
[CHORUS]
You're the best song I'll ever write
And we're humming and dancing through the years together
You're the best song I'll ever write
And I pray you'll hear Jesus in it when you're older
[VERSE]
I remember when you were just a heartbeat that I heard
and now our eyes meet
Forever is not enough to love you
Good morning
You and the sun are up before I'm ready
But ready or not, you need me
So here I am
I'm learning that in the long hard days
There is beauty
Do you know my favorite place to see it
It's when I look at you
And though I'm tired now
You're worth every sleepless night
You're worth it all, cause I know...
[CHORUS]
You're the best song I'll ever write
And we're humming and dancing through the years together
You're the best song I'll ever write
And I pray you'll hear Jesus in it when you're older
[VERSE]
I remember when you were just a heartbeat that I heard
and now our eyes meet
Forever is not enough to love you
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Heart
We're expecting another little person. 20 months after the first one. We are overjoyed, but oh my, the reactions we've gotten.
But this isn't a post about how the only appropriate thing to say a pregnant woman is a heartfelt congratulations.
We hoped and planned for this baby and we've been so happy since we found out a few months ago. But I've been feeling guilty anyway. Guilty that I don't feel bewildered ecstasy ever time I think about the little life growing inside of me. With my first baby, all I could think about was that little person. 24 hours a day. I sang and talked to her constantly.
Now I'm in my second pregnancy with an energetic toddler underfoot at all times. To give an example of my mental state this time: Today around 4pm at the grocery, I looked down at my belly and noticed I looked particularly round. It was at this time that I remembered that I'm 15 weeks pregnant. How does one forget she is pregnant?
I've been worried so much that my divided attention means I love this baby less or that I won't be able to give my kids the attention they deserve. My heart doesn't soar for this baby constantly like it did when my daughter was in utero. I'm too exhausted to soar. I've been wondering when that moment would hit where I felt in love with this child and think of him (or her) as more than just my daughter's little sibling, but a piece of my own heart.
Last week I went in for a check up at the beginning of my second trimester. I had already heard the heartbeat and seen the first little tadpole ultrasound in my first trimester, so this visit was fairly routine. My husband I had refused early genetic testing since we're not high risk and abortion isn't an option for us. This midwife reviewed with me that if the baby showed abnormalities at the 20 week ultrasound, I could opt for genetic testing at that time even though I don't want to terminate (man, I dislike that word) but so I could prepare for the possibility of a kid with disabilities. It's a pretty routine conversation between health care providers and pregnant women, one I always dismiss by throwing around words like Catholic so they know I'm keeping my baby regardless.
The midwife moved the doppler along my belly and I held my breath for one doubtful moment waiting for that heartbeat. She found my heartbeat, moved a little to the left. Faintly, we heard the rapid heartbeat of the baby and she chased it with the doppler, commenting on how active the baby was already. I breathed a sigh of relief that the baby was still there, still healthy.
The midwife slid the wand a little to the right. The doppler found a perfect spot where we could equally and clearly hear my strong, solid heartbeat and the baby's rapid one, beating together in harmony as one heartbeat.
And then I fell in love with this baby.
If the midwife would have had the same conversation about genetic testing with me after this experience, I would have responded differently. Being Catholic isn't my reason for keeping my baby. My initial answer shows that being prolife is a religious matter, which it isn't. It's a people matter. I would choose this life over my own because I could no sooner carve this little person out of my body than I could carve out my own heart.
I'm always baffled when people talk about aborting a child to save the life of a mother. How is this saving her life? A woman can't live without her heart.
But this isn't a post about how the only appropriate thing to say a pregnant woman is a heartfelt congratulations.
We hoped and planned for this baby and we've been so happy since we found out a few months ago. But I've been feeling guilty anyway. Guilty that I don't feel bewildered ecstasy ever time I think about the little life growing inside of me. With my first baby, all I could think about was that little person. 24 hours a day. I sang and talked to her constantly.
Now I'm in my second pregnancy with an energetic toddler underfoot at all times. To give an example of my mental state this time: Today around 4pm at the grocery, I looked down at my belly and noticed I looked particularly round. It was at this time that I remembered that I'm 15 weeks pregnant. How does one forget she is pregnant?
I've been worried so much that my divided attention means I love this baby less or that I won't be able to give my kids the attention they deserve. My heart doesn't soar for this baby constantly like it did when my daughter was in utero. I'm too exhausted to soar. I've been wondering when that moment would hit where I felt in love with this child and think of him (or her) as more than just my daughter's little sibling, but a piece of my own heart.
Last week I went in for a check up at the beginning of my second trimester. I had already heard the heartbeat and seen the first little tadpole ultrasound in my first trimester, so this visit was fairly routine. My husband I had refused early genetic testing since we're not high risk and abortion isn't an option for us. This midwife reviewed with me that if the baby showed abnormalities at the 20 week ultrasound, I could opt for genetic testing at that time even though I don't want to terminate (man, I dislike that word) but so I could prepare for the possibility of a kid with disabilities. It's a pretty routine conversation between health care providers and pregnant women, one I always dismiss by throwing around words like Catholic so they know I'm keeping my baby regardless.
The midwife moved the doppler along my belly and I held my breath for one doubtful moment waiting for that heartbeat. She found my heartbeat, moved a little to the left. Faintly, we heard the rapid heartbeat of the baby and she chased it with the doppler, commenting on how active the baby was already. I breathed a sigh of relief that the baby was still there, still healthy.
The midwife slid the wand a little to the right. The doppler found a perfect spot where we could equally and clearly hear my strong, solid heartbeat and the baby's rapid one, beating together in harmony as one heartbeat.
And then I fell in love with this baby.
If the midwife would have had the same conversation about genetic testing with me after this experience, I would have responded differently. Being Catholic isn't my reason for keeping my baby. My initial answer shows that being prolife is a religious matter, which it isn't. It's a people matter. I would choose this life over my own because I could no sooner carve this little person out of my body than I could carve out my own heart.
I'm always baffled when people talk about aborting a child to save the life of a mother. How is this saving her life? A woman can't live without her heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)