I have 32 minutes before I get to pick up my kiddo from daycare. Thanks to a meeting getting out way earlier than I anticipated, my afternoon has been wide open, with three extra hours to fill.
I could have worked on my sermon, with that Sunday deadline looming once again.
I could have done some much needed yard work, as the weeds have once again taken over.
I could have cleaned/sanitized the house, something that needs to be done after all three of us have been sick for the past week.
Instead I laughed in the face of productivity and read a book. Like, a fictional book. Something I've struggled to do in the past 10 months partly because my baby brain doesn't allow me to retain anything I've read, and partly because I just haven't had much "me time" to make space for fun reading.
And you know what? It was delightful! As I sat down to read, my mind started to make the calculations of how much we're paying the daycare per hour and I felt a little guilty for forking over that money so that I could enjoy a good book. Shouldn't I have spent those three hours doing something productive? Something work related? Nope. Turns out, what I needed was time to decompress. Time to do something I love. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my kiddo and there's part of me that just wants to spend all of my time with her. With each chapter I finished this afternoon, I'd glance at the clock, excitedly anticipating 5 o'clock when I'd get to pick her up. But I also need to re-energize once in awhile so that I can be more fully present to her and to my church.
The decision to put her in daycare was a very emotional and difficult one. I had hoped to continue what was working before with her spending one day a week with her grandpa, which was awesome. I feel very blessed to have family close by who can care for her. And it isn't so much that I'm anti-daycare. I just sort of anticipated raising my kids how I was raised, because that's what worked for us. My mom worked from home and sent us to grandparents when she needed to get some real work done. But as it turns out, I need more than just one day and it is really hard trying to work and watch a baby who decided to start walking/opening cabinets/wanting to play with the toilet seat way earlier than I told her she could. I've come to discover, I'm just not that good at multitasking, and it started to feel unfair to both my kiddo and my church because my attention was constantly divided.
So, to daycare she went. And while she had gotten sick both weeks thanks to the petri dish of germs she now plays in twice a week, I have not regretted the decision. I can now block out time to accomplish all of the tasks that I need to get done. I can schedule meetings with churchy people and not worry about the baby trying to pull banners off the wall of the sanctuary. And I can read a book when I have some unexpected free time, only feeling the slightest twinge of guilt.
Would you look at the time? Gotta go pick up my kiddo and savor an evening with her.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Can't Blame These Blues on an Ice Cream Recall
The thing about the postpartum journey is that it is wildly unpredictable. In my experience, one day is great and the next day is a disaster. One day I'm energized and the next day I'm curled up in a ball, unable to take advantage of baby's naptime to sleep or tidy the house because my brain won't shut off and my emotions are all over the place.
I've consulted with a therapist and I take a weekly mental health inventory to keep tabs on myself. I've been reading Brene Brown's brilliant books and have had some very vulnerable conversations with other mamas who have boldly shared their experience. I'm thankful for that tribe.
I've been struggling with a mild case of postpartum depression, There are certain things that have triggered the blues including house remodel frustrations (a project that was supposed to be done before baby arrived), the death of my grandmother two weeks after baby arrived, homesickness for Colorado and family, and what has proven to be the biggest trigger, which is talking about my birth story.
The first time I had a monstrous wave of sadness was 6 weeks postpartum when I went to a "swap" at the birthing center. These are awesome gatherings where families can bring outgrown clothes and duplicate items to swap with other families who can put them to use. It's also a chance for much needed socialization and getting out of the house.
I saw another mama there whom I had met in the prenatal yoga class. She and I were pretty regular attendees, and I always enjoyed seeing her, though we never connected outside of class. She was still pregnant at the swap, and I think she was due in about 2 weeks. She was delighted to see my baby and that she finally arrived. She recalled being anxious for me as I came to class at 40 weeks...and then 40+2...and then 41 weeks. She asked when the baby finally arrived and I told her 41+6, just under the wire of the 42 week limit when the birthing center automatically refers women to the hospital. Before I could say anymore, like how I did wind up at the hospital and finally a C-section, the other mama said "Oh good! Well the most important thing is that you had her here at the birthing center. I'm so happy for you!" To which I said something like "Yeah, it's great." and then moved on to look at the items available at the swap. I had such an overwhelming wave of shame cloud over me that I couldn't even continue the conversation. I'm sure she figured I was just sleep deprived, which I was.
I absolutely love the birthing center and wouldn't change anything about my decision to receive care there, and I was fortunate to be in a group of very non-judgemental mamas for our birthing/childcare prep class. But I think the birthing center tends to attract a certain clientele that is highly opinionated about "natural" birthing. Many birthing center mamas tend to lean heavily toward vaginal/no drug births, breast is best, anti-circumcision, anti-immunizations, pro-organic and non-GMO. Everything else is considered poor parenting.
It think it is fine for people to feel strongly about these issues and to point toward evidence-based research (so long as it isn't a Jenny McCarthy book), but there needs to be room for grace. A lot of grace. And a realization that sometimes things don't go as planned, and sometimes there is a lot that is out of our control. And maybe, just maybe, every parent is doing the best they can and making the decisions that works the best for their family.
7 months postpartum, I still get bummed out about how labor and birthing went for me. I'll occasionally see an article about how C-section babies are at risk for health problems later in life and how they might not be as emotionally bonded to mama because they didn't get immediate skin-to-skin contact.
But then I look at other mamas who have had their babies via C-section. And they're phenomenal. Some of the best mamas I know had their babies via C-section and I've never thought their children were negatively affected by their entry to the world. Then I look at my own baby and wonder what it would be like if I were anymore bonded and in love with her. I can't even fathom it. When I realize this, I find myself embracing my birth story and empowered by it. I take pride in the fact that I'm a member of a tribe that had a difficult journey but has come through stronger in the end. There are still challenging days, but reflecting on all of this has helped me out of that dark place of postpartum depression and better able to appreciate this new role I find myself in.
I've consulted with a therapist and I take a weekly mental health inventory to keep tabs on myself. I've been reading Brene Brown's brilliant books and have had some very vulnerable conversations with other mamas who have boldly shared their experience. I'm thankful for that tribe.
I've been struggling with a mild case of postpartum depression, There are certain things that have triggered the blues including house remodel frustrations (a project that was supposed to be done before baby arrived), the death of my grandmother two weeks after baby arrived, homesickness for Colorado and family, and what has proven to be the biggest trigger, which is talking about my birth story.
The first time I had a monstrous wave of sadness was 6 weeks postpartum when I went to a "swap" at the birthing center. These are awesome gatherings where families can bring outgrown clothes and duplicate items to swap with other families who can put them to use. It's also a chance for much needed socialization and getting out of the house.
I saw another mama there whom I had met in the prenatal yoga class. She and I were pretty regular attendees, and I always enjoyed seeing her, though we never connected outside of class. She was still pregnant at the swap, and I think she was due in about 2 weeks. She was delighted to see my baby and that she finally arrived. She recalled being anxious for me as I came to class at 40 weeks...and then 40+2...and then 41 weeks. She asked when the baby finally arrived and I told her 41+6, just under the wire of the 42 week limit when the birthing center automatically refers women to the hospital. Before I could say anymore, like how I did wind up at the hospital and finally a C-section, the other mama said "Oh good! Well the most important thing is that you had her here at the birthing center. I'm so happy for you!" To which I said something like "Yeah, it's great." and then moved on to look at the items available at the swap. I had such an overwhelming wave of shame cloud over me that I couldn't even continue the conversation. I'm sure she figured I was just sleep deprived, which I was.
I absolutely love the birthing center and wouldn't change anything about my decision to receive care there, and I was fortunate to be in a group of very non-judgemental mamas for our birthing/childcare prep class. But I think the birthing center tends to attract a certain clientele that is highly opinionated about "natural" birthing. Many birthing center mamas tend to lean heavily toward vaginal/no drug births, breast is best, anti-circumcision, anti-immunizations, pro-organic and non-GMO. Everything else is considered poor parenting.
It think it is fine for people to feel strongly about these issues and to point toward evidence-based research (so long as it isn't a Jenny McCarthy book), but there needs to be room for grace. A lot of grace. And a realization that sometimes things don't go as planned, and sometimes there is a lot that is out of our control. And maybe, just maybe, every parent is doing the best they can and making the decisions that works the best for their family.
7 months postpartum, I still get bummed out about how labor and birthing went for me. I'll occasionally see an article about how C-section babies are at risk for health problems later in life and how they might not be as emotionally bonded to mama because they didn't get immediate skin-to-skin contact.
But then I look at other mamas who have had their babies via C-section. And they're phenomenal. Some of the best mamas I know had their babies via C-section and I've never thought their children were negatively affected by their entry to the world. Then I look at my own baby and wonder what it would be like if I were anymore bonded and in love with her. I can't even fathom it. When I realize this, I find myself embracing my birth story and empowered by it. I take pride in the fact that I'm a member of a tribe that had a difficult journey but has come through stronger in the end. There are still challenging days, but reflecting on all of this has helped me out of that dark place of postpartum depression and better able to appreciate this new role I find myself in.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Baby vs Cat
I'm going to cheat tonight because my brain is too tired to write anything coherent.
Here is a hilarious comic that perfectly describes parenthood:
Baby Vs. Cat
Here is a hilarious comic that perfectly describes parenthood:
Baby Vs. Cat
Monday, October 26, 2015
Mamas in Ministry
This weekend I went to a Presbytery meeting where lots of interesting things happened. And lots of not-so-interesting things happened. But at least there was a cute baby (mine) crawling around on the floor on the second day, after deciding she'd do better staying with me rather than in daycare for day two. I don't know how breastfeeding mamas do it, with working full time and putting kiddo in daycare. I can't figure out how to pump on the go without making it awkward for others!
One of the highlights of the meeting was seeing a friend and former classmate advance on in the ordination process. She eloquently spoke about her vocation journey thus far and at the very end she briefly mentioned that being a woman and a mother gave her a unique perspective in ministry. I so wanted to ask her more about it, but I was nursing my little one at the time and couldn't figure out a way to walk up to the microphone without revealing one or both of my breasts in front of 250 people.
But my mind kept fixating on this idea that being a woman and being a mother does indeed offer us a unique perspective in ministry. Not to say that men and child-free folks don't make good pastors, but I think there is something wonderful about this particular social situation that informs how we go about doing ministry. I so wanted her to share more in front of everyone because it is such an important topic to discuss! Especially in a Presbytery where I have yet to hear a woman preach at a meeting...
One of the highlights of the meeting was seeing a friend and former classmate advance on in the ordination process. She eloquently spoke about her vocation journey thus far and at the very end she briefly mentioned that being a woman and a mother gave her a unique perspective in ministry. I so wanted to ask her more about it, but I was nursing my little one at the time and couldn't figure out a way to walk up to the microphone without revealing one or both of my breasts in front of 250 people.
But my mind kept fixating on this idea that being a woman and being a mother does indeed offer us a unique perspective in ministry. Not to say that men and child-free folks don't make good pastors, but I think there is something wonderful about this particular social situation that informs how we go about doing ministry. I so wanted her to share more in front of everyone because it is such an important topic to discuss! Especially in a Presbytery where I have yet to hear a woman preach at a meeting...
Friday, October 23, 2015
In the Care of Strangers
Tonight I write from a motel room with baby girl asleep and rains encroaching on the town from hurricane Patricia. Thankfully this hotel has a door in between the bed area and the sink area, so the little one is tucked away in her own "room" while I'm out here trying to put words together for Sunday. My brain is so tired right now, I think I've started and stopped writing this sermon about 10 times now. Looks like it will be another Saturday night preacher party for me tomorrow.
I'm away from home at a Presbytery meeting and because baby is still breastfeeding, she gets to tag along too. Today was her first experience in a daycare setting with other kiddos. Turns out she does not nap when other kids are around, which made for a major meltdown when we got to the motel tonight. Sorry, neighbors on the other side of the wall.
This was the second time I've left her in the hands of someone whom I just met. The first was a few weeks ago when we left her with babysitter in our hotel while we went to a wedding. Today I left her with a woman who was caring for 4 other children at the same time.
I'd like to think I was pretty chill about both situations, but on the inside I was screaming "PLEASE UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS CHILD AND DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO HAPPEN TO HER!" I have to say it's pretty weird to be on this side of the exchange, after years and years of babysitting kids as a teenager. And as a pre-teen. Remember when it was acceptable to leave your children with the 12 year old from down the street? I was a pretty mature 12 year old, but still. I'm pretty sure there are 12 year olds today who can't stay at home alone without a babysitter.
I remember those nervous parents who got all worked up leaving their kids in my care. I'd laugh because with the exception of one time when a kiddo broke her arm while under my care, nothing usually happened and the kids were perfectly fine.
Today I left my kiddo in the care of this perfectly lovely woman who didn't speak English and probably didn't understand what I meant when I said I'd be back to nurse baby at 2pm, since she fed baby a 6 ounce bottle of "emergency only milk" right before I got there, causing some major discomfort for me when baby wouldn't nurse at all.
So between engorgement issues and a mind worried about baby, I had a hard time focusing at the Presbytery meeting today. I'm sure I'll reach a point where I look forward to the days of dropping kiddo off at daycare, but for now it feels a bit like I've torn off a piece of myself handed it to someone who doesn't really care about it as much as I do.
I'm away from home at a Presbytery meeting and because baby is still breastfeeding, she gets to tag along too. Today was her first experience in a daycare setting with other kiddos. Turns out she does not nap when other kids are around, which made for a major meltdown when we got to the motel tonight. Sorry, neighbors on the other side of the wall.
This was the second time I've left her in the hands of someone whom I just met. The first was a few weeks ago when we left her with babysitter in our hotel while we went to a wedding. Today I left her with a woman who was caring for 4 other children at the same time.
I'd like to think I was pretty chill about both situations, but on the inside I was screaming "PLEASE UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS CHILD AND DON'T WANT ANYTHING TO HAPPEN TO HER!" I have to say it's pretty weird to be on this side of the exchange, after years and years of babysitting kids as a teenager. And as a pre-teen. Remember when it was acceptable to leave your children with the 12 year old from down the street? I was a pretty mature 12 year old, but still. I'm pretty sure there are 12 year olds today who can't stay at home alone without a babysitter.
I remember those nervous parents who got all worked up leaving their kids in my care. I'd laugh because with the exception of one time when a kiddo broke her arm while under my care, nothing usually happened and the kids were perfectly fine.
Today I left my kiddo in the care of this perfectly lovely woman who didn't speak English and probably didn't understand what I meant when I said I'd be back to nurse baby at 2pm, since she fed baby a 6 ounce bottle of "emergency only milk" right before I got there, causing some major discomfort for me when baby wouldn't nurse at all.
So between engorgement issues and a mind worried about baby, I had a hard time focusing at the Presbytery meeting today. I'm sure I'll reach a point where I look forward to the days of dropping kiddo off at daycare, but for now it feels a bit like I've torn off a piece of myself handed it to someone who doesn't really care about it as much as I do.
Thursday, October 22, 2015
Fresh Air, Fresh Perspective
I just spent a few days in Colorado visiting family and opted not to blog while there. I didn't bring my computer with me, partly because Frontier charges up the wazoo for every item you bring on the plane. But I also just wanted to be present while spending time there. While I enjoy writing, it feels like a task, especially when I'm challenged to blog every day this month. A break from it was pretty nice.
When I was there I found myself inhaling as much fresh air as I could. I know Denver has that brown cloud of nasty pollution, but the air there just seems more fresh than here in Texas. Plus, it is fall there. Like, real fall with colors and chilly mornings. I have to admit it was a bit hard to leave yesterday.
I also found myself gaining a fresh perspective on babycare. I absolutely love my kiddo, but there are days when taking care of her is painfully monotonous. Somedays it feels like all I do is feed her and try to get her to sleep. Somewhere in there I get work done preparing for Sunday, but often that is scattered in between all of the baby needs.
I think I reached a point of being over it.
But when I watched my parents and my brother and my sister-in-law interact with my little one, I was given this fresh perspective on just how amazing she is. I was filled with wonder as I watched her play the same games she plays here at our house, but seeing other people react to them reminded me of just how fun they are. Hearing her make the same annoying noise that she currently loves was different there because there were other people to laugh at it and comment on how ridiculous it is.
And I don't know what it is about people in airports, but they are so gracious and kind to me as I travel with baby. As annoying as it is to lug the diaper bag and gear through the airport and as challenging as it is to keep baby contained for the 2 hour flight, it all seems worth it just to interact with strangers who marvel at her and offer to help me with my bags. It's such a beautiful glimpse of humanity at its best.
So for now, my lungs are clinging to the vestiges of Colorado air and my heart is filled with a new sense of wonderment toward this little child I've been given stewardship of. I'm hoping this lasts a while.
When I was there I found myself inhaling as much fresh air as I could. I know Denver has that brown cloud of nasty pollution, but the air there just seems more fresh than here in Texas. Plus, it is fall there. Like, real fall with colors and chilly mornings. I have to admit it was a bit hard to leave yesterday.
I also found myself gaining a fresh perspective on babycare. I absolutely love my kiddo, but there are days when taking care of her is painfully monotonous. Somedays it feels like all I do is feed her and try to get her to sleep. Somewhere in there I get work done preparing for Sunday, but often that is scattered in between all of the baby needs.
I think I reached a point of being over it.
But when I watched my parents and my brother and my sister-in-law interact with my little one, I was given this fresh perspective on just how amazing she is. I was filled with wonder as I watched her play the same games she plays here at our house, but seeing other people react to them reminded me of just how fun they are. Hearing her make the same annoying noise that she currently loves was different there because there were other people to laugh at it and comment on how ridiculous it is.
And I don't know what it is about people in airports, but they are so gracious and kind to me as I travel with baby. As annoying as it is to lug the diaper bag and gear through the airport and as challenging as it is to keep baby contained for the 2 hour flight, it all seems worth it just to interact with strangers who marvel at her and offer to help me with my bags. It's such a beautiful glimpse of humanity at its best.
So for now, my lungs are clinging to the vestiges of Colorado air and my heart is filled with a new sense of wonderment toward this little child I've been given stewardship of. I'm hoping this lasts a while.
Friday, October 16, 2015
My Crawling Mirror
As I wrote yesterday, my body has been transformed by pregnancy and childbirth. In some weird ways and some good ways.
There are days when I get bummed out about this. My insecurities get the better of me and I fall into the body image depths of despair. I start to critique all of my features. I start to wonder how others view me. Do they see the same flaws that I do?
A few weeks ago I was in the company of a few women who had recently had children. The topic of breasts came up and one by one they each stated they have plans to get a breast lift once they are done have children and breastfeeding. They all said it so casually, as though they were ordering a vanilla latte at the coffee shop. My eyes sort of grew wide and I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't know this was a thing. Like a pretty common thing, apparently.
That night I Googled common plastic surgeries after childbirth. Here is what came up:
There are days when I get bummed out about this. My insecurities get the better of me and I fall into the body image depths of despair. I start to critique all of my features. I start to wonder how others view me. Do they see the same flaws that I do?
A few weeks ago I was in the company of a few women who had recently had children. The topic of breasts came up and one by one they each stated they have plans to get a breast lift once they are done have children and breastfeeding. They all said it so casually, as though they were ordering a vanilla latte at the coffee shop. My eyes sort of grew wide and I wasn't sure what to say. I didn't know this was a thing. Like a pretty common thing, apparently.
That night I Googled common plastic surgeries after childbirth. Here is what came up:
- Mastopexy - breast lift
- Abdominoplasty - tummy tuck
- Umbilicoplasty - belly button surgery
- Liposuction - get rid of the fat
So many options! How does one decide?
I'll admit, there are days when I'd love a little plastic surgery to touch up some of those rough areas.
But then I look at my daughter. And I realize that all of my decisions impact her. What does it say to her when I get caught in a shame-spiral of critiquing my body? What kind of an impression will I make on her if I'm constantly criticizing myself for this body that carried a child and bore life?
I know that body image issues are a vicious cycle, passed down from generation to generation. Yes, we're slammed by the media with images of super skinny women with flawless skin and incredible hair. We see celebrity mamas who look terrific just weeks after giving birth. But even more detrimental than the media is when we hear our own mamas and aunts and teachers and neighbors talk about how ugly they feel and how they hate certain parts of their bodies.
I don't want that for my daughter. I don't want her to hear me talk down about myself and then turn and do the same to herself. I want her to feel proud of her body and see it as an incredible gift. I want her to be courageous and strong, not insecure and self-hating.
When my 6 month old daughter looks at me, she doesn't see an ugly pooch of skin and fat hanging over my C-section scar. She sees this wonderful platform on which she can stand and be able to look into my eyes. We have some entertaining conversations while she stands on that C-shelf, and sometimes I imagine her doing a dance on it. In my daydream she has a top hat and tap shoes.
I'm thankful for this crawling mirror, who keeps me in check and reminds me of the important things.
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