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:

• 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. 

Pain in the Belly

It goes without saying that pregnancy and childbirth change a woman's body. Her body goes from taking care of itself, requiring a normal number of calories to function which results in a normal amount of output.

Totally unrelated, did anyone else giggle at Clinton's potty joke during the debate the other night? She's simultaneously putting cracks in the glass ceiling AND normalizing bathroom woes for women. Plus potty jokes are just funny.

Anyway. Like I said, a woman can eat a relatively normal amount of food and expect to go to the bathroom a normal number of times each day. Come pregnancy, all of that changes. Each pregnancy is different, but most women experience bouts of extreme appetite at times and no appetite at other times. And toward the end of the pregnancy, when all of her organs are squished by the baby, she'll likely be peeing 1,000 times a day. And not a normal amount of pee, but a few drops. And then she'll stand up and have to pee again.

The struggle is real.

I don't really miss that season of pregnancy.

Even when the belly deflates after the baby comes out, things are different. And kind of weird. I know I'll never look and feel like I did prior to baby, but I'm a little concerned about the this issues that seem to be permanent fixtures now. Primarily in the abdomen region. Thanks to the C-section, that area is vexed with constant soreness and pain when my pants are too tight. My pants always seem to be too tight.

Although I now weigh a little less than I did when I got pregnant, none of my clothes fit the way they used to. My feet grew half a size and my shirts are tight in the bust. But my pants. My pants are the worst. Fitted waistbands are of the devil. They cut into my belly right where the doctor cut into me. So there's pressure and discomfort all of the time.

I think it's because I now have what is fondly referred to as a "C-shelf." It's this flab of skin that just sort of camps out right above my incision. That extra bulge adds extra pressure on my waistbands making it all so very uncomfortable. Either it's that, or someone snuck into our house and tailored all of my pants so they are just a few inches smaller in the waist. It could have happened. I was pretty out of it those first few weeks, especially when I was on codeine.

So pants stink.

And now that baby is super active and wiggly, one of her favorite activities is to stand in my lap and then crawl up my belly. The C-shelf makes for a perfect little platform for her to stand upon. It is two parts adorable and one part ouch.

I've heard from some fellow C-mamas that the pain never really goes away. The achiness becomes forever stamped on their bellies.

When I get bummed out about this, I just remind myself that it could be a lot worse. Had labor gone on for days, I could have suffered from an obstetric fistula, a condition that way too many women suffer from all over the world because they don't have C-sections as an option. I'll take an achy belly any day over that.

Crazy Bag Lady

I struggle with the amount of things I have to take with me every time I leave the house these days.

If I have baby in tow, the diaper bag must be equipped with all of the necessary things. Diapers, wipes, burp clothes, an extra change of clothes. It's a lot, but it doesn't compare to the number of things I need when I leave the house without her.

When it is just me, especially when I am going to work, I feel like the crazy bag lady with all of my gear in hand. There's the usual stuff like my computer bag, planner, various books. Plus a packed lunch which is about twice as big as it was even when I was pregnant. Breastfeeding causes a huge boost in appetite, since it requires about 500 extra calories per day. So I feel like I pack half of our pantry for every meal.

And then there's the breastpump bag, which includes various parts and pieces which make the process work. This also requires a cooler of some sort with freezer packs to keep the milk cold. If I forget one tiny little valve or don't bring enough bottles, I'm screwed because I work in a town that doesn't even have a Wal-Mart, so finding extra supplies is a 40 minute trip. Not exactly how I want to be spending my time.


I have found that I'm rather good about making sure I have all of the right pieces, especially after that one Sunday when I went to work and left the entire bag, breast pump and all, on the counter at home. It's a miracle there wasn't an explosion of milk by the time I gave the benediction.

But inevitably I will forget something at home. Like yesterday when I forgot my sunglasses, Fitbit, and wallet. It made for a rather squinty day of uncredited steps and thankfulness that I had a full tank of gas.

Identity Crisis

The first time I left the house without baby was when I was asked to be a panelist at an event for graduating seniors at my seminary. We were asked questions about our transition from seminary to first jobs/calls, highlighting what went well and what we struggled with.

I couldn't even remember what I did straight out of seminary.

My brain was so fried at that point, I was lucky to string a few coherent words together. I remember listening to my 2 colleagues who were also on the panel, and I was blown away by how eloquently they spoke. They remembered details about their first months out of school and were able to speak at length about the joys and challenges of ministry. That had such sage wisdom to offer these soon-to-be pastors and chaplains and social workers.

And there I sat, wondering if I'd be able to speak that well again, hoping I remembered to brush my hair and, praying I wouldn't start leaking breast milk. When introduced for the panel, the professor did mention that I had just had a baby, so hopefully people understood why I was such a mess. If not, perhaps they just thought I was some looney pastor who fell victim to burnout too soon.

The next time I went out without baby was for my part time job demoing chocolate at Whole Foods. This was the first time I found myself in a context where no one knew I'd just had a baby. It was sort of jolting to find myself in that context, since my whole world for the past 2 months had revolved around this change to motherhood. I found myself struggling with the identity of "woman" without "mother" attached to it. It took me half the demo to find my rhythm and remember how to interact with people who weren't going through the same experience as I was with a newborn, or who didn't care that I'd just had a baby.

I am now 6 months into motherhood and still find myself struggling in situations where baby isn't present or isn't mentioned. It is such a confusing and bizarre experience to want autonomy and independence, but also finding myself really enjoying my baby and my role as her mother.

Never Will I Ever

Prior to becoming a parent, I had all sorts of notions about how parenting would go. I felt pretty confident about the decision I would make and just knew I'd stick to my guns.

Oh how things changed when baby came along.

All of those ideas seemed great in theory, but then reality hits and plans have to change. I found that some things just aren't realistic, while others just take way too much energy, which I currently don't have. Here are a few examples:

Never will I ever...be one of those mothers who is checking Facebook while nursing baby.

I totally thought I'd be the type to use each nursing session as a chance to pray or just gaze at my precious child. Soak in those sacred moments. But in those early days, when not sleeping, I was basically nursing all of the time. I think I lasted all of 2 days before I gave in and started to check Facebook and Buzzfeed and anything else that reminded me that something else was happening in the world besides not sleeping and sore nipples.

Never will I ever...co-sleep.

It's dangerous! the books said. Your baby will die! the internet forums told me. So I thought I would never bring baby into our bed to sleep through the night. During that first week home when I was trying to make up for lost contact in the hospital, I was basically giving baby skin-to-skin contact for 24 hours a day. My husband was (willingly) sleeping on the couch at the point, so I didn't fear him rolling over on her. And I was hypervigilant that there was a baby next time me, so I only really half slept to make sure I didn't crush her. Later on there were nights when it was just easier to bring baby into the bed, rather than deal with the very frequent wakeups. This practice has since stopped since we sleep trained her. Which brings us to...

Never will I ever...let my baby cry it out.

I plan to devote a whole post to this topic later this month, but for now I will say that this was one of the most surprising changes in attitude that I have had. Before baby came, I thought there was no way I could let her cry it out. I'd heard it could scar her for life. But then I did some reading. And I realized what we had been doing (nursing/rocking her to sleep and putting her in her crib super gently, only to have wake up balling the moment her head touched the mattress) was not working. She was exhausted from the sleep struggles and I was getting super frustrated with the process. So we spent a week "Ferberizing" our child and have had (mostly) awesome nights of sleep ever since.

Never will I ever...fill my daughter's world with pink.

I don't want to gender her before she's able to form her own identity, I thought. But then I realized pink is a really great color. I even painted a wall in her room a rosy pink because it looks so nice with a quilt my mom made. Now I'm much more open to pink and lace and frilly dresses. It's not that I want to force her to be "girly" it's that I want her to know she looks awesome when she wears frilly pink things and when she wears more masculine things. I hate that our society labels all things "girly" as inferior or weak or stupid. Why is it cool when we dress our girls up as Darth Vadar or Batman, but it's considered child abuse to dress our boys up as Princesses? I want our daughter to know she can feel comfortable with the choices she makes regarding gendered decisions.


Motherhood has certainly thrown me through a loop in terms of values and ideals. Before baby came along, I had a lot more control over my world and the decisions I made. Now, with baby, there are so many things out of my control, I have to change plans frequently to accommodate her needs. All this is to say, I've changed my mind on a lot of things, which makes me very thankful I have an understanding husband who partners with me on all of these things. Except the pink thing. I don't think he cares, nor does he even pays attention to what he dresses her in. As evidenced by the clashing pink top with orange bottoms she was wearing the other day.

Boobie Woes

My latest Google search was "nipples afraid of teeth." I was sort of hoping a funny cartoon or meme would appear, but I was disappointed with the results. I did the search on behalf of my nipples which are currently freaked out by the fact that baby is cutting her first tooth. When I put my finger in her mouth, it feels like there is a razor blade on her bottom gums. I can only imagine what kind of damage that can do.

Turns out there are tricks that one can use to deter baby from biting, but that means you have to experience it at least once in order to communicate the message to baby that biting is not okay. Just when I started to get the hang of this breastfeeding thing, a new challenge has come up.

Before becoming pregnant, I thought breastfeeding was the most natural thing in the world. I figured carrying and birthing the baby were the hard part. Feeding them would just happen. I thought it was weird that my birthing classes spent so much time on breastfeeding. Wasn't labor more important to learn about?

Turns out I was wrong.

I've yet to meet a woman who has had a super easy experience with breastfeeding. Either they struggled in the beginning, or baby had a tongue/lip tie, or they dealt with supply issues, or had various ailments like clogged ducts and mastitis. I've come to realize it is not the most natural thing in the world and is actually very difficult physically and emotionally. Plus society loves to bring judgment and shame upon women, whether they breastfeed or formula feed. How one feeds her baby should be no one else's business, so long as she is feeding the baby. Seriously.

My biggest troubles were in the beginning. I could not get baby to latch on. Like at all. We had three different hospital lactation consultants try to help us, and all three of them had different advice. Their help seemed to be more of a hindrance.

I later learned that C-sections cause major barriers for breastfeeding. In a "perfect birth," baby will be placed on mom's tummy after making her entrance into the world, and without intervention she will do this amazing crawl to mom's breast and start nursing. I've seen videos. It's miraculous.

But in a C-section, that milk crawl can't happen. The hospital where I had baby didn't practice family-centered C-sections. So there was no chance of delaying the cord cutting (there seems to be a correlations with delaying that and successful breastfeeding), no immediate skin-to-skin or nursing in the OR (baby has to get checked out and weighed), there are drugs pumping through mom's body and baby's (possibly impacts breastfeeding), the IV fluids cause major swelling (making it hard for baby to latch), and mom's belly has been cut open (making it very painful to hold baby and try to nurse with the widely acclaimed cross cradle hold, the only hold I really practiced in birthing class).

Various studies say various things, but they all agree that successful breastfeeding after C-section is significantly lower than after vaginal birth. In one, 71% of women in the study who delivered vaginally were able to breastfeed in the hospital before discharge compared to only 4% of the women who had a C-section. Those numbers are mind boggling, and while they can't name an exact cause, there is definitely a correlation between how soon mom and baby have contact after birth and how well breastfeeding goes.

I was really angry with how my birth experience went, so I was determined to successfully breastfeed. I needed a win, which sadly was more about my own baggage than it was about nourishing my baby.

Since I couldn't get baby to latch, I pumped miniscule amounts of colostrum and then milk after day 2, which we spoon fed to baby. It was absurd, but it mostly worked. The hospital was quite gracious in offering me support and never pressured me to make choices one way or the other. Formula was offered, but I declined, knowing how easy it would be to just give up and go straight to that solution. I now realize that was a little ridiculous of me, and now that I'm out of my postpartum haze I see how wonderful of a gift formula is. Thank God we don't have to let our babies starve because we can't nurse them naturally. Breast may be best, but formula is an amazing alternative.

The hospital probably shouldn't have discharged us, since baby had lost 11% of her body weight. 10% is the cutoff. But the doctor could see that I was stressed out and was concerned that I hadn't slept for more than an hour straight since baby was born. So she suggested I go home and try to get a fresh start.

I am so thankful for her grace.

The next day I got a visit from the birthing center lactation consultant (LC) and one of the midwife assistants. They were absolute saints who changed everything for us.

The LC had me hop in bed and show her what I was doing to try and breastfeed. After a brief attempt she said, "You need a nipple shield" to which I replied, "But all three of the hospital LCs told me not to use those!" to which she replied, "Well they were wrong. Let's put this on so you can feed your baby."

And then I had one of the most holy experiences of my life as baby successful latched on (via plastic shield) and drank the milk I'd produced for her. Tears welled up in my eyes as I finally got to feel this little victory. The LC smiled and the midwife assistant cheered. It was glorious.

The LC came back 3 days later to weigh baby and found that she had returned to birthweight plus a little extra, which means breastfeeding was working and we were back on track.

Those first few weeks were still rocky. I had to use the nipple shield for 2 weeks, which is nothing compared to some mamas who need them for months. And I could only manage to do side-lying position because my belly hurt too much to hold her on it. It was awkward and not at all like the videos I'd seen of women breastfeeding, but it did the trick.

One of the most encouraging things along the way was having friends over (who graciously brought us food!) and seeing some of them breastfeed their babies in our home. I was in awe of their confidence and how easy they made it look. It gave me hope that someday I'd be able to nurse just as easily.

And I did.

After that first month, it did get easier and I have healed from the initial chaffing and weirdness that nursing causes, just in time for them to get messed up by baby teeth. The saga continues.

Pastor Mama

I currently serve as the pastor of a small congregation about an hour away from my home. Prior to having baby, I would often stretch my 16 hour/week contract closer to 30 or 35 hours/week, going against what my seminary professors taught me about boundaries. But I loved it. I loved taking my time with sermons, actually devoting time to exegesis, writing and practicing. I loved taking my time after church to pop by the nursing home or check in on some of my homebound members. Going over my paid hours didn't stress me out.

A lot has changed now that baby is in the picture.

I keep her at home except for one day a week when my father-in-law cares for her, which has been such a gift these past few months. Most days I'm able to work when baby is napping and my husband looks after her for a few hours when he gets home from work. Most weeks it is doable and I am able to get my work done.

But the thing about my sermon writing is that it often doesn't fit into a schedule. I'm not one of those preachers that prays over the text on Tuesday, does exegetical work Wednesday, makes an outline Thursday and writes the thing on Friday. Usually it has to simmer for a few days and often inspiration strikes outside of scheduled work times. I know many preachers who write their sermons Saturday nights or even Sunday mornings. The Spirit has a funny way of moving sometimes.

And then there are the days when baby decides not to nap well, or we have too much going on for me to get consistent time in the evenings to work. This usually means pushing work time into the hours when I should be sleep, which furthers my sleep deprivation problem.

My baby is not too far from being capable of this. 

And now with my time being stretched thin, I'm forced to be faithful to that 16 hours/week contract, which is probably a good thing. But it means I'm super limited in what I can do and it means cutting down my sermon prep time. Any good public speaking instructor will tell you it is important to spend one hour preparing for a speech, or sermon in my case, for every minute that you're going to be talking. I tend to preach 12-15 minutes, which would mean nearly all of my hours would go toward preaching. Add in 2 hours for Sunday morning and there's no time for anything left. So, my preaching prep time is cut to make room for pastoral care and all of the administrative duties that go with being a solo pastor.

There are days when I feel like I'm not doing anything well. And wonder if I'll ever care about work as much as I did before baby came along. I still enjoy it, but I find myself blissfully distracted by this little creature that has taken hold of my heart.