Wednesday, September 10, 2014

The Years Are Short


Those two little boys in the background just found this photo cd of TheOldest when he turned 6. Day after tomorrow (just 7 short years later) he'll turn 13. A teenager. I love him more everyday. And I remember like yesterday when he was the size of those little guys back there. *sigh* I love the beginning of teenagerdom in the Parker house. And yet, the letting go, the growing up, the moving on... 

In all of this blog upheaval of losing my old blog's database and working so hard to recover some of the content, we've also been trying to retrieve and save pictures we've had on various computers around the house.  It has made Matt and me acutely aware of the passing of time.  How much they've all grown and how quickly.  It has lit a fire under us to try to save the memories and capture even more of them.  

I love the excitement of new days to come; the laughter and joy and entertainment of older kiddos.  And it helps me to appreciate more the little days of the youngers.

The days, they really are long, sometimes desperately so.  But those years, y'all, they're amazingly short.


Saturday, March 8, 2014

Coming Out of the Dark



front door
Today I stood over a large stew pot while I simmered a chicken for broth.  And I realized it was the first time since we moved from the country 3 years ago that I’ve made it.  It’s not a big deal really.  Simmering broth isn’t that major of thing.  But what it represents is so much larger.  It means I have the energy and desire to provide home cooked meals for my family again.  It means that I will devote hours to something that will be the foundation of feeding my children.  It means that I won’t just throw together something from cans once again to make a so-so meal.  It means I have given my time, effort, and joy into making healthy food that I take pride in.
If you follow me on Facebook you’re well aware that after we moved from the country to the city we spent a couple of years in a small rental house in the ‘hood.  And then we moved here.  To a fairytale.  The house, the neighborhood… It’s right out of my dreams.  I don’t think there’s a day yet that I haven’t consciously thought about how thankful I am to be here.
den
Within the first two days of waking up in this house last fall, I realized something.  I realized that I felt like me again.  That I was back.  From somewhere gone.  From a long winter.  A long dream.  I felt like I was waking up to a me again that I hadn’t known in several years.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I basked in the sunshine on my face.  And began to see that I was found.  When I didn’t even know just how lost I was.
I felt capable of trying my hand at a small garden again.  I felt capable of allowing the children to own small pets.  I felt capable of simmering broth for my family.
How?  Why?  Was it the dark dingy tiny house we lived in before?  Was it facing down constant sickness and penetrating cold that first winter there?  Was it being pregnant and having a new baby in that old house?  Was it the difficult circumstances of friends and family I found myself going through?
snow
Yes.  Each.  All.  How I didn’t see how dark it was at the time is amazing.  I was so thankful for the city.  I loved the opportunities for my kids.  I loved the city lights.  So I think I tried to focus on the good. After all, I had been through hard times before.  But I think the combination of it all just colored everything.  And I never even knew how much the cold and dark seeped into my very being until I was here.  In the light.
Just as it wasn’t only the structure we dwelt in there that made life gray, it’s not just the beauty of this home here that brought the light.  But moving somehow marked a new chapter.  Full of hope.  Full of new beginnings.  Full of once forgotten things that are now renewed.
dining room
And so today, as the sun shines and melts the last of the ice away, I tend to children, hermit crabs, sprouting herbs, and simmering broth.  And I smile.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

His Beloved



I’ve been struggling with my mothering.  Again.  I’ve been frustrated by my frustrations with the kiddos.  I’ve vowed to not yell anymore.  And then I failed.  Over and over.  I heard the old lies of not being good enough.  Not good enough to mother my children.  Not good enough as a wife.  Not good enough to housebreak a puppy.  Over and over defeat.  Dark gray, hard to admit my real thoughts kind of defeat.  Thoughts of they’d be better off with a different mother level of defeat.
I prayed.  Constantly.  I reached out to other more experienced moms who pointed me back to Jesus.  I talked to Matt.  I cried.  A lot.  I read the Bible.  I kept on keeping on.
And then I began begging God again to show me His love for me.  This is what it comes down to.  Always.  I have this recurrent theme in my life.  I’ve always said I could live under the law of the Old Testament and sacrifices.  It would at least be me looking at a concrete list, failing, and then offering sacrifices.  I would be the one doing.  Working.  Earning.
But this grace thing.  This mercy.  What do I do with that?  I’m a do-er.  A worker.  An earner.  A striver.
And I knew good and well I wasn’t earning God’s love.  Because I was awful.  I would yell at my kids and then melt into a pit of guilt.  Knowing I wasn’t good enough.  Not even for God.
Looking back it was like I’d never even heard the gospel before.  It’s like this every time.  I forget that His yoke is light.  I know the words, I remember the verses, but they are even heavy for me.  Why don’t I have the fruit of the Spirit?  Then more lies.  If I’m not showing the fruit, if my burdens are not light am I really saved from my sins?  Am I even really a believer?  More despair.
But when we ask of God He will hear us.  He longs to tell us and show us over and over how much He loves us.  And of course, He came through in a million little ways that have shined a light on the lies.

They began adding up.  These whisperings of love.  These reminders.
We had finished reading the Bible to the kiddos a while ago.  So I had begun again in Genesis.
A sweet online friend told me repeatedly that I needed to read Christ in the Chaos by Kimm Crandall.  She reassured me that it was not another oppressive list of how-tos that would highlight my failures.  She reached out in a big way.  I ordered the book.
One Sunday while browsing our church’s bookstore during church when BabyGirl wanted to be loud and chatty we just happened to pick up The Jesus Storybook Bible.
I began reading all of these books incidentally at the same time.  And God went from whispering his love to my deaf ears to shouting it.
I’m not sure I can even pull quotes from Christ in the Chaos because it is chocked full of truth.  Every page, every word pointing back to the gospel.  To love and to freedom.  The gray was washing away with my tears.
Then I began reading The Jesus Storybook Bible to the kids.  And it began with “Does God really love you?” the serpent whispered.  ”If he does, why won’t he let you eat the nice, juicy, delicious fruit?  Poor you, perhaps God doesn’t want you to be happy.”  The snake’s words hissed into her ears and sunk down deep into her heart, like poison.  Does God love me? Eve wondered.  Suddenly she didn’t know anymore.”
As we read through Genesis we got to the story of Abram and Sarai.  He had promised them a child.  A nation.  And they waited.  Sarai didn’t have belief in the first place and then time passed.  A lot of time passed.  And she sent her husband to take care of it.  To have a child with another woman.  To do something already.  Sarai is a do-er.  A striver.  A struggler with belief.  She’s not a heroine.  She’s a lot like me.  Screwing everything up.
But what did God do with that?  A few verses later.  Just after all of that?  In chapter 17, verse 15 of Genesis He tells Abram, whom He has just renamed Abraham, “As for Sarai your wife, you shall not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall be her name.  I will bless her, and indeed I will give you a son by her.  Then I will bless her and she shall be a mother of nations; kings of peoples will come from her.”  And what does this new name, this Sarah name in Hebrew mean?  Princess.  Here God was telling them in spite of you, I will bless you.  Nothing you have done has earned you this honor of being called princess.  You have done it all wrong.  And yet.  You are mine.  My beautiful daughter of royalty.
via Instagram http://instagram.com/p/auNO6TQDU-/
Nothing we have done can win His love.  Nothing.  And in turn nothing we have done can keep us from being His princess.  Nothing.
The freedom is so … light.
And last year when I was struggling with betrayal and loss and grief, God used another friend of mine to send me this verse from Isaiah 62:4 “It will no longer be said to you, “Forsaken,” Nor to your land will it any longer be said, “Desolate”; But you will be called, “My delight is in her,” And your land, “Married”; For the LORD delights in you, And to Him your land will be married.”
In Him we have a new name.
It is Beloved.
I just needed to be reminded of who I am. {Click those highlighted words there to be sung to, to be reminded.}
“Remind Me Who I Am”
-Jason Gray

When I lose my way,
And I forget my name,
Remind me who I am.
In the mirror all I see,
Is who I don’t wanna be,
Remind me who I am.
In the loneliest places,
When I can’t remember what grace is.Tell me once again who I am to You,
Who I am to You.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You,
That I belong to You.
To You.When my heart is like a stone,
And I’m running far from home,
Remind me who I am.
When I can’t receive Your love,
Afraid I’ll never be enough,
Remind me who I am.
If I’m Your beloved,
Can You help me believe it.Tell me once again who I am to You,
Who I am to You, whoa.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You.
That I belong to You.
To You.I’m the one you love,
I’m the one you love,
That will be enough,
I’m the one you love.Tell me once again who I am to You.
Who I am to You.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You,
That I belong to You, oh.
Tell me once again who I am to You.
Who I am to You.
Tell me lest I forget who I am to You,
That I belong to You.
To You.

Friday, June 21, 2013

She's 9 Months Old



This is her wakey wakey face seconds after a nap.  She wakes so happy.
I know I’ve said it a hundred times over – the time slips by like water through my fingers.  I’m not taking it for granted. I’m not wishing away the minutes, the days.  I’m trying to hold them close.
And yet I still find myself saying,”How did this happen so soon?” when I see their growing size, their new accomplishments, their milemarkers.
She turned 9 months this week.  That’s always a big age for me.  3 months, 6 months, 9 months, a year.  They’re big marks on that little timeline and I’m just aghast that we’re there already.  In my mind she’s still 4 months old.  But all the signs point to the calendar being right.  She’s pulling up on everything, she’s been crawling for a good while, she eats finger foods (we mostly skip by any pureed foods), she’s babababa-ing and dadadada-ing. She has 4 teeth fully in and 2 more trying to peek through.  Oh my, my heart.
But what drives it home are not the big things.  It’s the tiniest of moments.
Y’all know that I’m all about attachment parenting.  I not only co-sleep, but I also bed share.  And mainly I nurse on demand until I wean.  So I don’t have a clue if she would be sleeping through the night right now or not.  I tuck her into the crook of my arm like I have since she was first born and we snuggle to sleep.  I do this same routine at the main naptime each day as I curl in next to my other two sweet nappers.  As for her two other little naps in the day (that mid morning and mid afternoon she’s hanging onto) I’m always close for those as well.  The afternoon one is either in the stroller as we take our walk each day or in my arms.  And that sweet 9am one is nearly always in my arms.  I sit, nurse, and cuddle like this while the other kids whirlwind around me for a bit.
But the other day I had chosen to clean the house quickly and get ready to go shopping while she fussed in her saucer and swing.  Then we ran out the door, she grabbed a quick nap in the van, enjoyed shopping this time in the stroller instead of the Moby wrap, napped a bit on the way home, cried as we put away groceries, ate lunch, and prepared the others for their naps.  Then, after all that busyness, I curled up in the bed with my 3 youngest to read a book and settle everyone.  As she slipped sweetly into sleep folded against my body I realized I had not cuddled her all morning.  The thought was clearly,”It’s happening.” I had not taken the time to breathe her in all day.  She had crawled, nursed, played, eaten, been picked up, shuffled here, strolled there, but not nursed peacefully to sleep with me all day.
It’s a shift.  It’s a tiny moment where I see, very focused, the changing of the tide.  All of those inconvenient moments of carrying her everywhere, of wiping bottoms while lugging a baby along, of bringing her along for taking the puppy out, for getting back to the busy flow of life instead the world stopping peacefully to cuddle for hours a day, of life being a kind interruption of her sleep and wake, it’s shifting.  It’s moving back to busy.  It’s moving back to emptier arms.
It’s so sweet to watch all of the new accomplishments, to see them become who they are.  And yet…  It’s happening.

Thursday, June 6, 2013

Broken



We’re all broken.
We’re all a mess.
We have so much wrong in our lives.
I think about how much I have wrong.  How much I have been wronged in this life.  And I think about how much those who’ve wronged me have been wronged.  I ask God to see people as He sees them in attempt to not be angry.  In a moment of thinking that’s what He wants me to ask.  And then I do.  I do see them, maybe just a glimpse… the way He does. And I realize they are just… broken…
I think about all the people I know who have truly, truly been wronged.  I think about all of my online and real life friends who have experienced loss like I cannot imagine.  They have lost children.  I walk through the pain with them, even if they don’t know it, praying for and with them.  I pray for their other children, I pray for their quiet moments, I pray for their marriages, I pray for things I do not understand.  I pray for their faith.
And mine wavers.
I doubt.  I ask how and why.  Again.  I’ve been here before.  Doubting and asking and thinking “just rescue us, Lord.”  And those doubts lead to … “If you were good… if you were just…”  And those thoughts lead to… “are You real?  Is any of this really worth it?”
I swim in the brokenness.  I see the sinking ship everyone (e.ver.y.one) is on.  I see them sinking.  Flailing.  I feel my own limp.  And mine isn’t even inflicted as deeply as I see others.  But it’s still a limp.  I’m still not right.  I’m still… broken.  Legitimately broken.
There’s something about it being legitimate.  There’s something about the validity of my pain.  My pain being hurtful even when it doesn’t look as awful as someone else’s pain.  There’s something about looking deep at my hurt.  Looking at it head on and saying, “That hurts.  It’s real.  And I hurt.”
I look at my hurt and realize out of my hurt I do and will continue to hurt others.  I hear so many mamas say,”I hope I don’t scar my kids.”  I used to hear myself say that to my husband. And hear him say it to me.  After all these years of parenting we realize now we are going to scar them.  We are broken people.  Raising kids.  I said the other day under the crushing weight of having snapped at my kids again for being… kids… “I just wish I wouldn’t be this way with them.”  And my husband said,” What way? Yourself?”  And we laughed through my tears, but then quietly I said,”Yes, exactly.  I wish I wouldn’t be myself….” And he agreed, he said he tries all the time to be something different.  Something… better.  Not so… broken.
And we sit in silence wishing for … something … more … different.
Knowing that our brokenness will lead to the brokenness of our children.  It’s inevitable really.  Even if they don’t hold it against us, they will be as broken as we are.  Limping in their own ways.  It’s hard to watch and know that they will not dance as beautifully as we once hoped.
I had a best friend in junior high who always said she would not have children.  None.  Ever.  Because she didn’t want to bring them into such an awful world.  And she hasn’t any.  And I wonder if she’s any less broken for it.  I doubt it.
Because we’re all broken.  We’re all limping.
When I look at how many friends I have online that have experienced the pain I mentioned before of losing a child I ache.  And I think why do I know so many people that have suffered that special kind of pain.  And I realize it’s because the internet has made my world smaller.  I know more people than the few that I can see from my front porch.  As my  view and vision expand, as I see the people I’ve asked God to open my eyes to, I see also their pain.  And I groan.  I cry for them, these friends I’ve never met.
The amount of pain that I know of personally is a sea.  There is an ocean of pain in just my view.  And I consider that.  I ponder why it is.  And I realize I see more pain because I see more people.  And as I fight against being consumed by the others’ pain, my dad always said when I was kid,”You can’t carry the whole world on your shoulders, girl.”, I realize that God’s view is much much larger than mine.  He sees it all.  All of that pain.  And His words from Romans 8:26 come to mind:
26 In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.
And I doubt.
And I question.
Again.
It’s a chasing of the wind.  It’s nothing new.  There’s a reason that I love Ecclesiastes so.  Because it’s all futile.  Chasing after more wisdom, asking more questions only brings more knowledge of more pain.
But at the end of it what remains in my doubt and my striving is the decision to just trust Him.  I have to choose with all the strength of a grown man to become as small as a child. To trust and obey.  To choose a childlike faith.  To come to Him.  Choice takes great strength.
And so, at the end of it all, I have to accept that we’re all broken.  We’re all hurting.  I have to accept that the hurt is not of Him.  I have to choose the knowledge of simple faith.  I have to choose Him again.
And the biggest choice, the hardest step to take back into faith (and I’ve been taking these same back and forth steps of faith for almost 20 years now) is to trust that He loves me.  In all my brokenness.  He loves me.
He loves us.
He loves you.
With a love you don’t understand.  A love you can’t comprehend.  That you didn’t and couldn’t earn.  When I sit crushed in my own sin I have to choose again that it isn’t my goodness that draws His eyes to me.  He looks at me with love.
I am enough.
It is enough.  All that I do and don’t do.  It’s enough.
Because I choose Him.  He made me enough.
And so… we are all broken.  You and me.  We are always going to be broken.
But I choose Him.
I choose love.
Again.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

The Home Birth of Baby Number 6

Two weeks ago on September 18th I was 40 weeks 1 day.  It was a beautiful Tuesday.  It had been raining nearly nonstop for three days prior and I knew they were calling for clear cool skies that day.  So I had planned to get us all out of the house and go to the zoo with my sweet munchkins.  The house was ready for baby, my mind was beyond ready for baby, and we were going out on the town to enjoy the day.
At the zoo my Middlest said of this sign, “Look, Mama, it’s you!”  Maybe it’s that the baby is “in” the mama’s belly.  But don’t think the thought didn’t cross my mind that he meant I might be waddling a bit like a penguin.
And the reason for the waddle was, of course, this gargantuan belly.  I snapped this photo while sitting down watching the kiddos play at the zoo playground.  The belly, my sitting down legs, and the face on my t-shirt cracked me up.
Little did I know that would be the last belly pic I would take before she made her appearance.
We walked the zoo that day for 2 1/2 hours.  I texted to Matt at one point that the zoo trip was the best idea I’d had in weeks.  It was gorgeous, the kids ran their energy out, and I wasn’t totally miserable.
We went home, I started a crockpot of chili for our home group, rested for a few minutes, then rushed off to my prenatal with my midwife.  At that point I was a bit overwhelmed.  I had the kids alone in the appointment and they were really restless.  They were loud as we tried to talk about all the whatifs of going another week over my due date.  We discussed where the OB would fit into that equation and her requirements for biophysical profiles plus another GBS test.  Not to mention my sweet baby’s perfect positioning of the week before had turned back to posterior (baby’s back to my back – which can lead to longer and more painful labors).  The main encouragement of that prenatal was that her heart rate sounded great and she was engaged.
We went home, I filled Matt in on the appointment, I grabbed the pot of chili and ran off to home group.  It was a busy day and I was glad for the distraction.  I remember texting Matt as we drove up to the driveway that I would need his assistance to get children to bed because I was just nearly done by the 9 o’clock hour.  I did manage to do quite a few of the spinning baby exercises before going to bed.
The next morning began typically.  I saw Matt off to work and fed kiddos.  I sat down to watch tv with them because I was really tired and kind of full body hurting, which I chalked up to overdoing it the day before.  At about 8am Matt texted me from work and asked, “Baby yet?”  I told him nope, but that I really needed some rest and Tylenol because I was hurting.  He told me to “double down” and go hike Pinnacle Mountain with the kiddos.  Ha!  He’s ohsofunny.
At 8:30am I went to the bathroom and realized I had lost my mucus plug.  I’ve never been aware of losing it before and had always wondered if you would really know when you did.  Um, yes.  You most certainly do know.  And that’s all I will say about that.  I texted my midwife to tell her and confirmed that yes, it means things are happening (the cervix has to be opening for that to happen), but that it could be anywhere from that afternoon to 2 weeks later.  I still wasn’t really getting my hopes up.  I texted Matt and told him to not get too excited, but hey, this is just what was going on.
A few minutes later I realized that I was having contractions, but they felt like the typical Braxton-Hicks that I’d been feeling for weeks.  I did take note that with each one in the first hour that I was having a bit of a bowel movement.  I also started writing them down, just to be sure they weren’t the real things, but I was still in denial that it was the real deal.  They were kinda regular at about 10-12 minutes apart.  But again, this pattern was not entirely unusual for me and with water and lying down in the past had made them mostly stop.  Knowing that, didn’t stop me from doing the things I needed to do though.  I am, after all, a mom to 5 other children.  I fixed breakfast, changed tv shows, broke up squabbles, wiped bottoms, and did dishes.  At one point I did get a shower, fix my hair, put on makeup, and joked on fb that I needed to be prettified if this was it since I had a professional photographer coming to take labor pics.
At that point it was about 9:30am and the contractions were still going (since I was still running around) and I decided to text my midwife and Matt again to let them know that I was going to lie down, drink a bunch of water, and chill.  I didn’t call Matt home at this point because I wasn’t convinced this was it yet and he had some pretty big presentations at work that he needed to oversee.  I didn’t want to pull him home from that for another false alarm.  Matt, at this point said, “Are you SURE you don’t want me to come home?  I don’t want you to have a baby at home with 5 kids alone.”  I joked with him about making the news for that.  He obliged, but stayed in constant contact with me.  My midwife suggested I continue to track the contractions (that at this point had dropped to between 7 and 9 minutes apart) and that I prepare to take a nap with my 2 year old at his regular naptime (which was going to be around 11am).
I laid down at 9:30am.  My sweet girl asked if she could write the time down for me for each contraction.  I said sure and handed her my phone to keep track of the time.  She was so excited.  She pulled a chair up to my bedside, kept my phone with her, got me ice water, and doodled sweet notes to me.  I alternated resting, sipping water, texting Matt, and doing the baby spinning exercises.  The other kiddos at this point were watching TV and playing.

After about an hour at 10:30ish the contractions were holding steady between 7 and 9 minutes and were still not really that big of a deal.  I was still cuddling kiddos, parenting from the bed, and chatting with my sweet girl.  I still was not completely convinced this was it.  Hence, me not calling Matt home immediately, not calling Melissa (who lives an hour and 15 minutes away), not calling the grandparents to retrieve the kiddos yet.  Y’all, I’m not stupid, I promise.  But hindsight is 20/20 and at the time the contractions didn’t feel any different than the Braxton-Hicks I’d been having for so long, they weren’t getting stronger, and I was still completely parenting and in control between contractions.  Plus, compared to my hospital experiences this was a total cake walk.  And the contractions were kind of back and forth in the time.  I didn’t want to alarm everyone, get everybody to drop everything for me just to go, “Oh, wait, it’s yet another false alarm, go back about your business, please.”  So, I waited.
Thankfully, my midwife did not, she was having meetings that morning not far from me and was sticking close even though I was downplaying the whole thing to her.  And at about 10:30am Matt called me and I told him I was really beyond ready for him to come home.  I still wasn’t positive, but I had not been actively parenting and entertaining the younger kiddos enough because they were bouncing off the walls and I knew lunchtime was looming, getting them food was more than I could think about at the time.  Matt left work about 10:45 and got home about 11am.  When he came in I went to try and lay down with my 2 year old for naptime and he began getting the kids to pick up the house and preparing the front room for the birthing pool.  He watched me have a couple of contractions and suggested strongly that I call Amy, my midwife, and make it clear to her how I was feeling.  I did, she listened through one of my contractions and suggested I go ahead and call grandparents to come, even if it ended up being a false alarm.  I tried the nap, but by then I was having to focus too much on the contractions to get my 2 year old Little Buddy to settle.  I gave it up and sent him to play with the other kids and Matt.  I called Amy back and updated her.  Yes, by this time, I thought we were in fact possibly having a baby that day.  But I still had some doubts.  What can I say, I was in total denial!  Grandparents started our way, Matt vacuumed, and I paced the floor while reassuring kiddos that I was okay, just having a baby.  ;)
Amy walked in about 11:50am to assess the situation and help with childcare until the grandparents got there.  She said judging by my demeanor during the contractions that she guessed I was at about 4 centimeters, which she didn’t mention to me (in all fairness, she and I thought grandparents would walk in any second, take the kids, then we could proceed to fill up the birth pool and she would check me.  And I didn’t think to tell her, oh, by the way, I’ve never seen any numbers between 4 centimeters and “push!” because there’s usually only about 20 minutes from there to here.)
I thought I still had plenty of time because I was still totally parenting between contractions and they seemed very scattered (the contractions as well as the kids!)  What I didn’t realize or communicate was that they were clustering.  What I thought was a contraction, then 2 minutes later another, then 7 minutes later another were actually 2 or 3 contractions on top of another.  After less than 10 minutes of having Amy there (some time just before 12 noon, I think) I remember Matt going into the kitchen to hook up the hose for the birthing pool, Amy spread the tarp and pool out, the kids were running around the room and I had just looked at this sweet picture by my girl.
Then I asked someone to get me a cup of water.  My 2 year old ran to help and brought an empty cup to me.  Amy was sitting in my front window seat.  I leaned over the couch arm in the dining room to have another contraction and the 2 year old was jumping up and down in front of me saying,”Here’s your cup, Mama!” over and over.  And then my water broke.  Everything went super crazy at that point.  The feeling I’ve had before where all of my senses dull or become fuzzy – my hearing is kind of like everything is a room away, very dulled.  My sight become almost like a tunnel – very focused right in front of me, nearly blocked in peripheral.  I remember being aware of the 2 year old jumping directly in front of me and the urge to push being completely overwhelming.  I looked around to find Amy, still sitting across the room from me, the kids running around the room.  And I couldn’t speak.  Literally could not speak above a whisper.  And consequently I could not get Amy’s attention.  I kept trying to whisper her name and my Middlest noticed it.  He said to Amy, “Um, Ms. Amy, I think Mom thinks she’s in labor.”  It makes me smile now.  At that point I knew something had to give.  As in, I had to PUSH!  So I started pulling my pants down right where I stood because I could not move otherwise.  Several thoughts at this point.. I needed to check to see that the fluid was clear and not meconiumed, I needed to get someone’s attention and I had no other way to do it, I can’t have the baby out here because it may traumatize my children, and most of all I AM HAVING THIS BABY NOW!  It was at that point that Amy took note that, “Hey, Suzanne is getting naked.  In the dining room!”  She told the kids they could blow up the birthing pool (to keep them busy) and came over; I whispered it was time.  Right now.  If my children had not been there I have no doubt I would’ve had that baby girl right there in the dining room.  But I was so concerned about the birth traumatizing them that I was determined to get to my bedroom.  I started trying to walk, but couldn’t so Amy had me lean on her and we made it to the door of the kitchen.  Where my poor husband was still working to get the hose hooked up.  Amy calmly and quietly asked Matt to come with us to the bedroom.  I couldn’t verbalize the fact that the baby was only seconds from being here and that I was working with all I had to keep her from coming until we got to the room.  Amy thought that it was time or nearly time, but that we could get to the bedroom and she could check me and we could assess the situation.  Matt had no idea just how close we were.  That walk down my short hallway seemed about 10 miles long.  I got to the bed with Amy very near me trying to check my progress.  Matt was on the other side of the bed.  I was pushing as soon as I got onto the bed.  Amy saw that she was already crowning.  Matt said, “What do we do?”  To which Amy smiled and said, “We have a baby.”  To me she whispered jokingly and smiling, “How do you feel about not having a water birth.”  To Matt she said, “Lock the door.”  She knew I did not want the kids walking in for the actual birth.  One or two pushes and her head was out.  Amy checked for her cord, I pushed again and out she came.  She had turned into the perfect position with all the exercises I had done the night before and day of.  She weighed 8 pounds 10 ounces (our largest baby) and was 20 1/2 inches long.  It was 12:07pm.  Not quite 20 minutes after Amy got here.  Not quite 20 before my parents-in-law would be here for the kids.  Not quite 4 hours after labor had started.
When she came out there were a couple of noteworthy things.  Her cord was rather short so I couldn’t bring her all the way up to my chest.  She was not taking the breath she needed so Amy gave her a couple of good breaths.  The kids had been unattended for about 5 minutes.  Matt stepped to the door to tell them they could have all of my labor snacks I had been saving and they could raid the Gatorade.  I would not be needing them for labor it would seem.  That bought us a few more minutes to get the cord cut, wipe her down, and hide the mess I had made.  Then Matt stepped out to warn the kiddos that the baby’s color would look a little weird, but that she was okay.  I had not prepared them for how she would look immediately after birth because I had not PLANNED on them being there!
My oldest had texted my m0ther-in-law when he knew she was born to say, “Mama had the baby.”  My mother-in-law (who was only 15 minutes away at that point) said she didn’t believe the text because my husband tends to play jokes on people and tends to get our children involved in the jokes.  She said to my father-in-law, “that is the meanest joke Matt’s ever played!”  A few minutes later he texted her again and said, “I’ve seen my baby sister now.”  When she received that text she said she cried and prayed and cried some more.  Because she knew that one was truly from the Oldest’s heart.  They cried and prayed thanking God the rest of the way here.
The kids saw their new baby sister and said she looked like an alien.  They took note that she had hair.  And they ran around excited that Nana and Papa were on their way to take them for an adventure day!
I nursed my new baby immediately, Matt lit candles, Amy cleaned up, and once the kiddos were gone she prepared to stitch up my first degree tear.  Amy gave me a local and sutured me.  My hate of needles and my desire to just have it all over with was the worst part of the whole experience.  And it only lasted for a bit.  All while I held my new baby.
Then Amy ran me an herbal bath, Matt went to get us some Jason’s Deli sandwiches and I spent time nursing and cuddling my new girl.  Amy cleaned everything and chatted with me, bringing me drinks and snacks.  I was pampered beyond belief and enjoyed the rest of my beautiful evening.  After the bath, Matt got back, Amy, Matt and I ate sandwiches, chatted, and rehashed the day.
It was 3pm on September 19th by then and I was at peace.  Amy checked and assessed everything one more time and left by about 4:30pm, I think.  Then it was just Matt, our new bundle, and me in the setting sun of the day, in a clean house, with pumpkin spice candles burning, and gentle peace of the early evening.
This, this is how it was meant to be.  I would do it again tomorrow if I could.  The only regret of the entire day was that I didn’t get my friend and photographer, Melissa Stover, there.  She did come last week, took a few photos, and even blogged about the missed opportunity.  If you live in the central Arkansas area I definitely recommend Melissa Stover for your family and birth photography and of course, Amy Cefalo of Natural State Midwife Services for the best home birth experience ever.  If I could go back and have the first 5 at home, I would in a heartbeat.  Such a beautiful experience from beginning to end.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Meal Plan with Recipes

It’s been forever since I’ve put one of these up, but since I’m trying a bunch of new recipes {courtesy of Pinterest, thankyouverymuch} I thought I’d let you know I’m eating something other than what we’ve been eating over and over.
This two week’s menu plan:
Barbecue Sandwiches and Baked Beans (thanks to Donny and Brooke! and my grillin’ hubby!)
Manicotti with Red Sauce and Corn (regular canned corn served as a side, cheapy jumbo shells filled with this manicotti filler and covered with spaghetti sauce from a can)
Slow Cooker Baked Potatoes, Lemon Pepper Chicken Salad, and Sour Dough Bread  (bread was on sale at Wal-Mart – I’ll warm it and butter it, regular green leaf and iceberg lettuce salad with boneless, skinless breasts baked in lemon juice and pepper chopped and placed on top of salad)
Hamburgers
Slow Cooker Breakfast Casserole (I tried the muffin cup sausage/egg/cheese recipe recently that I had “pinned” and I liked how quickly it cooked and how handheld they were for quick trips out of the house, but I like the idea that I can wake up to breakfast with this one!)

Lunches and Snacks
Leftovers
Spaghetti
Tuna Fish with Crackers
Macaroni
Ham and Cheese Melts (toasty bread, ham warmed to crispy in the skillet with cheese melted on top, with lettuce and tomato – our all-time fav sandwiches)
Granola
Popcorn
Chocolate Pudding
GoGurts (they now make Simply Yogurt ones – yay!  frozen, a quick cool healthy treat for the kiddos)
String Cheese
Sunflower Seeds
Dried Cranberries
Cereal
Ice Cream (totally counts as a snack!)
Cinnamon Oatmeal (not individual packs, the real cooked stuff)
Bruised Berry Pie (Matt’s creation from pie shells, blackberries, blueberries and a cobbler type filling)
Cinnamon Rolls with Icing (yes, I know there are no pictures anymore on this post, but if you read the directions I think you can get the gist of it – I use the biscuit cans that are tiny and very cheap)
Lots of fresh fruit and carrots for snacking
***
We’re still eating healthier, eating less, and losing weight.  Well, I’m not losing anymore weight – I’m at a weight that I want to stay at now.  And this will be the first time around that I bring the kids onto the complete healthy eating with us.  Until now I’ve been buying hot dogs and lots of frozen instant foods.  I knew it was wrong to get our bodies so much healthier and pour junk into the kids’ bodies, but I couldn’t get my nerve up to cook more and serve food that I wasn’t sure they’d eat.  But as we ate more and more real foods that were better for us and served them alongside macaroni and hot dogs and frozen pizza and deep fried chicken the more I noticed they wanted to try what we were eating.  Plus with the rising cost of groceries I could no longer buy two different meal plans.  So, here we go.  All together finally.  Eating healthier.  I’ll let you know if these recipes make my 30 day meal plan or not.  I hope they’re not all flops or we’re in trouble!!
Happy Eating!!