My Old Lady Post

I can't believe it has been over a year since I've posted. Not that I think people have been waiting with bated breath or anything. But man, a year can sure fly by!

I do want to share my story of the past year. Hopefully it can give someone encouragement if they have been sharing similar struggles.

It's been a rough year. Hold on to your hat and get ready for this little old lady to tell you about her laundry list of health ailments. Don't worry, I won't get too graphic.

A little background: I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease in 2003. Daily high fevers and severe abdominal pain sent me to my family doctor who referred me to a gastroenterologist who knew even before internal testing that it was Crohn's (even though I didn't present with the typical *ahem* bathroom issues).

I took four gigantic horse pills called Pentasa, four times a day. My fevers went away and I felt TONS better. I was in college so as soon as my symptoms went away I went back to my normal life and forgot that I even carried this diagnosis of a chronic disease with no known cure.

After Jim and I got married in 2006 I had another flare up. I needed to get back on my Pentasa but we learned that it was not covered since it was a pre-existing condition. $500 a month. That wasn't going to happen. I began to learn to manage my symptoms by changing my diet... somewhat... like... as in... not very much. I did enough to keep fevers away but I couldn't give up these foods that I loved so much. The creamy sauces. The desserts. The fried foods. THE CHOCOLATE. 

Pregnancy, oddly enough, brought relief. I felt great and we joked that I should just stay pregnant for the rest of my life. (Ha. Ha... no.) But after James was born, and for the next entire year, my body returned all of the evil that I had done to it. All of my belly issues came back in addition to normal post-pregnancy issues.

Understandably, it took us a while to become pregnant with Anna and I banked on the fact that pregnancy would bring the relief that James' had. It did. However, I was underweight throughout her gestation and after she was born I watched my body deteriorate terrifyingly fast. This time I dropped below my pre-pregnancy weight within a few months (which, for me, was not healthy at all) and continued to drop weight. I nursed as long as I could but stopped early in hopes that my body would begin to build itself back up. Even though my Crohn's disease wasn't flaring up, according to colonoscopy and endoscopy tests, the malabsorption was in full swing. It didn't matter how much I ate, I wasn't gaining healthy weight. 

Soon my abdominal pain became debilitating. This was stop-you-in-your-tracks, bend-over-holding-your-belly pain. Then the vomiting, 3-5 times a week from the pain, began. I had a very sick gallbladder removed over the summer of 2013 before Anna turned one. It brought some relief, but soon it all returned. I was literally prescribed every antacid known to man. Every single one made me sicker. I have a small hiatal hernia, but my gastroenterologist didn't think it should cause these many issues. This spring I had an MRI scheduled and new blood work done to search for tumors and cancer markers as my weight was at a whopping 83.5 pounds. Yay.   

I should pause here and explain that I have the most wonderful husband, family, and friends in the world. My in-laws and parents cared for me and the children, Jim came home early from work on bad days when I needed him. James prayed sweet prayers at night to, "please make mommy's belly feel better." I could function to get through the day, but only just. I needed them and they were there for me.

The MRI and blood work results were negative and Jim and I praised Jesus for his mercy. While we were relieved, this still left us with more questions than answers. My Crohn's disease wasn't causing this directly, neither was my hernia or gallbladder or liver or anything clearly pathological. So why was my stomach rejecting everything I offered? There was one more rare thing it could be called Sphincter of Oddi Dysfunction - I would be sent to Charleston for that test in two weeks. Neither Jim nor I felt like this was the answer either.

Would you believe me if I told you that Facebook gave me back my life? Cheesy. I know.

One of my friends shared this page about following a Paleo diet. I should share that throughout these years of struggle I had cut out gluten, sugar, and dairy at different times but never all three together. And never with the determination that is really required for it to make a difference. Honestly, I was immature about caring for my body. And my gastroenterologist's response about diet? "You should be able to eat a normal diet." Bless his heart.

I believe the numbers on my bathroom scale coupled with a scary MRI lit the fire that I needed to do it. Jim and I decided to do the Paleo diet very strictly and if it made no difference, we would go through with the MUSC visit. That very day, June 16, 2014, my mom stocked my kitchen with everything I needed. 

Within three days of a strict Paleo diet my abdominal pain and vomiting had completely ceased. I didn't even know what to do with myself. That had been my norm for so long. My lower back was sore from standing upright because I was so used to being hunched over! I called my gastro's office and was so excited to share with Linda, the nurse, (yes, we were on a first name basis by then) my happy news. We cancelled the Charleston appointment but of course will return to my doctor if needed.

It has now been 4 months and I've gained about 5 pounds. I know that doesn't sound like too much but I'm thrilled. After about a month, I introduced rice and white potato back into my diet to try to gain more weight. Since then I've completely added grains back in to continue to try to gain healthy weight. I'm still off of dairy and trying to avoid added sugars. I still feel great and truly like I've been given my life back. 

I also have a more realistic outlook on the rest of my life: I will always need to be careful with my diet. The creamy sauces. The desserts. The fried foods. Even THE CHOCOLATE. It's not worth it to me. (Yikes! Did I really write that into existence??)

So. I wrote this for me. To remind me of God's faithfulness through this storm. And yes, He'd still be faithful if that MRI returned with scarier results. Yes, He'd still be faithful if the Paleo diet didn't work. In this part of my story, though, he's teaching me discipline through my food choices. And his mercy in restoration.

Thanks for pushing through to the end! Please, if you struggle with similar belly issues that plague so many people these days, consider looking at a lifestyle change such as the Paleo diet or something similar. 

Filling bellies

Come into my morning if you will.

I shuffle, still haven't spoken words, into the coffee maker, the toaster, the cereal bowls, the milk. Fill the empty bellies. Anna is crawling around my feet, pulling up to my legs to be held. James is asking if I want to play Legos. Really so sweetly and with such good manners that it hurts my heart to say no... again. 

And the day begins. My brain is already searching for my own space. Push away. Leave me alone for - just - one - minute - PLEASE. No solace. Where's the quiet that was so fleeting with sleep? 

I sit with my breakfast, take one bite. 

"No, no more juice. Fill your cup with water if you're still thirsty."

"Anna, are you already stinky?"

"You don't have to announce that you footahed, James. Just say excuse me."

I don't think I have finished one complete thought yet.

Anna soon goes down for her morning nap. Ah. James is playing Legos at the dining room table. Yet still I am on edge. The day isn't half over and I feel so panicky. Crazy. Still bitter inside, even as I sit with my now-room-temp-coffee. Just waiting for one more interruption, to feel justified in my internal wrath. 

I open my Bible to Matthew's account. 

I see here that Jesus, too, was once on edge. His cousin, his dear close friend, the one who baptized him was just murdered. Beheaded. A bigger deal than my semi-chaotic-first-world-breakfast-morning, I suppose.

He was in mourning and wanted to be alone. He needed quiet. And for excellent cause.

But he didn't get it. THRONGS of people searched for him and found him. THOUSANDS of people interrupted him. They interrupted his agony and his need to have complete thoughts about the death of his friend. 

So where was his bitterness? Where was his lashing out and his leave me alone for just - one - minute?

It was lost and gone. Killed by his compassion for the hungry bellies in front of him. And he fed them - all of them - until they were satisfied.

He still needed to be alone, though, and that time did come. He went high on a mountain to pray and found his quiet after they were all gone. But I see that in the meantime, in the interruptions, he was patient. And compassionate. And so generous and gentle. I have a feeling he wouldn't even call them interruptions.

And so when the inevitable chatter began again, I was thankful to find my heart a little softer. At least this time. Grace for today. 

Storytelling with little ones

If you tell bedtime stories to your kids, you're making them smarter!

My parents are incredible storytellers. Growing up, we snuggled in their bed and listened to the adventures of Tubby Turtle, Ricky and Rhonda Robin, Moo-Moo the Cow and the Doodah Bear. Sometimes the bad guys were The Troggs who would try to make Tubby into turtle soup. We later learned they were the band that sang "Wild Thing." Nice. My parents told stories slowly and with lots of detail. And we were rapt.

The benefits are numerous. Selfishly, it's a great excuse to lay down and rest and cuddle with my boy who doesn't always want to stay still these days. But also, he is forming the story in his imagination - no pictures in a book, no screen to dictate the action that he sees in his mind's eye. And it doesn't take much. Not a super complex storyline. Just a not-too-scary problem, lots of sillies, and the good guys winning at the end.

Now we are trying our hand at some storytelling. We let James name our characters and each character is a member of our family. Jim is Bobalob the Bear, I'm Hubbly the Owl, James is Funny the Fox, and Anna is Honky the Horse.

We're a blended family, obviously.

Mainly, their adventures occur in the woods with other woodland creatures. A baby mouse with her tail stuck under a fallen rock; Funny the Fox comes to the rescue (yea, forget that Funny would probably make a snack out of baby mouse.) Bobalob the Bear has to climb waaaaaay up in a tree to rescue Honky the Horse because she climbed up but, Hello! she's a horse and now is stuck.

But honestly, the very best stories are when James gets us started. Riveting plots such as, "...when Bobalob takes everyone out of the forest to eat at Papas and Beer!" or "...when Funny the Fox asks Hubbly if he can play a game on her phone."

Ha!

And of course you can always do the sneaky parent move where you reinforce a moral or solution from  reality. You know, when Funny the Fox didn't want to go to bed or Honky the Horse knocked down Funny's tower...

There's a reason storytelling is so powerful. Check out a bit from this incredible article:

It's in fact quite simple. If we listen to a powerpoint presentation with boring bullet points, a certain part in the brain gets activated. Scientists call this Broca's area and Wernicke's area. Overall, it hits our language processing parts in the brain, where we decode words into meaning. And that's it, nothing else happens.

When we are being told a story, things change dramatically. Not only are the language processing parts in our brain activated, but any other area in our brain that we would use when experiencing the events of the story are too.

If someone tells us about how delicious certain foods were, our sensory cortex lights up. If it's about motion, our motor cortex gets active. 

In short, telling stories makes meaningful, creative, and lasting connections with our children. And it's really no surprise to me that, once upon a time, Jesus did the same.  

Sweet Anna at 5.5 Months

I know. Five and a half months is no significant milestone. But I just realized that she's almost six months old and I've dreadfully succumbed to the "second-child-doesn't-get-baby-book-filled-out" thing.

Of course, she doesn't even have a baby book... and I think James' is only about a third filled out. I did keep regular milestone updates for James on here, so I better get crackin' for my girl!

I must say, Anna Jubilee is simply a joy. She's somewhat bashful and oh, so sweet. Usually, she's looking around, wide-eyed, with her eyebrows lifted in expectation. When you talk to her, she'll tilt her chin down and look up with her big dark (smoky green/brown?) eyes to throw you a grin and your heart just plummets right to the floor.

At the same time, though, when she gets excited (the changing table = Disney World), her plump little legs go wild, kicking so fast there's not much hope for diving in there for a diaper change. She's perfected the feminine squeal. I remember the first time she did it, I thought, "Whoa. That sound has never emitted from my rugged little man-boy. She IS a girl."

She loves to be held and walked around, facing outward. If you hold her toward you, she twists and turns and kicks until you turn her around.

She has most blessedly slept through the night (7pm - 7:30am) for the past three nights. She takes sporadic 45 min/1 hr naps, but I have no complaints there. She has marginally tolerated a few helpings of baby cereal and we'll probably go for some avocado soon.

She has two teeth on the bottom row and she drools and blows bubbles so much that I barely notice it now... probably much to the chagrin of strangers around us. If there is anything within her fluffy arms' reach, it is immediately deposited into her gnawing chops.

She rolls from tummy and from back and has been for a while now. I caught her trying so desperately to push up to her knees to reach a toy the other day. But don't worry, she got a severe reprimand for growing up THAT fast.

I can't believe it's almost been 6 months, and yet of course I can't imagine our little life without her. I'm so excited to watch her grow.

A Buddy Conversation.

I was admiring a recent Lego construction and said, "Wow, you're so creative, James!" He looked at me for a moment, then back to the space ship, then back to me...

James:  Mommy, God created the heavens and the earth.

Me:  And he created us, too. And he created us to BE creative.

James:  What's creative?

Me:  It's when we make things. Like painting, or cooking, or building with Legos, or planting a garden outside...

James:  ... or telling stories... or making BABIES!

Me, laughing:  Yep. And babies.

He gets it.

Jim has a habit of speaking scripture to James in a conversational way, just like he's telling him a story. I'd love to do this, too, but it helps if you have some memorized... which I don't... or not that well anyway. The first chapter of Genesis is a frequent one and it's so beautiful when conversations like this happen and it's clear that he's been listening. Even when sometimes as Jim finishes, James will respond with something like, "Look at this booger I got, Daddy."

Her name.

This is my dear, precious, best, bosom friend, Anna. In this picture we are juniors or seniors in high school, squeezing each other in the frigid football stands of a marching band competition. She played the piccolo, I played the clarinet.

And here we are with our other sister-friend, Rachel, around age 4 or 5. Anna would still rock those gold shoes and wacky hair bow today. Shamelessly.

Anna has been my friend since my memory begins. We were neighbors, children together, up on Chestnut Mountain. Way out in the boonies where no one else was. We slid down rocky creeks in just our Hanes Her Ways and picked blackberries along the road that was cut through the woods on our mountain. We swam in the muddy lake and got stung by yellow jackets in the summer. Our playground was a seemingly endless forest with fabled bobcats (often heard but never seen) and maybe even a bear or two.

She was home schooled for some of her elementary years and then joined me in 5th grade at our little public school. It absolutely made my year that my best friend was going to be in my class. We were inseparable into middle school. 

Middle school. As tragic as middle school is by itself, Anna also endured the loss of her mother to cancer. Carol was a beautiful, gregarious, welcoming, and artistic woman. It was devastating. Anna spent many nights with our family during that time, some of which I would wake to her crying. An awkward seventh grader myself, I would have no clue what to say. My mom was alive. 

With our mamas, Anna and Carol on the right.

We weathered middle school together, became women together. We liked some of the same boys and got in trouble for talking too much in freshman biology class. We both drove little white Toyota Corollas.

In late high school, boyfriends and youthful indiscretion (read that: underaged drinking of cheap beer) distanced us. Anna pursued the artistic gifts from her mom through photography. I pursued shallow popularity. A really cool thing happened, though. On the very last day of our senior year, it was like all of that had never happened. We fell right back in step. That tends to happen with true friends.

On Senior Day.

We continued on into different colleges, but remained very close. Anna obtained a degree in black and white photography and then another in art history. I chose elementary education. She was there for me when I finally realized the futility of partying and when I transferred schools because I just wanted to come home. 

She was there when I remembered Jesus. She was there to affirm that, yes, he is in fact the greatest in all of existence. And that's not to say she didn't have her own struggles with God. Her faith was deeper. Her's was wrought out of anger when he took her mom. The pain that she felt as a middle schooler, I have yet to experience.

She was there when I met Jim. She was there in the tiny apartment that we shared, already crying happy tears as I walked in the door because she knew he had proposed that day. She stood beside me on my wedding day as my maid of honor, holding my 800 pound bouquet of lilies and roses.

I watched her, in proud awe, as she boarded a plane to study art in Italy. She came home a different person, worldly-wise and fresh with adventure. Her strength, independence, and bravery are some of her greatest attributes. 

She shed more happy tears when I announced that I was pregnant with James. She stood outside the delivery room and was one of the first in to see us.

    

She remains one of his favorite people.

So when we found out that we were pregnant with a girl, we began the daunting task of choosing a name. (It was easy with James Walker Thompson the Fifth, for Pete's sake). But then, all of the sudden, it became clear. Of course she should be called Anna. 

Favor. 

Grace. 

My beautiful friend.

Anna is now finishing her graduate work in seminary to become a counselor. She has traveled to the Dominican Republic to serve others and regularly helps the needy in her area. She still loves the arts, but wants to be able to help people who are hurting. She is kind. Compassionate. Selfless. 

Strength and dignity are her clothing and she smiles at the future... and I pray that our Anna will follow in her footsteps.   

Watermelon and saying hard things.

I don't like cutting up a watermelon. Or a pineapple. Or even uncooked potatoes.

Twelve-year-old me, standing next to my mama chopping in the kitchen, she teaches me, "Sara, you have to have a special balance of confidence and caution when using sharp knives. Without one or the other you will cut yourself. Be strong but always know where your fingers are."

I try to remember this but my knees still get weak as I try to push a big knife through a cantaloupe. It takes practice.

Confrontation also makes me physically sick. I get queasy and tongue-tied and would rather do anything but tell someone something uncomfortable. But we are not to sacrifice our loved ones on the altar of comfort. It, too, takes practice.

I have to be confident and cautious. Confident that it is always right to tell the truth and cautious with my words. They have to be compassionate and edifying and helpful - not browbeating or condemning.

And with that, Ephesians 4 is a good read. May we learn to speak the truth in love and kindness to one another.

As a mama, how do I approach scripture?

I must admit, when I hear Christians use scripture in debate with atheists or agnostics, I cringe. I feel like I can see the other person stop listening.

Clearly the authority of scripture is a cornerstone of the Christian faith, but engaging with our world means understanding that not everyone recognizes that authority and may see it as silly-from-the-Dark-Ages circular reasoning.

Anyway, this post is not about that. This post recognizes all of those differences, but lands on the fact that I do hold scripture in an extremely high place in my heart and home. So reader, if you do not, this post is not for you.

But as a Christian mama, why should I make it a priority to study scripture and teach it to my children? Shouldn't it just be a private thing between God and me? Shouldn't I let them decide what they will believe on their own as they grow and mature?

After all, we wouldn't want to be these frightening parents...

As with everything, we must seek the balance. If I staunchly require James to read his Bible before he's allowed to eat breakfast, there's a problem. However, if he witnesses Jim and me reading and singing scripture because we find joy and comfort and truth in it, that is better - - and much closer to scripture, I believe. I want to teach him that we don't read scripture to know a book (and certainly not to model behaviors of a number of Old Testament characters) but to better know a Person. 

But how then will he call on him if he has not believed? And how will he believe if he doesn't hear? And how will he hear if his Mama doesn't tell him???*

So I will tell him. 

Broadly at first, with great resources like the Jesus Storybook Bible, wherein "every story whispers His name." Showing him the whole arch of the redemptive story, how it all fits together and points to Jesus. And with our wonderful Fellowship Kids ministry who so beautifully partners with us in simple monthly memory verses and activities. And as he grows, we can dive in more deeply, learning together what this great and mysterious book means to us. 

All that said, even if I were to choose to force scripture down his throat OR be more passive in hopes that he'll "catch" it, it doesn't matter. It's not up to me. I can do the best job within my knowledge and capacity as his mama and he could still grow up and curse God. And if that's the case, I will still utterly love him because I was loved. For while I was cursing and lying and giving myself away, God loved me. 

But perhaps one day - and I pray that it's so - James and Anna will meet the God of this book. Perhaps they will be given eyes to see and ears to hear how this God was Jesus and came to us and died and killed death and was alive again.  

And while it will be my greatest joy, the glory will not be mine.

(*Rom. 10:14, my words)  

The rain is gone...

After a straight week of frigid, gloomy, soggy, grey outside, our backyard is now drenched in almost white sunlight. Not a single cloud. An utter downpour of yellow.

I love being at home; a homebody. My body likes being at home.

But why, after only a few days that held a scant number of short errands or meetings that required us to venture out into the wet, are we itching to go? Cooped up. Cabin fever. Get me outta here.

Living room floor exercising or running the laps in pursuit of the squealing, delight-shrieking 3-year-old  is not enough. We need to go somewhere and do something.

A trip to the grocery store sounds like Disneyland.

We were not made to be sedentary. We need room and purpose and light and connection. Dark, cold, and closed makes us turn in on ourselves and sink deeper. That's why we sleep when it's like that. It's really one of the only profitable things to do then. Bears got it right.

Now, I love a good rain for repose. An opportunity to slow and snuggle. But the light brings uncoiling. Stretching and reaching. Let's go do something. Accomplish and breath faster.

And it makes me remember that we are to be "giving thanks to the Father...who has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of this beloved Son..."

And to look forward to the kingdom of light that is coming where there will be no need for a massive burning star because all the light will come from him.

Just from him. There, we will need no sun.

The age of fears.

Tucking in my boy...

James: Mommy, who's in heaven?

Me (carefully): Well, there are angels and God is there and --

James interrupts: No, like Ulku's daddy. (My friend whose father has passed away)

Me: Yes, people that have died are in heaven, too.

James: ... I don't want to go to heaven ...

Me: That's ok, buddy. It's going to wonderful and happy and fun there, but you don't have to think about that for a long, long time.

James: But I want to be here with you. In our house!  For a long, long time.

Me: I'll always be with you, buddy. Always, always.

James (grins): Always!


Jim and I have been trying to be aware of the age of fears (usually from 3-5 years old). Not allowing scary stuff on TV, even seemingly benign "tickle monsters" and the like. But a lot of the fearfulness, I'm finding, is simply James learning about the world around him. And the world is scary.

The lack of light at night is scary.

The reason we have to wear seat belts is scary. (Another one that was hard to explain.)

The other reasons that we have policemen, apart from the simple "they're here to help!"

The thought of dying is scary.

So as his questions are going deeper, my answers have to be truthful. And I can't pretend for him any longer that there are people who don't follow the laws. Or that car accidents happen every day.

This is hard, you guys! Of course I don't go all unabridged into every subject; it must still be age appropriate, but he's not satisfied with the comfy answers that I could provide even just a few months ago.

Older moms have told me that as your children get older, it's less physically demanding and much more emotionally and mentally taxing. Uh, yea! And he's not even four.

Praying for grace and wisdom as I try to impart the same to my babes...

In this particular moment

...I'm grateful for both babes taking their afternoon naps at the same time,

for the month of December in all of its flurry and happiness,

for friends that push me toward Jesus,

for family that encourages and loves me unconditionally,

for this cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it,

for The Lord of the Rings extended edition DVD set that we're borrowing from our friends that will give us at least a week of home date nights,

for tough situations in my life that make me pray,

and for the internet where I can share this gratitude with others.

Very revealing...

Anna is now a little over 2 months old. We are beginning to sleep on a somewhat normal schedule, helping me regain a little of what I remember as lucidity.

In these moments of healthier-sleep-induced-awareness, I've been able to reflect upon some things about myself. Some ugly things. Some very stinky, rotten things.

Having a newborn is a great way to reveal your true self, if you really want to see it. The parts of you that you tuck away for no one to see, ever. The monster that comes out when every back and arm muscle is aching and it's 2:30 am and she. won't. eat. but would rather scream right in my ear as I bounce and pace and cry right along with her. (I'm pretty sure every mama has been in that moment.)

Dare I say it, I think those nights are behind us for now. They went so quickly. Why was I so short-tempered? Yes, I know I was sleep-deprived, healing from labor, with a cocktail of post-partum hormones coursing through me... but somehow I hoped that I'd be stronger. That I was a seasoned veteran. Puh! Yeah, right.

Instead, I'm only reminded of the VERY thin layer of Sara Control. I can make it look good for a little bit, but when life pushes back against me, I crumple. My patience is weak and short. My idea of the depths of despair would be a day in the park to some. My point of hopelessness is laughable.

And the ugliest part that I saw was that I turn to myself for help.

Instead of laying my unattractive heart down to be washed and renewed in repentance, I picked it up myself and poured another cup of fix-it coffee.

On the other end of the first 8 weeks of another human's life (some of the most catch-your-breath beautiful and yet frustrating moments), I'm reminded again of His silent long-suffering.

Of His endless patience with my fussiness.

That He went deeper into any depths of despair that I could ever imagine, and came out the other side victorious.

And that He is hope. 



... linking up with GraceLaced today!
  

Anna's Story

So here's how it happened;

How she happened, this little angel beauty:

Contractions had been teasing me for weeks, organizing for an hour at 8-10 minutes apart, then tapering off.  Tuesday night, we had a birthday supper with our friends and I diced a 1/3 of a hot chili pepper into my taco salad, hoping to move things along. I woke up the next morning with contractions 5 minutes apart and told Jim he should stay home from work. 

But, no dice. They slowed down to 20 min apart and off to work he went. 

We went to bed Wednesday night around 10 pm. I slept soundly until 1:24 am when all of the sudden a rope of contraction wound around my middle. Another one 5 minutes later and then they continued for about 45 minutes. I woke up Jim, ate some waffles, and drank a glass of milk. He encouraged me to lie back down to try to rest. 

Sure enough, back to 7-10 min apart, but this time I felt like they were here to stay. I couldn't find a comfortable position. Side lying was excruciating - only standing or all fours was bearable and I couldn't really rest in those positions. Jim pulled a chair up to the bed so I could sit and rest the top half of my body on a few pillows. This was perfect. I could actually relax through the contractions and then almost fall completely asleep between them. 

At 5:00 am my water broke and contractions came consistently between 4 and 5 minutes apart. After calling our precious Barb to come stay with James and loading up the car, we quit timing them and just drove. I was so excited and pumped with adrenaline and hormones, I couldn't stop shaking almost the whole ride to the hospital. 

We checked in and had to start out in a triage room (apparently October 4 is a popular birthday). My nurse checked my progress and said, "Huh..." I was expecting 4 cm at the most. We whooped and hollered when she said 7 cm! 

She said, "We'll go ahead and call Dr. Stafford." 

"For me?" 

"Yeah," she said, "this is going to go pretty fast."

Sure enough, I went to use the restroom, and the next contraction made me want to bear down and push. The nurse heard me and yelled, "Don't you have that baby in the toilet!"

The next little bit went so quickly. I made it back to the bed, Dr. Stafford was there along with 4 other nurses, all ready to apparently catch my baby girl. I was still in shock - surely it couldn't be time yet. After about 5 or 6 sets of pushing, Anna emerged, warm and smooth. She snuggled quietly on my chest (after yelling for a bit about the nasal aspirator) for the longest time. Absolute heavenly bliss.

Jim was our champion, rubbing my back and legs and cheering me on through the pushing. One of the sweetest moments was when he held Anna for the first time. He leaned against the wall, slid down on the floor, curled his arms and shoulders around her and said, "You can have whatever you want." 

I watched my husband fall in love with another girl right before my eyes. And it was beautiful.

We are having a sweet and uneventful recovery period, reveling in the love and generosity of friends and family. James came to the hospital and was so precious with Anna. After being very concerned with all my hospital bracelets and saline port, he gave Anna hugs and kisses and then hopped down on the floor to play with his rocket ship. Pretty standard 3-year-old behavior :) 

My dear friend Mandy flew on the wings of the morning and met us at the hospital to take pictures during the labor. I was SO thankful for this gift. These are images that would have otherwise quickly become fuzzy in my memory. She says the lighting was tough to work with but I think they turned out beautifully. (Click to view them in an enlarged album)

Just arrived and excited!

 The Man, Dr. Stafford

 Helping me relax

Time to push!

This was the moment she was laid on my chest and Jim was hugging me. Love.

Crying as I watched them together for the first time. With my warm blankets and Jell-O of course.

6 lbs 15 oz, 18" long, born at 7:11 am

We are so very thankful for answered prayers. For a quick and safe delivery and for a most amazing and beautiful baby girl. 

Baby-Anna-in-my-tummy update

I'm at the beginning of my 37th week. I'm waddling. My belly feels heavier and lower every day. I can't speak more than a paragraph without needing to gasp for oxygen. I make "ugh" sounds when I sit down or stand up. I feel her moving, but somersaults have been replaced with just kicks and stretches - she's running out of room. I dream about her face.

Two appointments ago, my belly measured 4 weeks behind. I've been measuring small, but it had been over a month since my previous visit and still not much growth. My never-alarmist-wonderful Dr. Stafford suggested an ultrasound and I agreed. A week later, the ultrasound confirmed the peace that God had eventually given me - she was perfectly fine, my placenta was doing its job, plenty of fluid, plenty of baby (estimated weight, 5.3 lbs). October 4 is still a good due date for reference. Reference, mind you, not expectations.  :)

I feel at times that I'm one big Braxton Hicks contraction. I stay hydrated and fed but I still have them aaaall the time. Nighttime frequently brings some real contractions - one night even for a solid hour, 8 minutes apart. This is reminiscent of James' birth, too. A few weeks of random contractions and then, whoopee! my water broke and he came pretty quickly. I'd love a similar birth to James', but I know her's must be and will be different. Just so ready to experience it!

It's a tough place to be - knowing that she could potentially come at any time and yet chances are we still have a few weeks. I'm trying to soak up these moments with James, lingering during tuck-in bedtimes, snuggling just a while longer, reading just a few more books.

And I'm ready to meet my daughter.

A lecture to myself on the topic of electronics... electronically.

Don't worry. The irony hasn't escaped me.

My MacBook propped on my lap (obviously - I'm typing), iPhone to my right. They're both there if I need them. Whew!

If I need them. Need them. Need.

My friend David posted a link to this article the other day and I couldn't read past the second paragraph because it was already too close to home. The part about the "itchy feeling to check my phone and do the circuit"? Yea. Nice to meet you. That's me.

My particular circuit only contains a few: Facebook, blogs, email. But that's okay. I can stretch those three as loooong as I need.

Okay, so what to do? "All things are lawful, but not all things are helpful..." I Cor. 10:23. It's not bad to have these things in my home. I have been so incredibly encouraged, spurred on, and built up by other mama blogs and friends' great Facebook statuses. There is a place for these things. Parts are helpful.

But there are parts that are extremely hurtful. The same friend (boy, you've been on a roll, David!) said later, "Kids shouldn't have to grow up competing with a phone for their parents' attention."

That made me take a step back and think, "What will James remember about my time spent with him?" Hopefully it will be more memories of reading books and building block cities and playing outside than with my head and face glued to my dumb phone. Gotta make those little red notifications go away!! Right??

So this is me, ready to battle that itchy feeling to check the circuit. To combat it with questions like, "Is there something else that I can do with these moments? Is there another activity that would be more helpful - to me - to anyone?"

I only write when James is sleeping. I try to only have specific times in the day to "check my stuff." Keeping my phone in only one place in the house instead of my pocket helps immensely. And believe me, I fail all the time. Looking-real-quick-for-a-recipe can easily turn into a 20 minute photo-gallery-tour-of-someone-I-barely-know.

But it's worthy to press on.

My dad frequently reminded us, "Good, better, best; never let it rest." I don't know the origin of that quote, but it's so stinkin' true. Yes, it's good to read encouraging or funny things on Facebook. It's probably better to look at your 3 year old. And it's most likely best to hug him and talk to him and read him a book.

Why am I shocked?

... that this morning I specifically prayed "God I need your strength today, so much,"

And around 1:00 pm, right before kids' nap time, I was chugging along like I was still 8:30-fresh? It struck me as I swept lunch crumbs from the floor and didn't feel like I was about to collapse.

Even though I'm getting bigger-pregnant. Even though I didn't fall asleep until midnight. Even though I woke at 6:00 am.

And I'm shocked that He hears me. I'm shocked that He cares. And I suppose deep down, if I'm honest, I'm still shocked that He's even real.

   

Natural labor and delivery

I love talking about birth stories - any kind. If you get me going, I could talk about it for hours and I have to be careful that it doesn't become a too-much-information conversation... in fact, you may want to read this post with caution.  ;)

I count it a privilege and honor to be able to grow and birth another person. Every experience from woman to woman is different and special to her. Some mamas want pain management, others schedule c-sections for a a variety of reasons. Jim and I prefer to prepare for a non-medicated birth. And yes, I did mean to include Jim in that phrase. During James' labor, he was my rock. He could help me relax every muscle from head to toe with just a few words and touches.

Here's my man, bearing as much of the burden as he could. (James' labor)

So, other than lowering risks of further interventions and distress, what is the point of feeling the pain and going with a natural labor? Why do that to myself? Why do it the old way?

I've readdressed this question with myself and thought I'd share it with you. I will also say that this is an endeavor that we have chosen. Just like some choose to run a marathon... I don't choose that particular endeavor. That training is pain that thousands of people choose every day because of the satisfaction, accomplishment, health, and wellness that they find at the end. But likewise, I don't want someone haranguing me to choose that feat if I don't want to. I will explain my reasons to you, but it's obviously your decision. Convictions are like belly buttons.  :)

I've had many friends with beautiful, successful labors that included pain reducing drugs and I don't devalue those experiences in the least. In fact, I did use pain management; just a different kind. I don't want to feel pain. Pain hurts. Pain reminds us that we're breakable. That we're dependent. And that can be scary. But it can also be good. 

There are also different kinds of pain. There is pain from injury, pain from an accident, pain from misuse, but none of those describe the pain caused by an effective contraction. Yes, there are injuries during childbirth - tearing is a good example - but they don't always happen and don't have to happen. Each contraction can be seen as a tool. A strong, sometimes extremely intense tool, that brings my baby out into the world. One of the most powerful phrases that Jim says to me during a contraction is, "Let it do the work..." That helps me to tell each of my muscles to relax and not work against the effectual contraction.

Another way to work with contractions is by position. We asked to have an IV port (you can see it in the pic) instead of a full IV so that I could move around. If a contraction was particularly intense, sometimes just switching position, walking, or swaying could help.

Not numbing the pain allows me to be completely present and in control for each phase of labor. The pain that comes with dilating contractions is completely different than the urge to push and I like to be able to feel when and how much to engage.  

If you're interested in having a natural delivery, I'd definitely recommend preparing ahead of time. Bradley Birth gives exercises, nutritional guides, practice relaxation plans, and tons of information about every stage of labor. Simply knowing, "Oh, I just barfed and my pain feels almost out of control... I must be going through transition," was so empowering. Going into it simply hoping to go as far as you can may not be the best game plan. That said, we also know all of our plans could go out the window if something unexpected happens (which is a reason we feel most comfortable in a hospital setting.)

Our approach to childbirth is specific to us as a family. We completed Bradley Birth training, but chose to have a hospital birth. I don't want pain drugs during labor but once baby's out, bring on the high-powered Motrin! 

I'm excited - and yes, there's a little fear mixed in - to see how Anna Jubilee's delivery will turn out. One thing is certain, it will be an adventure. All adventures include pain, unknowns, twists and turns. I'm also looking forward to sharing our birth story and hearing others', too! What a cool, miraculous part of this life.

**EDIT - I cannot forget to mention, we also used an amazing doula, Angel, and I was SO thankful for her presence. Definitely recommend!

The home streeeeetch

This Friday, I'll turn 34 weeks(ish) pregnant. The last weeks of my pregnancy are approaching!

My due date has been calculated anywhere from October 11 to October 4 so I'm really trying to just be cool and collected and remember that she will come at some point in early October.

Ask me how well that's working.  :)

I have to say, my emotions of anticipation with baby Anna are COMPLETELY different than when I was pregnant with James. With James I was thinking about the imminent pain of labor, how I'd deal with it, learning how to nurse, the fears of the unknown, and just the general question, "what in the world is this going to be like??" Basically, my mind was consumed with the event of his arrival, not necessarily the aftermath. I think that's pretty much par-for-the-course with a first baby.

With Anna, it's more about meeting a new person. I can't wait to see her. I can't wait to hear what her cry sounds like and to see whether or not she has my long finger-toes. I have more of a scope of how fleeting the birth is. Not to devalue it, just a more realistic view. With some of the unknowns out of the way, I can devote more to preparing my heart and mind for adding a new love.

This morning, James laid his head and one arm across my belly to feel Anna hiccup and kick. He giggled so much I thought he'd have an accident right there on the couch. I just sat there, in a crazy mix of laughing and crying, looking down at him, essentially playing with his sister for the first time. It was one of the most amazing moments; don't want to forget that one.

We have at least another 4-6 weeks and I know they'll fly by. It will be work to go from one to two, but I'm ready for that challenge. I'm treasuring my time with just James during these days, but I'm also excited to see him grow as a leading, loving big brother.

For now, please pray with me that I will have patience to be still and diligence to prepare. God is most certainly faithful.

Here's our daughter over 10 weeks ago. 

A few to remember

Just a little of my 3-yr-old James that I don't want to forget:

- To Jim, every day upon returning home - "Yet's wrestle on da red bed!"

- Calling grapes blueberries and blueberries grapes.

- Buh-skeetos for mosquitoes

- Buh-sketty for spaghetti

- "Come now fount..." for "come thou fount..."

- Bouncing, "bay-bee-Anna-Joo-buh-LEE!!"

- "Look at the big, blue mountains!" (seeing anything hazy in the distance while driving)
   
- To anyone around, all day, everyday (but not forever, sadly) - "Play with me for-justa-lil-bit."

My precious boy... slow down with the growing thing!

Painful mothering

I have no clue yet where I'm going with this post.

Only an itch that began as I left church this morning. The itch that began in my heart, traveled to my head, and rested there, pushing away an afternoon snooze and other mental occupations. Hopefully, now that the itch has moved to my fingertips, some small fruit of wisdom may begin to grow.

Okay. So Jesus said that if I want to be his disciple, I must deny myself, take up my cross, and follow him. If I want to save my life, I will lose it. If I lose it for him, I will find it. People will hate me, families will be divided. A tall order to sign up for this Jesus.

As I sat there, scripture washing over me, I was excited. My soul leapt and answered yes! I want to forsake all others and follow you, Jesus. I want to radically deny my ideals and my wants and my illusions of what is important for your sake - so that yours will be magnified. But then... what... how... where...?

I have a big round pregnant belly. I have a precious, learning, questioning 3-year-old attached to me most hours of the day. I have a basket of dirty clothes calling my name and sink of dishes slowly becoming a terrarium.

I'm pretty sure I know the quick answer: "Sara, as a mother, those mundane tasks are your service. To your family and, in turn, as a disciple of Christ. Whatever you do, do ALL to the glory of God."...right? I mean, I am denying myself pleasures left and right, all day long, keeping up with a growing boy and cleaning the toilets and checking Facebook. (ha!) That's my uncomfortable life of denial of self.

Right. Of course.

And yet, somehow I'm not satisfied with that. Somehow there's an ingredient missing. Where's the radical? Where's the painful sacrifice?

** And here, I clicked 'Save' and shut the computer. Still got nothin'. **

So, next day, still pondering this. I'm realizing that the quick, first answer above is truly more full than I first thought.

Hang with me.

One man found a treasure in a field and in his joy, sold all of his belongings to buy the field. Another man, likewise, found a super valuable pearl and sold all of his belongings to buy it. Both were probably elated. Thrilled. Exuberant. HAPPY with their sacrifices because they recognized the value of the better thing.

The pain that comes in motherhood, homemaking, and pouring oneself out for another is joyful. BUT. But, but, but, but, BUT - only when the mundane has been redeemed by God himself and not me.

And here's what happens when I try to create my own martyrdom, to try to manufacture that painful mothering that shows I'm sacrificial: I become bitter. I wonder why no one's helping. I search for MY time. I look back at my day and feel pride for temporal accomplishments. I hurt others. I'm jealous. I forget about Jesus.

But when God himself, through the Holy Spirit, graciously intervenes in my day and gives me unexplainable joy in nose wipes and Play-doh for the fourth time today, therein is the miracle. There is the glimpse of joy that those men felt as they sold their belongings for the greater thing.

So, sure, motherhood discipleship to Jesus is not going to look like Peter, James, and John. Whose does? But it will look the same when it comes to Christ redeeming their mundane. He took their jobs of fishermen and made them fishers of men. And for mothers, Jesus takes our tasks of building a family and makes us builders of his kingdom.

Yes there will be real, physical pain, heartache, and death. Yes, there will be denial of self every day. People will hate me ("indoctrinating your children with god fairy tales, etc.")... even my children will hate me at some point.

But there will also be joy. Joy that doesn't come from me but is a gift of grace. Joy in repentance and forgiveness from God. Joy in sharing that truth with others.

And that is the greater thing.


(Sharing through "finding grace in the everyday," too!)