It Will Take as Long as It Takes: Reflections on the Past Year

I want to start off this post with gratitude for the overwhelming support and encouragement I received from all of you in response to my last post. As I'm sure you detected, I was feeling incredibly discouraged upon publishing the post. I actually hesitated being so vulnerable on the blog, but when I asked Andy what he thought, he simply said, "Yep, that's where we are" and gave the go ahead to hit "publish." So, again, thank you for lifting our spirits and surrounding us with solidarity. It was much needed.

Now onto tonight's post...

Today we celebrate Mr. D's first birthday. The milestone is bittersweet for me, as I reflect on the past year, and all the joy and pain that has filled it. I wish I could say that I am looking back with rose-colored glasses, that I can laugh now at those first days, weeks, and months. But I can't. Don't get me wrong, I love Mr. D with all my heart, and am so thankful for his presence in our lives. Yet, the fact remains that I had a difficult birth and postpartum period, and continue to face challenges related to my experience.

After hearing my birth story, a friend asked me if, a year later, I felt any better about my birth experience. I responded a bit too emphatically, "No!" How long will it take before I feel at peace about this time in my life? The lesson from this year seems to be: It will take as long as it takes. 

I have not posted a birth story for Mr. D (which seems to be almost a requirement if you have a mommy blog) because I don't like being negative, and I don't want to seem like "woe is me" all the time. (Otherwise, I might have to change the name of the blog to Moody Dreamer...haha). While I will save the nitty gritty details of my labor and birth for another post (which you can totally skip if you're not into reading about that sort of thing), I do want to share how it has shaped my motherhood so far.

Labor was long, and much harder than I ever thought possible. We took a Bradley-method birth preparation class, during which we saw a video of a water birth at home. The look on the woman's face as she met her baby stirred something deep inside me. I wanted that. That look of love, connection, strength, and peace. I hoped that those things would be the natural results (rewards) of going through labor and delivery sans drugs. I was wrong.

Most of the time, even with Andy or one of the midwives there beside me, I felt alone. No one else was experiencing my pain, and no one could relieve it. The room was dark, because I couldn't stand the light, but my soul also felt dark. I felt small, alone, and scared. I've never felt more scared in my life. The pain was too much. Maybe I would just die from the pain. But I didn't die. The pain continued. I kept asking how much longer. If only I knew how much longer before it would be over, I could make it through. It was the prospect of labor continuing another day that terrified me. Every time, I got the same answer, It will take as long as it takes.

All in all, from start to finish, my labor was two days, and three nights long. I want to clarify that Mr. D was being monitored regularly, and was never in any danger during my extended birth process. In fact, he seemed to be completely oblivious to what was going on. The little stinker. ;) 

Fear, anxiety, and distress continued even after Mr. D was delivered from my body, and placed into my exhausted arms. I was glad that labor was over, but the joy and peace that I had expected were missing. Now I know that this was the start of what would be a year of postpartum depression and anxiety. 

I alluded to it in my posts, and several of you connected the dots without me telling you outright. Some days and weeks are better than others, and there have been periods of time, when I thought it was gone. But, I have grown to accept that this may stick around for awhile, and I have determined to be very proactive about my care and recovery. This means medication, counseling, self-care, and prayer, among other things. I am reminded of my midwife's words as I was in labor, desperate to know how much longer before it was over: It will take as long as it takes. 

Isn't that true, though, for all of us? We are constantly in a state of becoming, and oftentimes grow impatient as we wait to reach proficiency and comfort in each new role. How long before I am healed of postpartum depression? It will take as long as it takes. How long before I feel adept as a mom? It will take as long as it takes. 

So, I am trying to be patient with myself, and with the timetable of my healing. And in the meantime, I am soaking in the soft, baby fresh skin, the chuckles, the scampering, clapping, and games of peekaboo--all the little joys of motherhood. Because I don't want to wait until I am fully healed to treasure these moments. Because if I wait, I might miss them completely. 

I love you so much, Mr. D.

Wounded Bodies, Wounded Hearts

What do you do when everything seems to be falling apart around you? What do you do when you have no idea what to do, yet you are the one who is supposed to have all the answers? What do you do when there is much too much, and you feel like you're drowning? 

So far this year has been full of sickness, worry, and pain. Before you say it, let me tell you I know things could be worse. I know that people are suffering everywhere. I know that people have lost their homes, their livelihoods, their loved ones. Just last week, my hometown experienced a major flood, that devastated its business district and damaged homes. So, here I am, in my home, with food to eat, heat to warm, and clean water to drink. So, who am I to complain? Good question.

I am weak. From a year of depression, anxiety, and heartache.

I am scared. That all that I cling to will be torn away from me, too. Family that I love, friends that I count on, a place to call home.

I am tired. Of nights spent awake, worrying about being a good mother, a good wife, a good person. Nights with a sick child, watching the monitor, in case his poor body would gag and choke yet again on the contents of his stomach.

In the past handful of days, Mr. D has been sick with a stomach bug, I am sick with a cold, and then Andy got the stomach bug, followed by my cold. To make matters much, much worse, yesterday Mr. D pulled my just-poured hot tea onto himself, and suffered a pretty bad burn. I had to wake Andy up from a nap, so he could help me attend to a screaming child, a soaked floor, and my broken heart. We ended up going to Urgent Care, at my insistence, and were given an ointment to help soothe his burned skin, and help prevent infection.

Mr. D is doing much better today, but I keep replaying the episode in my head. What could I have done differently? Why did I have to put the cup of tea on my place mat? Why did I use that big of a cup? Why?? I know that it's not my fault. Yes, I will not put anything on place mats when we're not sitting at the table. Yes, I will try to keep dangerous things out of reach. But, you know what? I am human. I forget. I make mistakes. And, even if I did everything perfect, just right, Mr. D, and anyone I love for that matter, can still get hurt.

I don't have control. I never will. God has been giving both Andy and I that lesson, over and over again this year. Becoming a parent has taken away that last bit of control that I thought I had. In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis said it best:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

Today, my heart is broken. It has been broken before, and it will be broken again. I can only hope that I can learn how to let the Divine Healer mend not only our bodies, but our hearts, too.

Waiting on the Lord: an Advent Reflection

The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great light (Isaiah 9:2)

Bing Crosby's version of "Silver Bells" is playing in the background, as I address and stamp the last few Christmas cards. Mr. D should be napping, but he is cackling and standing up in the crib. He has tossed out his bottle and lovey (a new pattern of fighting nap time). I would just give up, and go get him, but I know he needs the nap. And, to be honest, I need the break.

The angel tries to convince Joseph to stick it out.

Life continues on at a fairly break-neck speed. The challenges that I alluded to in my opening post for the Thanksgiving novena have not subsided. So this Advent, we can empathize a little more deeply with the people of Israel, who were waiting for so many years for a Savior. For deliverance from their oppressors, healing from physical, emotional, and spiritual infirmities, light in the darkness.

Waiting on the Lord...

One of my dear friends recently lamented about all the suffering and senseless violence that seems to pervade our world. "It's been a strange couple of days...the world seems so chaotic right now with everything that's been happening." Darkness seems very close, and hope appears fragile and flickering, when it appears at all.

Imagine that instead of silver candles, you see purple ones. And instead of a white candle you see a pink one...oh well. ;)

Two weeks ago, I sat before the Blessed Sacrament, and I grappled with my sense of powerlessness, and my desire for Jesus to come and make sense of the chaos. As I pleaded with my eyes, my heart, and my innermost being, I heard "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" being sung in the main part of the Church. I have heard this song innumerable times, but never before has its plaintive melody and lyrics matched the longing in my heart so perfectly.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free

Thine own from Satan's tyranny

From depths of Hell Thy people save

And give them victory o'er the grave

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer

Our spirits by Thine advent here

Disperse the gloomy clouds of night

And death's dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,

And open wide our heavenly home;

Make safe the way that leads on high,

And close the path to misery.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,

Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,

In ancient times did'st give the Law,

In cloud, and majesty and awe.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

It's a plea, but not completely devoid of hope. Even in the midst of suffering--and this song enumerates the many sufferings we are prey to in this world--we can rejoice! This joy is not superficial. And it cannot be quenched, even in the appearance of defeat. As Gerard Manley Hopkins, notes in his poem "God's Grandeur,"even "though the last lights off the black West went/ Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs." Even though at times, we seem surrounded by darkness, I am choosing to believe that the light, that seems now to be just a flicker, will soon become a great light. Come, Lord Jesus! 

9 Days to Gratitude: a Thanksgiving Novena {Day Nine}

For those of you just joining in, this is the last part of a series on cultivating gratitude in preparation for Thanksgiving. You can see Day One here, Day Two here,  Day Three here, Day Four here, Day Five here, Day Six here, Day Seven here, and Day Eight here.

I have to admit that this novena has been a challenge for me. Challenging because I promised I would post for 9 consecutive days (something I have never done before). Challenging because it forced me to really reflect on what I was thankful for that particular day. Challenging because life is not perfect, and I am not perfect, so about halfway through I considered forgetting the whole thing. But I believe in persistence and discipline, and, like I mentioned in Day One, it's so much easier for me to default to ingratitude and grumpiness. The past week and a half has been just as full of ups and downs as any other time in my life, but what made it different was having to take the time to see the good in my life. Andy and I found ourselves jokingly reminding each other to lighten up. Crankiness is extremely contagious, and all it takes is one comment about the refugee crisis, or terrorist groups, or finances, and the gloom sets it.

One of our favorite exchanges on The Dick Van Dyke Show is between Rob Petrie (Dick van Dyke) and his dentist friend and neighbor Jerry Helper. Rob has gone to another dentist, and doesn't want Jerry to know about it. He thinks if he doesn't show Jerry his teeth, Jerry won't find out about his lack of loyalty:

Jerry Helper: Hey, Rob, I'm glad the girls are gone. I heard a couple jokes at the convention I gotta tell ya. Come on, sit down.
Rob Petrie: Uh... Jer... I'd... d'I'd... I don't think we ought to be telling any jokes right about... Hadn't you been reading the papers?
Jerry Helper: What, what?
Rob Petrie: Well, there's a lot of... FAMINE and DROUGHT and PESTILENCE.
Jerry Helper: Where?
Rob Petrie: Well, it's around. A lot of it's going around, Jer.

When the conversation is getting a bit too heavy, one of us tries to lighten the mood, by exclaiming, "War! and Drought! and Pestilence!" It never fails, and we're soon laughing at the thought of Dick Van Dyke's hilarious antics. 

From "A Man's Teeth are Not His Own" 

Day Nine

Today I am grateful for the little things.

What I have realized over the past 9 days is that Andy and I are incredibly blessed: both in the big things, like our beautiful and energetic son, our loving family and friends, our home and work that provides for our needs, and in the little things, like nap time, the Dick Van Dyke Show, drinking hot cocoa, enjoying a brisk walk, reading for pleasure, playing on the floor with Mr. D. 

Not me. But doesn't it look like she's really enjoying her drink? 

It is, of course, the big things that tend to get the most attention. The milestones, birthdays, graduations, weddings. But the little things add up, and bring texture and warmth to our days. In his book, Essentialism: the Disciplined Pursuit of Less Greg McKeown tells a story about a man whose young child had suddenly past away. The man was looking through his videos of his daughter, and realized that very few of them were actually of her. There was footage of all the places they had been, activities they had done together, but little of her on an ordinary day. It was these ordinary moments, perhaps the way her eyes crinkled as she laughed, that he craved now that she was gone. 

These days, I have been trying to slow down, to put my phone down, to take in all that is around me. Mr. D cruising around the coffee table. Andy reading to Mr. D before bed. Steam rising from my morning cup of tea. Birds feasting at the feeder on our back deck. A favorite song playing on the radio. These little things are so easy to ignore. But, my prayer is that this year, even beyond this Thanksgiving, I will continue to pay attention. 

I just can't get enough of this little guy. Melts my heart. Every time.

9 Days to Gratitude: a Thanksgiving Novena {Day Eight}

For those of you just joining in, this is part of a series on cultivating gratitude in preparation for Thanksgiving. You can see Day One here, Day Two here,  Day Three here, Day Four here, Day Five here, Day Six here, and Day Seven here.

Day Eight

Today I am grateful for my work. 

I know I haven't mentioned this much (if at all?) on my blog, but I work on a very part-time basis as a FertilityCare Practitioner. Essentially, for those who are not familiar, I teach women how to maintain and monitor their gynecologic health, and foster an awareness and appreciation of their fertility. I also teach couples how to make decisions regarding their fertility, so as to naturally achieve or avoid pregnancy. 

Since I deal with very sensitive matters, the work I do is as much draining as it is rewarding. I have learned, since becoming a mom myself, that I need to make sure that my work, as fulfilling as it is, does not interfere with my primary vocation as a wife and mother. This can be hard, since I am a people-pleaser by nature, and I used to think that I needed to say yes to every person who sought my help. No longer. I am privileged to have a number of colleagues in the Puget Sound area, who I can refer people to, and, thanks to technology, there are numerous other teachers just a Skype call away. 

I am thankful to have this work to keep me sharp, allow me to interact with adults, and address a very real need. Clients come to me for a wide variety of reasons, but I have to say my favorite part of my job is witnessing the growth that occurs. Couples, struggling with infertility, learn how to nurture their relationship with each other. Women, armed with self-knowledge, demonstrate an awareness of their dignity. 

I am so grateful to journey with my clients, to rejoice with them, and to mourn with them. It may not be easy, but it is so worth it.

For more information about the Creighton Model FertilityCare System, and to find a teacher near you, visit http://www.fertilitycare.org/

9 Days to Gratitude: a Thanksgiving Novena {Day Seven}

For those of you just joining in, this is part of a series on cultivating gratitude in preparation for Thanksgiving. You can see Day One here, Day Two here,  Day Three here, Day Four here, Day Five here, and Day Six here. 

Day Seven

Today I am grateful for my home.

The spring after we bought our first home.

Our house has its share of quirks, some more serious than others (eg popcorn ceiling vs. bad wiring). It's a true "fixer-upper" if there every was one. In the past, I have thought of the long list of house projects that need to be done with a sense of frustration and annoyance. Housing prices in the Seattle area are extraordinarily inflated.  So the same house in my Missouri hometown would probably cost us a third of the price we paid for this place. I would fume (mostly to myself), "We paid how much for this money pit??" 

But, as the inspector told us, our house has good bones, and they don't make them like this anymore. Our house has probably another 20 years before it will truly be our "dream home," but isn't that how long it should take? Sometimes I forget that things done well, usually take time. It's like the difference between a piece of furniture crafted by an Amish artisan, and one you set up yourself from IKEA. We don't expect the crib we bought from IKEA to be passed down to our grandchildren. But, a home, on the other hand, is a place where you want to take your time. We daydream about what our home will be like: 

We'll finish the laundry room, and add shelving for storage. We'll re-do the kitchen so it's more of an open floor plan. We'll extend over the garage, and build a master bedroom with a double-sided fireplace. We'll add skylights and windows...

So many dreams, so many items on the to-do list. But in the meantime, I have been learning to be grateful for our house, our home, just as it is. Right now, we have more than enough space for our family of three. Enough space for me to have an office where I meet with clients privately. Enough space for a guest room/Andy's office. Enough space for love, and laughter, and life. 

I pause in my dish-washing to spy a squirrel scamper up and down our blue spruce tree, its mouth full of leaves and twigs. The squirrel knows what materials to use to build a good home, a safe haven for the winter. Today, I want to make sure that I have a mouth full of gratitude, so that I can build up my home, and provide a warm haven for my family.  

Mr. D plots his escape from the photo shoot so he can take a nap...

9 Days to Gratitude: a Thanksgiving Novena {Day Six}

For those of you just joining in, this is part of a series on cultivating gratitude in preparation for Thanksgiving. You can see Day One here, Day Two here,  Day Three here, Day Four here, and Day Five here. 

Day Six

Today I am grateful for our Church community.

For some reason, I am feeling grumpy today. Mr. D decided to skip his morning nap, which is never a good sign. Then, during Church, all he wanted to do was be on the floor, so he could crawl around. Andy and I took turns taking him out when he started squawking. By Communion, we were exhausted, and decided to leave early so we could get Mr. D down for a nap. Sometimes Most of the time it's hard to be be an adult, especially an adult with small children. 

The funny thing is, when we were deciding on which parish we would join, one of the factors in our parish's favor was all the children. The number of families is a strong indicator of the strength and life of a church. Even on the hard days, like today, we feel the support and warmth of the other families, who we know have been in our shoes. We feel blessed to have found such a strong, welcoming Church community. 

Our involvement with our church has introduced us to so many dear friends. We have enjoyed the camaraderie of other young adults and married couples, the wisdom and experience of older parishioners, and the celebration of both the seasons of this life and the liturgical year. We have found a home  and a family here.

A very special day, Mr. D's baptism.