The questions are inevitable. We should all be used to them by now.
When you're single everyone wants to know why you're not dating. When you're dating they want to know why you're not married yet. As soon as you tie the knot, they want to know when babies are coming, and look out if this takes longer than people find reasonable. As soon as you have the first baby, and especially after he or she starts having birthdays, they want to know when the sibling will arrive. And so on...
I vividly remember the young anesthesiologist in the operating room when Anna was about to be born. It wasn't the guy who couldn't successfully administer the spinal block, nor the guy who came to relieve him and give me the epidural. It was the guy who was up near my head during the whole surgery, watching my blood pressure and vitals. Needless to say, after all the (painful) drama surrounding the failed spinal block I was not exactly in a relaxed state! But bless his heart, he was trying to make conversation and trying to take my mind off of things. He asked if this would be my first baby and I told him I had a 2-year-old daughter. Did we know the new baby's gender? Yes, another girl, I said. His immediate reaction was my new favorite question (not): Are you going to try for a boy?
I looked up at him incredulously and managed a chuckle, telling him I was pretty positive this was it for me. It was such a ridiculous time to ask such a question that I even heard my doctor laughing from the other side of the drape.
That wasn't the only time we've heard the question. Really, I do know that most of the time people don't mean to offend or be rude or nosy. But I can't help but wonder sometimes whether people actually think about these questions or what they may imply? To me, whether the following things are all intentional or not, the "try for a boy" question implies:
1. That we aren't satisfied with two girls.
Sometimes I want to shout it from the rooftops -- We are completely satisfied with two daughters! Both my husband and I are extremely grateful that God gave us children at all. We think parenting two daughters is an honor and a privilege. Their relationship with each other as sisters delights us on a daily basis. Even though we long ago imagined ourselves with girls, this does not mean we wouldn't have been equally grateful for or satisfied with boys. Children are a blessing! When you've been through the valley to get to your children, you don't sit around wishing that God had given you a different kind. You thank him daily for remembering you, for answering your heartfelt prayers, and for giving you your heart's desire. Our girls are precious and silly and hilarious and beautiful and fun! They are full of joy and full of life, and sometimes when I look at them I see a lifetime of sharing special moments with them as my daughters and my friends. And oh, when I see the sweet and special relationship they have with their daddy, it melts my heart.
2. That we're missing out on the ideal family by not having children of both genders.
I think there are some people out there who really think every man should have a son. That if he doesn't, he's missing out on a special bond. I personally think that's ridiculous. One family member who likes to joke around even suggested that my
husband wasn't "manly" enough to produce boys. WOW. That may be the dumbest "joke" I've ever heard. Long before we ever had children, my husband and I had conversations about all the fun things he'd love to do with his daughter or son. And guess what? They were the exact same things. Who cares if you're playing with tea sets or trucks? The memories we've made as a family watching movies together, going to the zoo or the park, playing outside, having tickle fights, and going for ice cream would look much the same if we had girls, boys, or both. Those are the things that matter, not whether their rooms have pink curtains or blue ones. It makes my heart soar that I have a husband who cherishes his girls. Friends, there is nothing in the world more "manly" to me than a man who is secure enough in his masculinity to have a tea party and play with dolls with his daughters.
We've all heard that singsong response that people give sometimes when they have a boy and a girl: "One of each! Now our family is complete!" I'm here to tell you that MINE IS TOO. God completed his plan for our family when he gave us our two daughters.
3. That having children is easy or that it's all about getting the children we want.
I don't mind one bit when a friend asks whether or not we might try to have another baby. Someone who cares about me and my family, who knows a little (or a lot) about what we've been through, is certainly welcome to ask me about my family's future plans. But I have a hard time when it comes from an acquaintance who just wants to be nosy, or if it's phrased like having another child is just a walk in the park. I understand that it is, for some. But for so many it's not, and not only is it difficult, it's also painful to talk about sometimes. We don't all have the privilege of deciding exactly how many children we want and then going on with our lives, sitting back and watching it all fall into place with relative ease and convenience. I'm always tempted to respond to the question with either "None of your business" or giving the whole, long story of our struggle with infertility and miscarriage and everything it took to get to where we are. We fought hard to get here.
I'll admit, it gets under my skin when I hear others go on and on about their preferences when it comes to having children. Is that really what it's all about? I understand having a dream of one day having a daughter or son, specifically. I totally get that. But I believe that the decision rests with our Creator and that he alone designs each and every family as he sees fit. It's up to us to be the best parents we can be to the children he gives us (and in whatever way, by adoption or biologically). Each family is different and unique and special, and that's what makes it all so great. Of course, during the twelve years that my husband and I were married without children, we considered ourselves a family then, too. Families without children are just as special.
Believe me, I love little boys! I have nephews who are so dear to my heart that it feels like they came from my own body. Little boys are wonderful and I'm so glad to have some really special ones in my life. But God gave us wonderful, special girls. We love them with all of our hearts. We feel no need to "try for a boy." We are done, but even if we decided to have a third child, we'd be perfectly happy with a boy OR another girl.
We are content and satisfied. We have two girls. And we are complete.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Anxiety
I had my first anxiety attack on the night I brought my first baby home from the hospital.
I didn't know what it was at the time, but I most certainly knew something was wrong. We'd waited so long for that moment. I wish I could write that all I felt at that time was pure, unadulterated joy and relief. And oh, I did feel that! I couldn't believe all that had transpired in the days just prior. After losing six babies to miscarriage, we'd seen the face of our seventh baby. She'd been born plump and healthy and beautiful, and we'd actually brought her home. She was ours to keep! It was unbelievable and it was wonderful.
The circumstances surrounding the release from the hospital weren't perfectly smooth. We had a few hiccups as we were getting ready to head home that late September day in 2010. After a three-day stay following my c-section delivery, we were ready to head home but Lily had jaundice. Even after I was released, we were waiting on one more bilirubin test that wouldn't happen until 5 PM. The doctor came in the room a few hours later to tell me her numbers were still high, but they would let us take her home if we took her in to the clinic over the weekend (it was a Friday evening) to have the test repeated. Of course we would do whatever we needed to do, including making sure she got some sunlight and was getting plenty to eat.
All that is to say, we made it home that Friday night with our baby girl, pulling into the driveway as a family of three after the sun had set. My mom and my sister were both there, so I knew we had lots of help. I remember things feeling a bit chaotic as it was so late in the day and I was nervous about keeping Lily's jaundice in check. If someone had asked if I felt absolutely frantic or anxious, I would have answered no.
It wasn't until later that night that I became aware of a problem. My chest felt tight and heavy. I had a hard time taking deep breaths. My heart was pounding. I knew I was exhausted and needed sleep. Those three nights in a busy hospital after major surgery, with nurses coming in to give medicine and check my vitals, plus breastfeeding a newborn baby every 2-3 hours had not left me feeling well-rested. But the more I tried to rest at home in my own bed, the more sleeping became impossible. I called my doctor's office and the on-call doctor called me back, but I didn't feel like she understood what I was saying or experiencing. It was one of the longest nights of my life. I don't mean to sound dramatic here, but I honestly thought I was dying.
Somehow I made it through the weekend. Lily's bilirubin count had gotten up to 16, but by Sunday we had some relief when the number started dropping. She was doing great. I was still struggling, but still I had no idea why. I had no appetite. Every evening that chest pain would return. I was getting only enough sleep to get by. I'd already quit taking my pain medicine for fear that it was contributing to the way I was feeling. My mom, sister, and husband were helping me take care of the baby, thankfully. By Monday morning I decided to go see my doctor. As soon as she looked at me, she told me to go over to the ER to get checked out. She said she'd call ahead and tell them I was coming. The chest pains had her concerned about a blood clot in my lungs. At the ER I had a CT scan and lots of blood work, and they had me see a cardiologist for an echocardiogram. It was a crazy few days, and what I remember most is how badly I hated being away from my sweet baby. But I knew that I had to rule out some of these things and try to feel better.
All of the tests I had came back clear, which was great news. I still had no idea what happened. It took about two weeks for me to feel remotely normal again. As time went on I began to wonder if it had been anxiety. I talked to a couple of friends who had struggled with anxiety/panic attacks before and things started making more sense to me. It's so hard to know, because it feels so scary. It most certainly does NOT feel like it's "all in your head." Once things settled down, I thought that feeling had gone away for good. I thought it was just a very strange thing that happened but was eventually overcome and eclipsed by the joy we felt in bringing our baby home. Life went on.
Fast forward a couple of years.
We found out we were expecting for the eighth time when Lily was only 18 months old. The fact that it happened again so quickly (relatively speaking -- it had taken us three years, and a grand total of nearly nine years all things considered, to get pregnant with Lily) was a surprise and a blessing. As is true with each and every pregnancy we've had, the early weeks and months were nerve-racking. On top of the endless worry and waiting and ultrasounds, there was also the melanoma that my dermatologist had discovered at the very beginning of the pregnancy. At 13 weeks I had surgery to remove the cancer from my arm. Strangely, I made it through all of that chaos, while also keeping up with a busy toddler, with no anxiety attacks. Truly, I still wasn't quite sure it was what I'd had back when Lily was born.
But as the time drew near for our second daughter to arrive, I began to feel some of the same things again. It wasn't as intense as I remembered, but it was starting to happen again intermittently. I talked to my OB/GYN at length about it, and told her I was worried that it was going to escalate after Anna was born like it had with Lily. I was trying to stay positive and hope that, with it being my second time, I could keep the anxious feelings at bay and just get through it.
I had my second c-section in late November of 2012. Again, we had a big, beautiful baby girl whom we were elated to meet. While the baby was fine, the delivery hadn't been completely problem-free. After countless (painful) attempts, the anesthesiologist never could get the spinal block to work. He finally left, frustrated, and with me in a puddle of tears, and called in a colleague to come give me an epidural. The experience was horrible, but I kept my eye on the prize. Soon the surgery was underway and in no time I heard those precious first cries. We enjoyed our first moments with baby Anna in the OR before she was taken to the nursery. Afterward, while I was in recovery and time went on and on, we finally begged the nurse to find out why they hadn't brought the baby back to us. She was doing okay, they said, but she had fluid in her lungs -- common for babies who aren't squeezed through the birth canal. Well, we knew she would be fine, but that's not to say we weren't worried. And of course we wanted to see her as soon as possible. But that didn't happen for seven more hours. Her breathing was still too rapid and her lungs were still full. They wanted to check her one last time and if she didn't "pass" she would spend the night in the NICU. Suddenly and rather abruptly, the nurse was wheeling her into my room and handing me my baby, telling me she had turned around quickly and was doing great. It was a huge answer to prayer and a big relief to finally hold her after such a long, long day.
The anesthesiologist (who by that time was not my favorite person) came to see me the next day to warn me that in some cases after a failed spinal block, the spinal fluid will leak and cause a severe headache. He said to let a nurse know if that happened to me and turned and walked out. It wasn't until the day after that when I began to feel like I had a sore neck. It felt like a pulled muscle, but as time went on the pain crept up into the back of my head. I spoke to some doctors about my options and decided that, rather than have another spinal procedure (the last thing in the world I wanted to do at that point) to fix the headache, I would just endure it. It wasn't great, but it at least felt manageable right then and there in the hospital. I went home and tolerated that horrible headache for a solid week. Fortunately, Anna was doing great. She had no jaundice and breastfeeding was going so well.
During those first few nights home, the anxiety attacks returned. I think they were tempered in a way by what I was experiencing with the spinal headache. I was in so much pain from that, that it kept me distracted from dwelling on the anxiety. I lost my appetite again and quit the pain meds early again, just like before. But every evening for the first week or so I was visited by that heaviness in my chest, inability to sleep, shortness of breath, and rapid heartbeat.
I know this is turning into a long story, but I wanted to revisit where it all started. It's hard -- as a person, as a woman, as a Christian, and as a mom -- to admit sometimes that we don't have it all together. I can only speculate why the births of both of my miracle babies brought so many different emotions. I expected the joy and the awe, but I never saw the panic and anxiety coming. I think part of it was the realization that we were finally seeing this dream come to fruition, and my fear that somehow we were going to mess it up or lose it. Maybe that doesn't make much sense but after being pregnant six times and losing all of those precious ones, I think there was a deep sense of fear lurking underneath all of that joy. I didn't want to come so close and watch it all slip away again.
I decided to write about all of this now because, over the past weekend, I was struck by two anxiety attacks. No, I'm not pregnant. I obviously didn't just bring home a new baby. I don't know exactly what caused it, but at least I know now what to call it. I know that, for me, I've come to recognize that there is a "perfect storm" of exhaustion, usually sickness, stress, and insomnia that will bring on the attack. After the double whammy last weekend, I talked to my family doctor about the whole thing. It felt good to finally have a doctor listen and understand what I was experiencing. She prescribed some medication that I can take when I feel the attacks coming on. Strangely enough, I think just knowing it's there in the medicine cabinet gives me some reassurance and makes me feel a bit calmer, which the doctor said actually happens more often than you'd think.
This whole thing is not something I've shared with many people. I guess I wanted to write about it here just to tell somebody, anybody: Hey, I don't have it all together!
Life gets complicated, times get hard, infertility is horrible, we fail, we suffer loss, we survive, our faith is tested, we overcome, sometimes our dreams come true, miracles happen, parenthood is tough, sometimes we feel out of control, and life remains challenging, and we don't have it all together. And it's okay. It's okay to admit it and ask for help. That has been difficult for me to realize. I've already been surprised by the number of friends and family members, out of the very few I've talked to about this, who have struggled with some similar issues. It always helps to know we aren't alone in our struggles. As always, thanks for letting me share and thank you for continuing to read.
I didn't know what it was at the time, but I most certainly knew something was wrong. We'd waited so long for that moment. I wish I could write that all I felt at that time was pure, unadulterated joy and relief. And oh, I did feel that! I couldn't believe all that had transpired in the days just prior. After losing six babies to miscarriage, we'd seen the face of our seventh baby. She'd been born plump and healthy and beautiful, and we'd actually brought her home. She was ours to keep! It was unbelievable and it was wonderful.
The circumstances surrounding the release from the hospital weren't perfectly smooth. We had a few hiccups as we were getting ready to head home that late September day in 2010. After a three-day stay following my c-section delivery, we were ready to head home but Lily had jaundice. Even after I was released, we were waiting on one more bilirubin test that wouldn't happen until 5 PM. The doctor came in the room a few hours later to tell me her numbers were still high, but they would let us take her home if we took her in to the clinic over the weekend (it was a Friday evening) to have the test repeated. Of course we would do whatever we needed to do, including making sure she got some sunlight and was getting plenty to eat.
All that is to say, we made it home that Friday night with our baby girl, pulling into the driveway as a family of three after the sun had set. My mom and my sister were both there, so I knew we had lots of help. I remember things feeling a bit chaotic as it was so late in the day and I was nervous about keeping Lily's jaundice in check. If someone had asked if I felt absolutely frantic or anxious, I would have answered no.
It wasn't until later that night that I became aware of a problem. My chest felt tight and heavy. I had a hard time taking deep breaths. My heart was pounding. I knew I was exhausted and needed sleep. Those three nights in a busy hospital after major surgery, with nurses coming in to give medicine and check my vitals, plus breastfeeding a newborn baby every 2-3 hours had not left me feeling well-rested. But the more I tried to rest at home in my own bed, the more sleeping became impossible. I called my doctor's office and the on-call doctor called me back, but I didn't feel like she understood what I was saying or experiencing. It was one of the longest nights of my life. I don't mean to sound dramatic here, but I honestly thought I was dying.
Somehow I made it through the weekend. Lily's bilirubin count had gotten up to 16, but by Sunday we had some relief when the number started dropping. She was doing great. I was still struggling, but still I had no idea why. I had no appetite. Every evening that chest pain would return. I was getting only enough sleep to get by. I'd already quit taking my pain medicine for fear that it was contributing to the way I was feeling. My mom, sister, and husband were helping me take care of the baby, thankfully. By Monday morning I decided to go see my doctor. As soon as she looked at me, she told me to go over to the ER to get checked out. She said she'd call ahead and tell them I was coming. The chest pains had her concerned about a blood clot in my lungs. At the ER I had a CT scan and lots of blood work, and they had me see a cardiologist for an echocardiogram. It was a crazy few days, and what I remember most is how badly I hated being away from my sweet baby. But I knew that I had to rule out some of these things and try to feel better.
All of the tests I had came back clear, which was great news. I still had no idea what happened. It took about two weeks for me to feel remotely normal again. As time went on I began to wonder if it had been anxiety. I talked to a couple of friends who had struggled with anxiety/panic attacks before and things started making more sense to me. It's so hard to know, because it feels so scary. It most certainly does NOT feel like it's "all in your head." Once things settled down, I thought that feeling had gone away for good. I thought it was just a very strange thing that happened but was eventually overcome and eclipsed by the joy we felt in bringing our baby home. Life went on.
Fast forward a couple of years.
We found out we were expecting for the eighth time when Lily was only 18 months old. The fact that it happened again so quickly (relatively speaking -- it had taken us three years, and a grand total of nearly nine years all things considered, to get pregnant with Lily) was a surprise and a blessing. As is true with each and every pregnancy we've had, the early weeks and months were nerve-racking. On top of the endless worry and waiting and ultrasounds, there was also the melanoma that my dermatologist had discovered at the very beginning of the pregnancy. At 13 weeks I had surgery to remove the cancer from my arm. Strangely, I made it through all of that chaos, while also keeping up with a busy toddler, with no anxiety attacks. Truly, I still wasn't quite sure it was what I'd had back when Lily was born.
But as the time drew near for our second daughter to arrive, I began to feel some of the same things again. It wasn't as intense as I remembered, but it was starting to happen again intermittently. I talked to my OB/GYN at length about it, and told her I was worried that it was going to escalate after Anna was born like it had with Lily. I was trying to stay positive and hope that, with it being my second time, I could keep the anxious feelings at bay and just get through it.
I had my second c-section in late November of 2012. Again, we had a big, beautiful baby girl whom we were elated to meet. While the baby was fine, the delivery hadn't been completely problem-free. After countless (painful) attempts, the anesthesiologist never could get the spinal block to work. He finally left, frustrated, and with me in a puddle of tears, and called in a colleague to come give me an epidural. The experience was horrible, but I kept my eye on the prize. Soon the surgery was underway and in no time I heard those precious first cries. We enjoyed our first moments with baby Anna in the OR before she was taken to the nursery. Afterward, while I was in recovery and time went on and on, we finally begged the nurse to find out why they hadn't brought the baby back to us. She was doing okay, they said, but she had fluid in her lungs -- common for babies who aren't squeezed through the birth canal. Well, we knew she would be fine, but that's not to say we weren't worried. And of course we wanted to see her as soon as possible. But that didn't happen for seven more hours. Her breathing was still too rapid and her lungs were still full. They wanted to check her one last time and if she didn't "pass" she would spend the night in the NICU. Suddenly and rather abruptly, the nurse was wheeling her into my room and handing me my baby, telling me she had turned around quickly and was doing great. It was a huge answer to prayer and a big relief to finally hold her after such a long, long day.
The anesthesiologist (who by that time was not my favorite person) came to see me the next day to warn me that in some cases after a failed spinal block, the spinal fluid will leak and cause a severe headache. He said to let a nurse know if that happened to me and turned and walked out. It wasn't until the day after that when I began to feel like I had a sore neck. It felt like a pulled muscle, but as time went on the pain crept up into the back of my head. I spoke to some doctors about my options and decided that, rather than have another spinal procedure (the last thing in the world I wanted to do at that point) to fix the headache, I would just endure it. It wasn't great, but it at least felt manageable right then and there in the hospital. I went home and tolerated that horrible headache for a solid week. Fortunately, Anna was doing great. She had no jaundice and breastfeeding was going so well.
During those first few nights home, the anxiety attacks returned. I think they were tempered in a way by what I was experiencing with the spinal headache. I was in so much pain from that, that it kept me distracted from dwelling on the anxiety. I lost my appetite again and quit the pain meds early again, just like before. But every evening for the first week or so I was visited by that heaviness in my chest, inability to sleep, shortness of breath, and rapid heartbeat.
I know this is turning into a long story, but I wanted to revisit where it all started. It's hard -- as a person, as a woman, as a Christian, and as a mom -- to admit sometimes that we don't have it all together. I can only speculate why the births of both of my miracle babies brought so many different emotions. I expected the joy and the awe, but I never saw the panic and anxiety coming. I think part of it was the realization that we were finally seeing this dream come to fruition, and my fear that somehow we were going to mess it up or lose it. Maybe that doesn't make much sense but after being pregnant six times and losing all of those precious ones, I think there was a deep sense of fear lurking underneath all of that joy. I didn't want to come so close and watch it all slip away again.
I decided to write about all of this now because, over the past weekend, I was struck by two anxiety attacks. No, I'm not pregnant. I obviously didn't just bring home a new baby. I don't know exactly what caused it, but at least I know now what to call it. I know that, for me, I've come to recognize that there is a "perfect storm" of exhaustion, usually sickness, stress, and insomnia that will bring on the attack. After the double whammy last weekend, I talked to my family doctor about the whole thing. It felt good to finally have a doctor listen and understand what I was experiencing. She prescribed some medication that I can take when I feel the attacks coming on. Strangely enough, I think just knowing it's there in the medicine cabinet gives me some reassurance and makes me feel a bit calmer, which the doctor said actually happens more often than you'd think.
This whole thing is not something I've shared with many people. I guess I wanted to write about it here just to tell somebody, anybody: Hey, I don't have it all together!
Life gets complicated, times get hard, infertility is horrible, we fail, we suffer loss, we survive, our faith is tested, we overcome, sometimes our dreams come true, miracles happen, parenthood is tough, sometimes we feel out of control, and life remains challenging, and we don't have it all together. And it's okay. It's okay to admit it and ask for help. That has been difficult for me to realize. I've already been surprised by the number of friends and family members, out of the very few I've talked to about this, who have struggled with some similar issues. It always helps to know we aren't alone in our struggles. As always, thanks for letting me share and thank you for continuing to read.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Doing The Hard Things
The first month of the new year is winding down, friends. It was my birthday month as well. Last Saturday I turned 37 and it has me reflecting on some things, as my birthday usually does these days.
There are a few characteristics that I've never felt like I've really been able to claim. Can you relate? For example, I've never felt super independent. I'm a younger sister who was always very close to her older sister. We shared most things, including a bedroom (and a bed!), until she left for college. Two years later, I followed her to the same university where we were roommates for a year before she got married. The next year, my Sophomore year of college, is the only year of my entire life that I've ever lived alone. During that year I had a private dorm room on campus (which was like being alone, yet not). The year after that, I lived in the home of a dear family who treated me like one of their own. And by the time my senior year arrived, I was married to my husband. We've now been married for 15 years.
I know that being independent doesn't entirely mean living alone, but it's just not a way I would describe myself. I'm most comfortable with someone close to me, looking out for me in a way. I admire those who can get out there and make a new path all on their own. But I feel much safer and happier walking a well-trodden one with someone I love and trust walking with me. Okay, in front of me... so I'll know where to go.
And I guess that's part of the reason that I have, at times, felt weak. Certain events in my life, though, have served to toughen me up and ultimately made me realize that I was stronger than I thought. Coming from a broken home where we didn't have a whole lot of money, and the kinds of issues my sister and I had to face from a very young age is one of those events.
The other big one that stands out in my mind is infertility.
It feels like I've had to fight hard for the life that I have today. I know, nobody ever promised it would be easy. I realize that, and it's okay. I'm not bitter about it. But I'm not ashamed to say this:
I'm proud of the fact that I've learned how to do some hard things.
You should know that I have a hard time complimenting myself. I don't mean that I normally have a lot of self-pity or low self-esteem, but that I am my own harshest critic. I have difficulty acknowledging when I've done well, as well as forgiving myself when I make stupid mistakes, and I replay the dumb things I say and do every night in my mind before I go to sleep. Let's just say, sometimes it takes me a really long time to go to sleep! I realize this about myself -- I worry and I regret much more than I should.
My point is, I've learned that I CAN do the hard things. There's something about that statement that I find empowering. This baby sister, follower, scrawny little child from a tiny town in southern Louisiana, whose childhood was tough and who learned how to do without, who is more comfortable reading about adventure than experiencing it, who always felt awkward and who never knew what a happy, healthy marriage looked like, who was told she'd never realize her dream of having children, somehow (by the grace of God)... grew up, left home, went to college, got married to an amazing, godly man, survived nearly nine years of infertility and recurrent miscarriage, and had two beautiful daughters. That was me! I actually DID THAT. I haven't done anything that would be earth-shattering to most people, but they've been huge accomplishments to me.
Do I sometimes wish it hadn't been so dang hard? YES. I often wish that, even though I know that it taught me a whole lot -- so much more than I could have learned without having experienced it firsthand. (Allow me to say here that I'm fully aware of the many, many people who have had a way harder time than I could ever imagine. I'm not trying to make comparisons or dwell on which hardships are "worse," but only to reflect on my own experiences and how far the Lord has brought me personally.) I've realized that having things like this in my past that I've overcome have made me feel stronger. They've made me feel like I can accept and face a challenge head-on, knowing that I've made it through some tough things already.
I love this quote from William Barclay and I think I've shared it on this blog before, but it's worth repeating: The effect of testing rightly borne is strength to bear still more and to conquer in still harder battles.
So, so true!
I don't write this to say that now I've entered into an easy time. No, in fact, I feel challenged more and more every single day because this parenting thing is HARD. More than ever before, I feel like daily I have to surrender and cry out to God for strength and wisdom and patience. I love my kids so much and I fought so hard to have them! I wouldn't change a thing and I'm forever grateful for these two lives entrusted to me, but that doesn't mean it's an easy job to wake up and do every day. I so badly want to do this job well, and I think that's partly what makes it such a challenge. I put pressure on myself to give it my best and I beat myself up when I fail. But, guess what? I know now that I can do the hard things.
One of my big challenges after I had Lily was breastfeeding. I won't give you all the gory details, but it started out rough. I knew, though, that it was something I really wanted to do. If it ultimately didn't work out, I knew it would be fine both for her and for me. I know that not everyone can or even wants to do it, and I pass no judgement on what anyone else decides to do, but I knew that I wanted to try. I had to set small goals for myself in the beginning, and it felt like a miracle every time they were reached and surpassed. I nursed Lily for 12 months, which was the highest goal I had set (in the beginning, not really believing I would ever get there). Just about two weeks ago I wrapped up 13 months of breastfeeding Anna. It was much easier for me the second time around (thank the Lord), but that's not to say it didn't have its own challenges. I bring this up as an example, though, because it was one of those events during which I had to keep reminding myself that I Can Do The Hard Things. Nursing a baby while running after, caring for, giving attention to, potty training, and generally keeping alive a toddler is a hard thing, and one I was admittedly not fully prepared for! But it was something I really wanted to do, and reminding myself that I had done hard things before truly did help me make it through.
Another reason I bring up breastfeeding is because weaning what I know will be my last baby is also a hard thing. While I'm secure and satisfied with my family, it's bittersweet to watch my youngest grow out of the baby stage. She's officially a toddler now, walking all over the house like she owns the place. :)
I know that watching my kids grow up is going to be extremely satisfying and extremely hard. Sometimes I think that those of us who had to fight extra hard to get our children find it so very difficult to watch them grow up. We try for so long and we wait so much, we suffer loss, we struggle while everyone around us has babies and more babies, and we pray our hearts out for our turn to have a baby -- and then they're not babies for long at all, are they? But I often remind myself that each new stage is sweet and beautiful, just as the last one was.
So here's to a new year, 2014.
Here's to turning one year older.
Here's to facing it all knowing that we can do the hard things, and knowing that it'll be worth it.
There are a few characteristics that I've never felt like I've really been able to claim. Can you relate? For example, I've never felt super independent. I'm a younger sister who was always very close to her older sister. We shared most things, including a bedroom (and a bed!), until she left for college. Two years later, I followed her to the same university where we were roommates for a year before she got married. The next year, my Sophomore year of college, is the only year of my entire life that I've ever lived alone. During that year I had a private dorm room on campus (which was like being alone, yet not). The year after that, I lived in the home of a dear family who treated me like one of their own. And by the time my senior year arrived, I was married to my husband. We've now been married for 15 years.
I know that being independent doesn't entirely mean living alone, but it's just not a way I would describe myself. I'm most comfortable with someone close to me, looking out for me in a way. I admire those who can get out there and make a new path all on their own. But I feel much safer and happier walking a well-trodden one with someone I love and trust walking with me. Okay, in front of me... so I'll know where to go.
And I guess that's part of the reason that I have, at times, felt weak. Certain events in my life, though, have served to toughen me up and ultimately made me realize that I was stronger than I thought. Coming from a broken home where we didn't have a whole lot of money, and the kinds of issues my sister and I had to face from a very young age is one of those events.
The other big one that stands out in my mind is infertility.
It feels like I've had to fight hard for the life that I have today. I know, nobody ever promised it would be easy. I realize that, and it's okay. I'm not bitter about it. But I'm not ashamed to say this:
I'm proud of the fact that I've learned how to do some hard things.
You should know that I have a hard time complimenting myself. I don't mean that I normally have a lot of self-pity or low self-esteem, but that I am my own harshest critic. I have difficulty acknowledging when I've done well, as well as forgiving myself when I make stupid mistakes, and I replay the dumb things I say and do every night in my mind before I go to sleep. Let's just say, sometimes it takes me a really long time to go to sleep! I realize this about myself -- I worry and I regret much more than I should.
My point is, I've learned that I CAN do the hard things. There's something about that statement that I find empowering. This baby sister, follower, scrawny little child from a tiny town in southern Louisiana, whose childhood was tough and who learned how to do without, who is more comfortable reading about adventure than experiencing it, who always felt awkward and who never knew what a happy, healthy marriage looked like, who was told she'd never realize her dream of having children, somehow (by the grace of God)... grew up, left home, went to college, got married to an amazing, godly man, survived nearly nine years of infertility and recurrent miscarriage, and had two beautiful daughters. That was me! I actually DID THAT. I haven't done anything that would be earth-shattering to most people, but they've been huge accomplishments to me.
Do I sometimes wish it hadn't been so dang hard? YES. I often wish that, even though I know that it taught me a whole lot -- so much more than I could have learned without having experienced it firsthand. (Allow me to say here that I'm fully aware of the many, many people who have had a way harder time than I could ever imagine. I'm not trying to make comparisons or dwell on which hardships are "worse," but only to reflect on my own experiences and how far the Lord has brought me personally.) I've realized that having things like this in my past that I've overcome have made me feel stronger. They've made me feel like I can accept and face a challenge head-on, knowing that I've made it through some tough things already.
I love this quote from William Barclay and I think I've shared it on this blog before, but it's worth repeating: The effect of testing rightly borne is strength to bear still more and to conquer in still harder battles.
So, so true!
I don't write this to say that now I've entered into an easy time. No, in fact, I feel challenged more and more every single day because this parenting thing is HARD. More than ever before, I feel like daily I have to surrender and cry out to God for strength and wisdom and patience. I love my kids so much and I fought so hard to have them! I wouldn't change a thing and I'm forever grateful for these two lives entrusted to me, but that doesn't mean it's an easy job to wake up and do every day. I so badly want to do this job well, and I think that's partly what makes it such a challenge. I put pressure on myself to give it my best and I beat myself up when I fail. But, guess what? I know now that I can do the hard things.
One of my big challenges after I had Lily was breastfeeding. I won't give you all the gory details, but it started out rough. I knew, though, that it was something I really wanted to do. If it ultimately didn't work out, I knew it would be fine both for her and for me. I know that not everyone can or even wants to do it, and I pass no judgement on what anyone else decides to do, but I knew that I wanted to try. I had to set small goals for myself in the beginning, and it felt like a miracle every time they were reached and surpassed. I nursed Lily for 12 months, which was the highest goal I had set (in the beginning, not really believing I would ever get there). Just about two weeks ago I wrapped up 13 months of breastfeeding Anna. It was much easier for me the second time around (thank the Lord), but that's not to say it didn't have its own challenges. I bring this up as an example, though, because it was one of those events during which I had to keep reminding myself that I Can Do The Hard Things. Nursing a baby while running after, caring for, giving attention to, potty training, and generally keeping alive a toddler is a hard thing, and one I was admittedly not fully prepared for! But it was something I really wanted to do, and reminding myself that I had done hard things before truly did help me make it through.
Another reason I bring up breastfeeding is because weaning what I know will be my last baby is also a hard thing. While I'm secure and satisfied with my family, it's bittersweet to watch my youngest grow out of the baby stage. She's officially a toddler now, walking all over the house like she owns the place. :)
I know that watching my kids grow up is going to be extremely satisfying and extremely hard. Sometimes I think that those of us who had to fight extra hard to get our children find it so very difficult to watch them grow up. We try for so long and we wait so much, we suffer loss, we struggle while everyone around us has babies and more babies, and we pray our hearts out for our turn to have a baby -- and then they're not babies for long at all, are they? But I often remind myself that each new stage is sweet and beautiful, just as the last one was.
So here's to a new year, 2014.
Here's to turning one year older.
Here's to facing it all knowing that we can do the hard things, and knowing that it'll be worth it.
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