Baby Mine

There were so many things that I was thrilled about when the ultrasound technician revealed that we were having a baby girl. SO many things….

I’m feminine and girly. I love makeup and dresses. Sparkles and shopping. Dangly earrings and painted nails. I just like these things and always have (despite my lack of time/energy invested in them these days). I know it’s the new fad to have ungirly things for your girl. I’ve heard more people and read more articles that talk about having less pink in their girl’s rooms, less girly clothing, gender neutral toys… and that’s fine if that’s your thing. It really is. Not everyone is ultra girly.  And I know pink is just a stereotyped color for girls, but guess what? I love it. And I love baby girl nurseries that are pink. So my sweet little girl has a bright pink nursery. I love things that scream “girl” be it a cultural stereotype or not, so she has always worn big bows. I do not care if they are as big as her head. She makes them look good. And the day that I have been awaiting these last 17 months has arrived…..

She’s found her babies. And she loves them. It’s never really been a question of if she’d play with babies in this house, but simply when.

I know all about what child development says regarding toys, interests, and their impact on gender. I read enough textbooks and listened to enough lectures in college to understand. And on the whole, I do not disagree. If Abi Kate wants to play with trucks-- have at it! If she thinks playing in the mud with army men is the best thing ever, I’m game for that too.  I’m not about stifling her interests into a stereotypical box. BUT… as long as little girl feet walk the floors in this house, there will be babies too.

I loved my baby dolls growing up. They had names and baby clothes, and I regularly begged my mom to buy me packs of “real” baby diapers so I could put them on my dolls. I loved toting them around and rocking them, pretending to feed them. I just loved babies. I loved pretending to be a mother.

And do you know that at 17 months old, I watch my sweet baby girl nurture her soft little baby? She picks it up and carries it around and sways with her baby. And yes, she grabs it by the neck (Dear Lord. We’re working on it…) and she thinks it’s so much better naked (maybe she’s practicing for a future in Elimination Communication?) and she will throw her baby down on the ground in a heartbeat for a piece of cheese (Can you really blame her?!) . But there is a tenderness about her when she loves on her babies.  You can guarantee that I am going to nurture that and cultivate it.

 Naked baby syndrome.

The hardcore feminists would probably be on fire while reading this post, assured that I’m raising my baby girl up to be “just a mother” and pushing stereotypical gender assignments on her. That’s ok. I know better. Without getting into a big long post, I think feminists of the past and today missed the boat quite a bit when establishing themselves and their ideals. I am passionate about womanhood, and all things related to women. It’s why I’m opinionated about pregnancy and birth, breastfeeding and Natural Family Planning. Because they pertain to women--to educating and empowering women in experiences and roles that are solely female.

There is nothing more feminine, more celebratory of womanhood than finding yourself in the role of mother. It is exclusively female. Carrying a baby, feeling them move, feeding a child from your own body, nurturing them in a way that only a mother can-- it is something that only women can do. Being a mother-- it is for women. That’s why we hear talk and research about maternal instincts-- they are real-- no matter how we entered into motherhood, whether scared or assured, through adoption or biological birth.  And I hope Abi Kate learns that in our home. That God’s design of women is beautiful and a high calling. I hope she recognizes that choosing motherhood doesn’t make you less of a woman but instead it celebrates sacrifice, God-given instincts, and helps us understand Divine love. I hope she sees in me that motherhood is a gift and a treasure worth searching for.

 Babywearing with morning hair..wowza

So there will be babies in this house. We will play with them, and hold them, rock them and feed them. Be they naked or clothed. We will push strollers and wear them in slings (Please, I just can’t die to my babywearing-self…) We will play “momma” and love up some baby dolls. We will do all these things with bows in our hair and possibly dirt under our nails. We will enjoy all things feminine, stereotypical or not, because I’ve watched my little girl in these days… and I can already see what a sweet little momma she will one day be. 

Safety first--Visible and chewable kissable

The Way Life Looks

I’m a stay-at-home-mom. I know that title elicits all sorts of responses from all sorts of people. Some people think it’s great. And I guess some people feel sorry for me. You can tell in the way they say, “Oh” when they ask what I do. But I don’t feel sorry for me. I feel blessed. Grateful. Filled up from all the moments spent with a baby girl in my lap, no makeup on. Reading a book, or nursing, or just sitting and watching her play with her nesting cups.

When new people ask what I do, I tell them I stay home with Abi Kate. And sometimes, I feel the need to throw in that I was once a teacher. That I went to college. That I have a Bachelors. That I graduated Magna Cum Laude. That I was a Kindergarten teacher who loved her little friends every day (or almost every day!). That there’s depth to me as there is to them. (Actually, I don’t really throw in all those details. Just that I used to teach Kindergarten.)

A lot of times, I stop after saying I stay home. There’s no other title I’d rather have than “Momma”. It’s ok if people feel sorry for me. Like I lost my career or that I’m now shackled to a little person at home. Or that my life isn’t as “free” as it used to be. It’s ok, because I know things about my life that they do not.

I know women who work and have kids. They make this flawless seam from work to home, and they make it look beautifully easy. They’re successful in their careers and successful mommas, and they know it was the right choice for their family. I want to tie a Superwoman cape around them because they’ve earned it. But I know myself well, knew that I wouldn’t be able to move smoothly from one thing to the next without drowning in my own sense of overwhelming commitments. And truth be told, if I was able to be home, I wanted to be. So I left the classroom, and while I miss the girls I taught with every day, and I occasionally miss the fun activities and teaching moments, on the whole I thoroughly enjoy my days with my girl.

I get kind of tickled when I hear what people think stay-at-home moms do all day. I mean there’s all sorts of articles and opinions and ideas floating around about being at home. Sometimes, I read these things and I get that, “Wow, Katie… You kinda suck” feeling. Of course, I know people write about what they’re good at, about the things they got together in their lives, not usually about the chaos or crappy parts. So, in an effort to be transparent, here’s the reality in our house….

Abi Kate wakes up around 8:30. So do I. It’s nice. As a self-diagnosed crappy sleeper, I like sleeping even though I’m not very good at it. If you texted me at 7:30 and I didn’t respond til 8:15, I was probably just asleep. J Some days, I wake up before she does and get a few things done. Some days I don’t.

She eats breakfast and I stay in my jammies and clean the kitchen usually or do a load of laundry. And I feed Layla who is most definitely barking non-stop by this time, because you know, it’s been a whole hour since her last meal or something.  When Abi is done eating, that’s normally when I eat and drink a cup of coffee while she plays. Or sometimes, she brings books to me one after the other while I sneak in bites of food in between stories.

And during her naptimes, I usually clean or take a shower or get sucked into my laptop or read or get her lunch ready. Very few days are the same. Even though I “stay home”, we usually don’t stay home every day. I run errands with her and see her reflection in the mirror as she flips through books in the backseat, claps her hands to the music, talks to me, giggles at herself, or just stares out the window. And it’s funny, but those simple little moments are the ones where I know, overwhelmingly in my heart, that this is right where I belong. Wherever she is-- that’s where I need to be.

She plays with my friend’s kids usually once a week, sometimes twice a week. She loves them all, and I love watching her. Sometimes we go for a walk on the greenway, and now that it’s so pretty sometimes she just runs around outside in the backyard while I scamper around to make sure all the dog poop has been picked up. (Told you it was transparent). She gets visits from my family frequently. Every Friday, we go to Books and Babies. She loves it. She’s inquisitive and social, loves the puppets and loves to be held by the teacher. I love the moments with her. Something that she and I go and do together every week. It’s nothing big and important and it’s over in about 45 minutes, it’s just that it’s mine- something I share with just her regularly.

Some days I do purposeful learning activities with her, and some days we don’t. Sometimes I stay in my jammies until noon. And some days, I feel like I should award myself with the Superwoman cape because I did all the “right” things that day. My house looks gorgeous, my dinner is totally plant based and delicious, my baby learned another word that I taught her, I have makeup on and my hair looks good. But in honesty, I don’t have those Superwoman days all the time. And I’m learning to be ok with that.

There’s 175,000 things that can be done around my house always. There’s always some activity to get to, friends or family to visit. And I’ve read all about the need, as mothers, to be productive and get things accomplished. Some days I get a lot accomplished and some days I don’t. And I’m learning to be ok with that, too. Because great as the lives of some women sound through the computer screen, as scheduled and perfect as their days are-- that isn’t my life. And that isn’t what defines successful mothering. I’m learning to let things go, because enjoying my days with her is far more important than whether I woke up before she did that day or not. I am not going to be a slave to my schedule.

This week she learned the word “bubble”, and she shouts it every time I blow bubbles. She started saying “cack! cack!” everytime she sees a duck. She knows which of her books have a picture of a dog in them, and she brings the same one to me and turns the pages saying, “Hey Nora! Hey Nora!” until she finds the page with the dog. (She doesn’t call for Layla anymore….If you know both of our dogs, you’ll understand this). And then she waves and waves and barks at the dog in the picture until I think that surely she’s tired of that book, only to find that she has a renewed interest in it 5 minutes later. She started running--running in the sense that she’s going as fast as her chubby little legs can carry her-- into the living room when she’s upset about something. She started making the kissing sound when she kisses me. And she has a renewed love for dancing (and bless the child, she is SUCH a white girl. She leads with her head.) I have read Snuggle Puppy so many times that I no longer need the book. I can recite the entire thing for you right now. And guess what? I love it.  I haven’t felt less productive or less valuable to society. I haven’t felt sad that I’m not as pretty as I once was with fresh makeup and organized hair (well maybe a little sad. But not a lot!). And it’s ok that I still have three loads of laundry that are unwashed. Being home with her is enough. The memories and moments with her are enough. And while I’ve never felt sorry for myself for being at home because it is what I chose, I’ve just extra-enjoyed it this week.  

And maybe here soon, I won’t feel the need to explain what I used to do when people ask. Maybe I’ll just say, “I play with my baby all day.” Because this was the right choice, without a doubt, for our family. And I am more certain of that, more certain of these moments, more certain of this job than I have ever been in any other. 

In With the New...

I feel like I've been vying between sadness and frustration within the last week, mostly at myself. I’m not completely sure why. Nothing big has happened. No great changes have come my way. Maybe it’s just several small things that I’ve spent far too much time dwelling on. Mostly, I’ve just felt a bit discouraged. And I suppose that’s to be expected. Relationships are sticky and messy. They’re rarely linear or stagnant in fashion, and I’ve never been one to enjoy change-- change in circumstance or change in relationships. (P.S. Have no fear- this has nothing to do with my hubs. He’s got my heart all wrapped up in too many ways to explain). There’s been no dissolution of friendships or acquaintances. Truly nothing notable. It’s mostly been me overanalyzing things in my mind. I’m an interpreter by nature, often overly sensitive, and I’ll spend too much time considering what could be. And it hasn’t just been people, it’s been considering futuristic things-- investments of time and money and long term commitments. And honestly, I think on the whole these things have just held me captive emotionally. Go ahead and add “easily overwhelmed” to the growing list of traits that aren’t so fantastic about me. And I’ve officially become an old woman who can’t seem to adapt to time change either. It’s taken me days to get my sleeping patterns back to normal after Daylight Savings. Lack of sleep coupled with emotionalism is never a great combo for me.

So, I guess I’ve just been consumed. Distracted. With myself. My thoughts. My concerns. Yet another fantastic trait…… But in the beginning of the week, the weather started changing. Sunshine and cool breezes. New blooms on plants and green grass gaining vitality. All of it just quietly ushering in Spring. Abi Kate and I spent the days outdoors and it was so good for my soul. Good for my heart. I could feel the stirrings of growth. And as I watched all of the things in my own yard changing, I stopped dwelling on myself and things I haven’t been able to figure out. My focus was shifted to the goodness of God. His Creation. Growing right in front of me. And I don’t just mean the flower bushes that are miraculously budding in spite of my very black thumb.

She was so sweet to watch in a new experience-- playing outside without shoes, exploring the grass, toddling around.

She giggled and was surprised at the things she touched and felt. She is often pensive in new situations as she tries to figure things out. She’s still surprised at her new mobility and gains so much joy from walking quickly towards something she longs after. And this time, that something was me.

I prayed while we played. Chose to be present in these sweet moments instead of being caught up with myself.

Sister can kill some oranges.... it's like she's afraid scurvy is lurking right around the corner.


And when we went inside, I spent some time reading and in prayer. Abi spent some time cooling off...

I don’t normally stick with one devotional. I use a mishmash of things. Funny the book I that I grabbed expounded on John 16, about not becoming overwhelmed by life’s circumstances. Appropriate, no? I can’t dictate the changes in relationships with others, can’t alter their view of me, can’t control the response of other people. (And truthfully, if I’d get my eyes off myself and stop being concerned about what I can do in and of myself, the struggle would probably end.) I cannot see into the future and know that certain decisions are better than another choice. That’s hard for me. But I can have faith, and gain joy in my current circumstances. I don’t have to be overwhelmed by new experiences or changes in current conditions-- if my sweet baby girl isn’t, why should I be? She didn’t sit down on the concrete and refuse to go anywhere because it was new and she preferred to stay where she was comfortable. She stood her little self up and went exploring. Some things she liked and some things she didn't. But it didn't stop her from going out into winter's leftover grass, prickly and rough, and seeking out Spring's clover over and over again. Once again, I guess I ought to take a lesson from the little girl who only stands about 2 feet tall and weighs all of 21 pounds, who giggles when she’s chased and embraces newness as something to learn about not something to mourn. She teaches me much. And my heart just spills over from being so filled up with her. The longer she’s with us, the more I’m convinced she was sent so that Christ might disciple me. So today I’m thankful for present moments, quiet learning, and changing seasons both outdoors and within my life, even when the latter shakes me. And I’m thankful for the angel baby that makes me laugh and cry, think and grow all at the same time.

Parenting a 1 Year Old (a.k.a A Great Need For Coffee)

I know it appears that I have become lazy and slacking in this blog, but I promise I haven’t, at least not completely.  My laptop suddenly died and it was in the “shop” for a week (while I had all sorts of withdraws.) Even though it’s only been 2 or 3 weeks since my last post, it seems big stuff is happening around here anyway…

Um, friends---one of you or some of you neglected to tell me that a one year old is very different than an infant. A lot different.  In a lot of different ways. Raise your hand if that was you!!  ;) Abi Kate is 13 months old now and started walking about two weeks ago, right at the end of month 12 (which I predicted. See, do I know my girl or what?!) . She transitioned from only taking a few steps at a time to wanting to walk more often than crawl much more quickly than I expected. I think it’s probably because she is a later walker. Anyway, she thinks she’s big stuff when she makes it all the way across the room. She’ll throw herself into the couch after making it and start laughing. The other day I was in the kitchen and she came toddling out of her bedroom. I’m so used to seeing her crawl that it looked bizarre. She’s also started standing herself up alone, not pulling up to stand to walk. It's so fun watching her newly found mobility.

I didn’t think it was possible, but she is busier than she was before, even too busy to sit down and eat sometimes. She’ll immediately start saying, “Down! Down!” as soon as she gets in the high chair. Fun times. Her personality keeps evolving and I love the little person she’s becoming. She’s quite strong willed (we all know she got that from Tommy. If we could just make him a little more laid back…. Ha!) and pretty opinionated on what she wants to do and frequently on what she does not want to do. We are learning the ropes of discipline with her, what works for her and what doesn’t. She’s our little social bug, which we both love about her. She walked across the chiropractor’s office the other day to an older woman, arms outstretched, and climbed right into her lap. Stranger danger, anyone?! 

I really didn’t anticipate there being such a big difference between a 12 month old and an 11 month old, but in Abi Kate’s case, there has been. I’ve heard my mom say countless times that about the time you get them figured out, they change what they’re doing again. Or as my friend Rachel says, “Once you figure out what makes them tick, they start to tock.” So true. It’s been that way all through her little life so far,but I’m loving the journey just the same. She is entering into such a FUN age. She wants to play with us, she adores all music and dances and claps and shouts “Taomp!” (stomp) and pats her little foot on the floor.  

As she has gotten more independent and become more of her own little person, I’ve seen some other traits emerge. Some of them being a bit less than lovely. She has a pretty quick temper and is easily (and loudly) angered when she’s removed from somewhere or something. She started by throwing herself back and shouting, “No! No! No!” and kicking her feet. Oh dear. And then she’d get so frustrated she started to bang her head into the carpet and look at me for a reaction. This first time she did this, I pretty sure I said, “For real?!” (Sorry sister, not acceptable.) Some of that of course results from lack of communication skills and an inability to reason. It’s age appropriate. But some of it is just her personality. A few days after her first birthday, she had a day where these throw downs happened quite often throughout the day. I remember sitting in her room while she played that afternoon and just crying-- not because I didn’t know how to handle her or was exhausted, but because I SO identified with how she was feeling. I literally remember feeling angered beyond words as a 4 year old (my poor mom). And I was so upset because I know she got those traits from me. I was almost even embarrassed, just sitting in my little house alone.  I’ve always been easily and quickly riled up. Shocking, I know…..;) I never actually minded that about myself until I got older; and now that I have a daughter, I most definitely mind that about myself. It’s been something I’ve always struggled with. I think maybe I’ve gotten better with age, but not a whole lot. It was one of those things I wanted to get rid of so my children didn’t see me exhibiting such behavior and mimic me (I promise I don’t stomp my feet and shout no when I’m mad. Funny image though, right!?). Anyway, when Tommy got home I cried to him too, (bless him for listening to my 9000 meltdowns) and told him I didn’t understand why she was this way. She was so young, honestly too young (in my opinion) to be exhibiting learned behavior in response to an abstract situation. So I told him maybe she’d heard me when I was pregnant with her, when I was less cautious. She’d felt my emotions and quick frustrations and adapted them. I know I was kinda reaching there. Maybe not my most rational moment. Either way, I felt terrible because I felt like I’d passed on these ugly characteristics to her, and I felt discouraged because I felt like my best efforts weren’t producing desired results.

And then I ran across this and it basically slapped me in the face.

"How can we tell whether our efforts at parenting are motivated by reliance on God's grace or on self-trust? How can we know whether we're trying to obligate God or serve Him with gratitude? One way to judge is to consider your reaction when your children fail. If you are angry, frustrated, or despairing because you work so hard and they aren't responding, then you're working (at least in part) for the wrong reasons. Conversely, if you're proud when your children obey and you get those desired kudos - Oh! Your kids are so good! - you should suspect your motives. Both pride and despair grow in the self-reliant heart."  Elyse Fitzpatrick

I was so convicted of the despairing section, of depending solely upon myself. Abi Kate isn’t really old enough for us to have moments yet where we revel in her public behavior as opposed to other children’s. Babies are babies. But I will remember that part as well in the coming year because I will SURELY be needing it.

This is what I’ve come to realize about myself-- having a degree in “kids” has been both beneficial and harmful for me in regards to parenting. My degree is birth-3^rd grade. I love little friends. I am comfortable with understanding milestones, gauging age appropriate behavior/expectations, and helping her reach or discover her next level of understanding. Having been around lots of newborns and babies throughout my kid/teenage years made a lot of “first time mom” things much, much easier.  I can’t tell you how many diapers I’d changed before having Abi Kate but it was a lot. I’d rocked fussy babies and know that sometimes they just cry and nothing works. Patience comes easily to me in dealing with little children because I know they’re just learning and childish behavior is to be expected. And even being a Nursing School drop-out helped in lots of areas as well, particularly in health, nutrition, breastfeeding, etc. But here’s what I’ve learned-- it is TOTALLY different when you have your own child. It doesn’t matter how much you know about child development, concern still crosses your mind in regards to your own child. The knowledge helps, but your own child is a different story. For example, I mentioned earlier that Abi Kate has been so on the go since she started walking, that she’s not interested in sitting down for a full meal. I know this is age appropriate behavior. I know that this is what toddlers do-- some meals they’re famished and eat like an adult, other meals they eat mostly air. My brain knows this, but did I still feel concerned over her when she started doing that? Yes, I did. Did I ask my been-there-done-that mom friends if their kids hit this phase to give myself a bit of comfort? You bet I did. And I have found that in raising Abi Kate, my experience is no different. I can discipline or correct an entire group of 20+ 4 or 5 year olds and not feel a bit concerned. But when it’s my own child it’s different, because I can’t apply what I did with those children to my own child. In essence, with a classroom, I was merely correcting behavior. I’m not simply correcting behavior with Abi Kate, I’m striving to correct her heart. So the approach is and must be entirely different. I naturally want to fall back into behavior modification strategies, etc. when teaching her how to better respond to a situation. But all that does is alter the behavior. It doesn’t correct the root of the problem, which is her heart. In the classroom, I needed quick results so we could continue learning and playing. I wasn’t in a position, legally, to discuss in depth heart issues with those children. But I’m not in the classroom anymore, and my calling in parenting Abi Kate is much higher than my call in the classroom. I find myself re-reading the above quote, reminding myself not to be self-reliant, to trust in the wisdom of the gospel message and in the capable, omniscient guidance of Christ.

We’re learning a lot these days as far as parenting goes. I’ve always believed that the needs of one child are different than the needs of another, that a “one-size fits all” approach doesn’t work, and that continues to be impressed upon me the older Abi Kate gets. What works now might not work later. I’m learning that we’re going to make mistakes, as much as we don’t want to. But the world will keep spinning. Abi Kate doesn’t require perfectionism from us. One thing I can say for sure-- I’m so grateful to be learning with Tommy. He balances me, reminds me that it’s ok to make mistakes, and reminds me to rely on faith. He makes parenting look easy. I’d like to say that I’ve taken all his wisdom to heart and don’t have a problem applying it. But well, I’d just be lying. :) I’m working on it….and in the meantime, I’ll just fill up my coffee mug again! Because seriously, as soon as she's awake, I'm gonna need it! :)

One Year Ago Today...

I read this letter to Abi Kate this morning about an hour before her "real" birthday. She laid on me and listened, then babbled and jumped and called for the dogs to come over to her-- everything I'd expect her to do. :) 

To my sweet baby girl,

                You are one today. A full 365 days old. It’s hard to believe that you have arrived at this point already. I remember bringing you home and snuggling you tight and thinking about you being a one year old little girl-- it seemed so preposterous, so distant. But here you are, older and intelligent and beautiful . So many days I’ve sat back and watched you growing. I watched you when you were small beginning to fill up the swing’s seat a little more, watched your surprised face when you rolled over for the first time, watched you figure out that you could propel yourself across the floor to reach a toy. Now, I sit and watch you look at books, turning the pages and talking out loud as if you’re telling your own story. Time with you has been like water running through my fingers. I’ve tried to hold it all in my hands, keeping it with me; but just like water does, time found the cracks and crevices and has slipped on through.

                Your arrival and your life has changed my heart in ways that I struggle to express. My words won’t do justice to the beauty that you’ve brought about, but I will try anyway…..

I remember the 2 months before you began growing within me, when each pregnancy test told me no. I cried out of fear and out of selfishness. I’ve always loved control. I hope you aren’t that way. This was the beginning, when Christ started calling my heart to surrender, to surrender to His will, His timing, and His control.

I remember the extreme excitement I felt mixed with fear when I found out I was carrying you. So many of my friends have had tragedies in their pregnancies, and I feared this with you. I set goals for myself-- I could stop worrying once I reached the first 7 week ultrasound and saw your heartbeat. When I saw your little heart flickering, the joy spilled over into tears. But that wasn’t enough. A new set of worries came. So, I told myself I could stop worrying after I heard your heartbeat.  That sound. I will never forget it. Waiting in anticipation, praying that they’d find you, that you would be lively within me…. You were. But that wasn’t enough and a new set of worries appeared again. So I told myself that after the first trimester was over, I could stop worrying, stop analyzing every pain that made me think I might be losing you.  And yet, that wasn’t enough either. So, my 18 week ultrasound became my next goal. I laid in bed one night while your Daddy prayed over me and you. I told him I was afraid, afraid I would love you so much and you would go once I did. He told me to love you without restraint anyway, so I did. My heart was always meant to love you. I know that. Even when I tried to hold back because I was scared I would never be ok again if I lost you…. Even then, I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you. Once again, God called me to surrender. To surrender my worries and my need for control, to surrender the one thing I held so dear and to trust Him and His plans. That one thing was you.

I remember when I let go and trusted your Creator. It was so liberating and a little scary, stepping out in faith alone, faith that He would see you through until completion.

I remember the weeks of carrying you, even the difficult ones, with fondness. I loved being pregnant. I loved waking up and watching my stomach stretch and grow. I loved that I needed bigger clothing-- it was proof there was life within me. I’d always wondered what I’d look like pregnant, what it would feel like to have a baby squirming inside. It seemed so surreal that it was happening to me. I treasured those moments. Carrying you was the fulfillment of so many dreams.

I remember the weeks of pregnancy, reading and preparing for your birth. So many women don’t make choices in their births, and it’s not because they don’t care. They just simply don’t know. But I knew, and when you know better you do better. So, we planned a natural birth for you-- no interventions, no medicine, no IVs, no beds, no monitors, and no hospital except for delivery.  

I remember the anticipation and fear I felt, wondering if I’d be able to make it without pain medication. Fearing that other people would be right, that what I’d planned for you wouldn’t come  about because I’d be too weak. They’d forgotten about the strength found in the Savior, and so had I. But He reminded me a few weeks later.

I remember when the contractions began at 35 weeks and thinking that you’d be coming early. I remember my appointment with my midwife that week where she thought the same thing-- my body was preparing and showing signs, your head was engaged, and yet you waited. You are living proof that you like to do things right on time, my love.   

I remember one night at 37 weeks pregnant when contractions started and kept coming for two hours. I remember waiting for that magical trifecta-- longer, stronger, and closer together. I remember they began to fall into that pattern. Then just as quickly as they’d arrived, they stopped.  The waiting grew harder.

I remember two days before going into labor, longing to meet you. It wasn’t a desire to not be pregnant anymore. Even when I was humongous, and I felt pretty sure you were going to fall out of me at any moment because you were so low, I still loved pregnancy. But I just couldn’t wait to see your face, to hold you, for all of the work my body had been doing in previous weeks to come to fruition.

I remember the day proceeding labor, 2 days before your due date. I remember spending time with your Daddy that day. We watched movies and hung around the house. I cleaned and he took pictures of me while I swept. Later that night, when contractions seemed to be changing, I texted our doula, Gaylea, to let her know. She told me it sounded like we might be having a baby that night and to go to bed. I followed the rules. Your Daddy didn’t.

I remember the anticipation, the difficulty I had falling asleep that night. But somehow, sleep came to me until 12:46. I remember waking up and going to the bathroom, coming back to bed and looking at the clock. 12:48. I remember how hard it was to get into bed at that point because I was so big. I remember the gush of water that came when I sat down, racing to turn on the light to check, and hollering for your Daddy.

I remember him running into our bedroom. I will never forget his face. He was so excited. He had just turned off the TV and was getting ready to come to bed when I called for him. Sleep would have to wait. You had different plans for us that night.

I remember the significance of that night- my labor beginning where conception began. My pregnancy coming to an end in the same place that your life first started. Two beginnings- yet one beginning closing and another one was unraveling into life.

I remember the contractions, working through them in the darkness of our house. I remember being stunned by their raw intensity. But I wanted to feel everything, to complete this journey with you. It was so hard, but God was so faithful. It was a continuation of the surrender He’d begun in my heart months before. His peace was present, even palpable. It was intimate, and He taught me much on my knees.

I remember looking at your Daddy while I labored, just the two of us alone, and loving him intensely in that moment- for doing what I could not. The years of togetherness giving him the wisdom to know what I needed, even when I couldn’t speak it. I remember his touch on my shoulder, his voice when he prayed, and his arms that helped me stand through the pain. I remember the peace that was in his eyes. I have loved him for so many years, but maybe most at this moment. I hope you experience this one day.

I remember the car ride to the hospital. I was complete 10 minutes after we left the house.I knew it. I didn’t need to be checked to confirm it. I felt so connected to you, so connected to what was happening to my body in those hours. When we passed the Smyrna Airport, I knew you were ready to meet your new world.

I remember the great relief when we arrived at Vanderbilt and your quick arrival- 11 minutes later. True to your character, when you’re ready to do something, you do it right then.

I remember them placing you on my chest as soon as you were born. Your cord was still pulsing and your cry filled up the room. I remember examining your face and those precious little lips in the shape of an “O”, quivering and screaming. Even now, when you cry, your face looks exactly the same as the first time I saw it, and I go right back to that hospital bed in room 9.

I remember the surreal feeling- I couldn’t believe that you were finally here... Looking at you and thinking how much I had to learn about you.

And oh, how I remember the love. My girl. My precious baby that I’d felt and waited for my entire life. The tangible proof of God’s goodness, of the love He cultivated in the heart of your Daddy and me. You literally took my breath away. You still do.

I remember looking up at your Daddy beside me and saying, “We made it! No drugs!” It was such a feeling of accomplishment, that the 3 of us had run this marathon and won together. There is a saying that parents would take on any amount of pain so their child would be safer and happier. This was one of my first gifts to you--choosing the pain so you could have a gentle arrival. And I would do it all again a thousand times over. You were worth it.

I remember 1:00 that day. Everyone was gone. Your Daddy had finally fallen asleep after being awake for over 24 hours. It was just you and me. I held you and wept. I couldn’t believe you were mine. You were better than I expected, more than I’d prayed for.

I didn’t feel that overwhelming sense of “What do we do now?” when we brought you home. I felt so comfortable with you, comfortable just loving you.

I remember the first few weeks, this indescribable bond that emerged as we learned what you liked and what you didn’t, felt out your personality, and became more connected to you than we ever imagined.

I remember watching your cheeks grow. You were so chunky. I never imagined I’d have a chubby baby and I loved every single roll!

I remember when you started chatting and cooing all the time. I knew you were going to be a talker. I waited in anticipation to hear your voice, to hear a real word come out, and when it did I was blown away.

I remember the mornings spent in physical therapy with you, reminding myself of the things that God was teaching me. I loved watching other people who had no previous connection to us invest themselves in you and your well-being. It was so humbling.

I remember simple days at home just watching you grow and develop, and the excitement that I found when you achieved simple things-- sitting up, reaching for toys, a new tooth. I am so grateful I have these treasured memories with you.

I remember asking questions to my family & friends, wanting to do what was best for you. Second guessing myself, hitting my knees in prayer, talking with your Daddy about a thousand different things regarding childrearing. Your life has taught me how great my need is--the need to dwell in the presence of the Savior.

I remember rocking you at night, even months after you were born, even now…. And just crying when I watched you slip into sleep. Sometimes I see you from across the room and my heart fills up so much that I don’t think I can stand it, and the tears flow as I remember these moments with you.

All these memories, etched in my heart. Even if my brain forgets, my heart will always remember. I cannot tell you the insurmountable love I have for you, Abi Kate. I pray that God gives you a daughter one day so you can experience it for yourself. You are exquisite.

I love you for being you. I love you when I see traits of your Daddy and me inside you. I love your unique personality and your pleasant disposition. But I love you for more than just this-- I love you because Christ used you to reach me when I was unreachable. Oh, I’ve never been really out of His reach, I know. But I had steeled myself against things that He’d been calling me to for years, things He wanted me to surrender, a faith He wanted to blossom, a heart He wanted to prune. I am humbled that He would use you, use my own child, to quicken my heart and my life to Him, to teach me the beauty of surrender.

My doula told me countless times while I was pregnant that I was giving birth not only to my child but to my motherhood. I did my best to get a grasp on what that meant, but I didn’t truly understand until I had you in my arms. The way we prepared for your birth, the way it played out-- that has fashioned the way that we've parented you. It taught me to be bold in my choices, to question ideas and research, to trust the decisions that we make for you, and to be an advocate for you in every way. But most importantly, it taught me to rely on the One who has all the answers already. You ushered me into motherhood so gently and easily, and I am so grateful to you for that.

Your name fits you perfectly, the name we picked out long before you were conceived, before we were ever even married. Abigail means “The joy of the Father”  and Kate means “Pure.” This is you-- you possess these qualities. I pray so often that your life will continue to bring joy to your Heavenly Father. That you will seek after Him and live as a pure and holy vessel, that your identity would be found in Calvary’s cross.

One year ago today, I couldn’t have known the love I now feel, the fulfillment I experience, the gratefulness and growth that has taken up residence in my soul. You have spurred on this change, Abigail. You have given our lives this great new meaning. And we love you desperately.

Happy first birthday, Abi Kate! We are so thankful for your sweet life. You are our most priceless gift. 

The Marks of Motherhood

“It is the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done.”

“You have no time in the day.”

“It’s the busiest job you’ll ever have.”

“It’ll change your life.” (with a sigh after said statement)

One guess as to what these phrases refer to…  Yep, motherhood.  I heard each of these at least a jillion times before getting pregnant, while pregnant, and after having a baby.  I’ve probably even said some of them, though I hope not in the context that I often hear them. I’ve been reading lately about my role as a mother. I do believe it is a calling that has been placed on my life from God as I believe He is the one who gave me my child, but I often feel/have felt a disconnect between myself and other mothers, even other mothers who share this same view of motherhood as a calling. I do not mean all mothers or women by any means;  but the feeling of “I don’t fit in here” normally comes after I’ve heard one of these statements.  Ever felt like that? If you have, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve never been able to quite put my finger on the way I feel without feeling like or sounding like I view myself as a superior mom. Trust me, I am not superior. I repeat- I. Am. Not.  Pop into my house randomly at any given hour during the week and you’ll see how "unsuperior" I am.

I stumbled across this statement and idea in my reading recently. It was so profound to me, and I sat there and reread it and thought, “That’s it. That’s the disconnect I’m feeling.”

 All mothers love their children, but not all mothers love motherhood.

I know it sounds a bit harsh, but I think it’s truth. I think women can full heartedly love their children but not flourish and enjoy actual mothering. It explains the martyrdom, the negativity, and the overwhelming sense I get from some women when they speak about mothering. I’m definitely not saying that there aren’t bad days or times where you feel overwhelmed as a mother. Who hasn’t felt like that?!  Like those days where someone is knocking at your door, you haven’t gotten dressed yet, your child just spit up in your hair, you actually have no clean towels anywhere in your house because the laundry is so backed up, and bonus- you have no bra on. Yep, had those. Or those days where the baby that you love and adore so much just has one melt down after another and nothing you do seems to help. Those days happen here, too. I’ve been tired from lack of sleep and busy from too many commitments and unfinished housework while attempting to be a mom 24/7 in the midst of that. That’s not what I’m talking about. Of course those days happen and of course we feel defeated on those days. Crazy, insane, busy days where everything goes wrong happen in any line of work. You don’t have to be a mom to experience that.

I love motherhood. I do. Honest to goodness love it. I went back and forth for years about what I wanted my career path to be, so much so that I changed my major my junior year of college.(Not exactly ideal timing on my part....) You’d have received a different answer to what I wanted to do when I grew up depending on my age at the time. But one thing I never wavered from was my desire to be a wife and a mother.  One of my best friends has always said I’d be on kid 3 by the time she was ready for kid 1. ;) I love children. I love the child I share with my husband. I love parenting with him. In fact, I was talking with one of my friends the other day and I told her I wasn’t expecting it, but parenting with your husband is romantic- she agreed (9 kids later, I’m sure that doesn’t come as a shock to anyone!). I think God birthed this desire in me at an early age. Because of that, I think it has been easy for me to love this new role I’ve been placed in, and I think a large portion of that was credited to my mom’s example. 

     Everybody thinks their mom is the best. I’m no exception to that rule. And after being a mom, I realize now how indebted  I am to her influence in my life. My sister and I are 24 months apart. I have a feeling there were a lot of chaotic days for my mom when we were little. Two kids age 2 and under-- busy times were had, no doubt. She stayed home with us, and I’m pretty positive she was exhausted and overwhelmed at times like anyone would be. But I’m not kidding when I say that the first time I heard my mom talk about having rough days at home with us as young children was this past summer. I am 25 years old. It took me 25 years to hear her speak of motherhood in that way; and even when she did, she was actually speaking to encourage another mother. She and Dad had gone out to dinner while we were on vacation and she saw a young family with two little children that looked to be about two years apart. She said that on her way out, she stopped and asked the mother their ages who confirmed that there was a two year age difference. Mom said she looked at the woman and told her she remembered those times, remembered that there could be very trying, busy days; but my mother offered that younger mother encouragement, telling her that she also remembered lots of sweet moments and to know that a lot of things get easier as they get older. And all I could think about here lately is how that resembles exactly what scripture is talking about in Titus 2-- older women who teach “what is good…urge[ing] younger women to love their husbands and children.” I don’t know why I never stopped to think about what it must’ve been like for my mom at home with us, that she experienced the realities of mothering young children. I guess it just never crossed my mind that she would struggle like any other mother. I think it never crossed my mind because she has never dwelled on the difficult days, on the things she gave up, or the sense of being overwhelmed. She embraced motherhood. She didn’t just love her children with great devotion, she accepted and welcomed her role as mother and all that it entails. She did not fight against it, but considered it a role from the Creator, prayed for His direction, and she loved it. I think that’s the problem-- it’s easy to embrace our children, but not always so easy to embrace  motherhood. It means accepting that chaos happens, putting aside your “to do” list and moving your children to the top of that list instead. It means a giving up of self-- going without sleep sometimes, having to make 1000 decisions in an hour. And it means doing that joyfully, taking great delight in the task ahead. It means acknowledging our own weaknesses and staking claim to the promises that Christ will uphold us. In Colossians 4:17, Paul’s instructs another to “See that you fulfill the ministry that you have received in the Lord.”  My child, my husband, my home-- this is my first ministry. I think when we understand and believe that this is a role we’ve received from the Lord, the vain striving can stop. Any task that echoes in eternity has never been an easy one in my experience. Has it been rewarding? Yes. Has it been easy? Occassionally. Have there been difficult days? Absolutely. Motherhood is no different-- but the first thing I hear out of a believer’s mouth usually isn’t about how rough it is to be a believer, how hard the days are, how exhausting it is… What I do hear a lot of is the mercy offered to us, the undeserved blessings that are poured out in abundance, and faithfulness of a divine Savior who gives us aid in all circumstances. Why should we say anything different about motherhood? Why aren’t the blessings of motherhood usually the first things on our lips? Why does the laundry list of difficulties get poured out first and “but my kids are precious” come last? If we believe we’re called to mothering as we are called to walk faithfully with Christ, then what’s the difference? It doesn’t mean that we don’t speak about the realities and trying times of motherhood. It’s foolishness to pretend like they don’t exist, to feel like we have to keep them to ourselves. I’m not suggesting that at all, just like I’d never suggest that we hide our struggles as believers. It’s important to share our hearts and to be transparent. But what about sharing the rewards coupled with some realities, not just tossing in how great kids are as a final statement or afterthought? I think we often forget about the power of our words and of our attitudes. I’m guilty time and time again of that in a variety of topics.

I hear all the time right now that I will learn when I have more than one child. (You know, when you’re pregnant everyone says “you’ll learn” once you have that baby. And then once that baby arrives, you can’t learn until you have another one….I must be missing something…) Sometimes it’s just an attitude in things said to me-- that I know a little bit less because I only have one child, that suddenly by giving birth to another life I will be awakened and enlightened to what motherhood really is (because you can’t know anything about mothering after only having 1 child), and I can just pack away my current notions of happiness with mothering because they will never return. I should get ready to buckle down and do the hardest thing in the world where my days at home will be impossible… with a few pleasant moments thrown in. Goodbye happy, intentional moments spent with my daughter. (There’s a lot of sarcasm here on my part-- are you grasping it?!?) It only makes sense that more children equates to greater busyness, more chaos, more fatigue. I have no doubt that more children will mean much more learning for me and therefore changing ideas and many new challenges, but I surely hope it doesn’t make me cynical. I guess the years will tell. Maybe some of this has to do with expectations. I didn’t enter into motherhood expecting it to be easy, so I haven’t been taken completely off guard. I don’t expect having more children to be easier, but I do believe that Christ will equip me as He calls me.

 Sometimes discussion of motherhood reminds me of “husband bashing” (nope, I’m not a fan of that either.) It’s one thing to share openly where you’re struggling in your marriage or to laugh together about the difficulties of sharing life with another. It’s an entirely separate thing to drip a pessimistic view of marriage every time you speak. I feel the same way about mothering. I’m not sure if it comes from a need to validate one’s own work since many people think mothers (especially those at home) are doing a whole lot of nothing, if it comes from a need to bolster oneself higher than another, or if it’s just the typical picture of a woman rambling on and sharing excessively (I’ve definitely done my fair share of that last one). Maybe it’s  from none of the things I’ve mentioned or think. Either way, it breeds discouragement, and I have personally felt it from others. I hope we all have women that we can go to as friends and share frustrations with or vent to.  I’m so grateful for those friends- who I can shoot a text to in the middle of the day that reads something like, “What is going on in my house?! What happened to my sweet angel baby?!” And they get it. They laugh with me and assure me they’ve been there, too. I hope that there are women who hold us accountable and offer discipleship in each of our lives.  I have those, too. They are priceless. To me, this is one of the most important reasons to surround yourself with other Christian women and mothers. But my momentary frustrations or struggles shouldn’t pour over into my explanations of motherhood, they shouldn’t outshine the fulfillment that comes from raising my daughter and investing myself in her completely. That only serves to perpetuate the cultural idea of children-- that they are difficult time suckers, inconvenient, change- your- life- in- the- worst- kind- of- way beings. That’s not a biblical view of children, it’s not a view I embrace, and one that I hope I never emulate to others.      

In a few days, I will officially have a full year of mothering under my belt. It’s not much in comparison to others, but I have learned a lot in this brief time. I think in this last year I’ve had more than enough discouragement offered to me in my new role. I am choosing not to receive that. I hope that others would look at my life and view motherhood differently than what society portrays. I hope I speak of motherhood in truth, uplifting others, sharing its great gifts, its hardships, and the satisfaction that comes from training up children in the knowledge of Christ. More than that, I hope I live it. Most of all, I hope that my children would have that view of me, that they would hear me offer encouragement to other women about mothering. Our words are powerful. They are transformative. So is motherhood. It is a life-altering, call you on the carpet, get right with Jesus kind of experience. And I love it. Even when it’s hard and days are crazy and when I’m unsure if I’ve made the right decisions. Even when God uses my child to correct my behavior, when He to draws me closer to Himself, when He uses her to refine me and the refining hurts… I love it then, too. It is purposeful. He has fashioned me for these moments, for this child, and for this role. So even if I mess up and suck, He doesn’t and neither does His strength within me. I love the nurturing and the learning, the service and even the selflessness that is required. I love being a mother.

The Passing of a Season...

Ever feel like you’re grieving over something that seems slightly nonsensical? That’s kind of where I’m at right now. I don’t know why Abi Kate’s approaching birthday has been difficult for me to embrace. It is a great thing, a beautiful thing. We are celebrating a full year of life with her, her health, sweet memories, and all that she has become. I think maybe I’m just grieving the ending of this season of life with her-- the first year with her and all that entails. Or maybe I’ve just been watching a few too many episodes of 'Friday Night Lights'-- because all I’ve thought about the last few days is how Abi Kate is going to grow up and go away to college and be her own person like the daughter in that show. Not gonna lie-- I totally cried when that girl pulled out of the driveway. I don’t even like her character. She’s selfish and kind of a butt, but I was still crying on the end of the couch. That’s like 17 years away. Were those tears really rational?! Probably not….

You know some tears that were rational, though? I was laying in bed last night, thinking about this past year with her, thinking about how at this time last year I was hugely pregnant and very uncomfortable. I was contracting off and on (until I hit 38 weeks and then it just kinda stayed ‘on’). I was getting ready to begin my maternity leave. I was anticipating the arrival of our daughter and the changing of our lives. I was downing an entire family sized roll of Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough. By myself. In like 2 or 3 days time. (Oh my word that’s so nasty and embarrassing. I swear that was the only time I ate such garbage during my pregnancy. Please don’t tell my midwife!)  Seriously though, my life was different then. I went to bed and thought about the future, praying it would hurry up and arrive. I woke up wishing it had arrived and wishing that I was in labor. These days, I find myself going to bed and just praying that I could freeze time, that it would stop slipping away from me so quickly, that the future would just take its sweet  time arriving. While I was laying there thinking about these things, I felt that big thick lump where you’re trying to stop yourself from crying. You know you’ve had that, too! I kept telling myself it was dumb to cry over her growing up and to just quit it. (You talk to yourself at night like this too, right?!)  But I reasoned with myself. I decided it was ok to be sad, to miss this time with my baby girl. I thought about going into her room, risking waking her up, just to hold her and rock her or nurse her. I watched the monitor and hoped I’d see the red lights flickering and I’d hear her cry. But she didn’t. She doesn’t need me in the nighttime much anymore the way she used to. So I cried. I cried for times past that won’t happen again. Oh, I’m sure we’ll one day have late nights with another tiny crying baby, or at least I hope we do. But it won’t be with her. We might even have nights where Abi Kate cries out and needs us, but it won’t be that little bitty baby that fit so perfectly just on my chest. There will be great times in the future, but they will be different. And so I cried for that. I laid there and started to get the snubs (you know where your whole body shakes and you make that really loud sniffly noise because your nose is running.) I thought it might wake Tommy up, and honestly, I wanted it to. (Sorry babe!) I mean, at least he can be sad with me. He didn’t wake up. Of course in all fairness, you could literally drive a train through our bedroom at night, he’d sleep right through it, and be none the wiser in the morning. So, I snubbed a little louder (maybe on purpose?! Oops!), but he still slept. I didn’t want to shake him and wake him up because I felt a little pathetic doing that, even though I know he would’ve woken up and talked with me.  I just cried by myself, and it felt ok and even right.

The more I’ve thought about it, I feel less silly (sort of) about it all. In the weeks following her arrival, I cried because I missed her kicks. Even when she was just all knees and elbows and it actually hurt when she’d move inside me, I missed carrying her life inside me, with me at all times. The first time I felt her move, I was 14 weeks pregnant.  Just as graceful in pregnancy as I am outside it, I’d tripped and fallen in our kitchen pretty hard. I was completely terrified and just immediately started crying. I called the midwives’ office and my doula. My doula got back to me first and after asking lots of questions, told me to go take a bath and relax and notify her and my midwife if I started cramping or bleeding at all. I got in the tub, turned on relaxing music, lit some candles, and just rested in the tub. I remember rubbing my stomach and praying over Abi Kate while I did. I felt her move in that moment and I felt peace because I knew in my heart that she was ok. I’ve always felt like that was one of God’s sweetest gifts to me. It’s kind of unusual in a first pregnancy to feel a baby move that early, even more unusual for me because I had an anterior placenta. Many women with anterior placentas rarely feel their baby move at all-- even at the end of pregnancy. Abi Kate did not fall into that statistic. She was just as busy a baby in utero as she is now, and I felt every kick, spin, and stretch. (Also can I just say that at my 18 week appointment, when I found out about the position of my placenta my midwife informed me if I ever fall I should fall on my hands and knees or it might cause an abruption if my belly hit anything. Um, thanks for that. SO glad I didn’t have that bit of knowledge 4 weeks earlier. I would’ve been out of control!) It was odd to me that I would miss it. Here she was in my arms, much better than in pregnancy, right? But I told Tommy that I would never experience that with her again, feeling her move in me. I felt the exact same way about labor. No matter how many children God gives us, I will never labor with her again. She and I will never work together in that amazing dance of birth like we did when she arrived. I guess all of these things are related… just a sadness over the passing of a season, of times spent together than can’t be recreated.  And I think that’s ok. To reflect on it, but not to dwell there. To embrace the new times ahead, but hang on to the times past, even if that brings some tears and sadness.

I spent the other night thinking about how tired I was when she had her sleep regression. The exhaustion and fatigue of being awakened every hour. I thought about how I had to make myself be joyful, to ask the Lord for grace in the moment. I wish I had savored that time just a little bit more, those moments when everything was quiet and dark in our house and she and I were the only ones awake. I wish I hadn’t worried about her sleep as much, stopped worrying about what our overly autonomous society says about babies sleeping, and just accepted those sweet hours with her with gratefulness. I did near the end, but it took me a few weeks to arrive there. I will remember for next time. I won’t forget. Because I know how quickly time passes, how quickly they grow up, and how independent they become all on their own.  

I’m excited for this next year with her. I know it will be filled with growth (for her and for me) and filled with many more memories. I’m sure that this time next year, I will be feeling the same way. Completely stunned that another year has passed and that she has grown.  I think I’ll be thrilled for all that we’ve been given, the time with her, much like I feel now. And if I need to feel a little sad and cry a little bit, I’m just going to let myself.  I’ve learned a lot in the last year, and one thing I know for sure--she is undoubtedly worth snubbing over.

Why I Can't Have Mom Friends

Ok, that title is not actually true for me, personally. I’m blessed and extremely grateful to have several “mom friends” that I regularly chat with, share life with, and meet with every few weeks (seriously girls, did you think I was referencing you?!).  But it goes with this blog. I stumbled across this video not long ago, watched it with Tommy, and we were both almost crying by the end of it from laughing so hard. Even though it was really funny and way overdramatized, I think part of the humor in it is because it stems from truth. But before I go on, you have to watch the video. It’ll make you laugh. ;)

Now in light of my previous “chemical free, organic, cloth diapering, etc., etc.” post, I know you’re thinking I’m that crazy blonde headed lady! But I actually don’t care to focus on that part. What stuck out most to me is that as I’ve begun to notice this very thing amongst women. Some of these things I knew before having kids-- I know that most people think their children are advanced either physically, cognitively, socially, or in all areas. I know that a lot of parents read into a situation, something their kid said or did as some token of their child’s deep understanding about life. I also know that most people think that people who do things differently from them are parenting ineffectively.  But to start to experience that as a parent is different than experiencing it as a spectator.  And friends, it is BRUTAL. It’s like a war amongst the mothers. It’s not usually straight forward and obvious the way it is in this video (I mean, that’s what makes it funny). But I’ve begun to discover that there’s almost an undercurrent of superiority amongst mothers. Nine months in and I’m already tired of it. (FYI-- this post does not refer to anyone in particular. In fact, if you’re concerned it’s about you, that probably means it’s not ;) )  

For example, people start asking you if your child is sleeping through the night right about the second they’re born. They would applaud you if you said yes and if not, it must be because you’re doing something wrong. That made me crazy in the first few months, particularly because that idea doesn’t support  a true knowledge of how infant sleep works. We were extremely grateful that Abi Kate was a good sleeper early on, but we were about 99% sure that we didn’t have much to do with that. She just slept. I notice the same thing in discussions about physical development, particularly gross motor skills. Parents are convinced their child is a genius if they’re crawling at 6 months, walking at 9, and on and on. Everytime I hear these things, I secretly want to let them know that gross motor skills are not indicative of cognitive development, that physical milestones run on a continuum of months which doesn’t much lend itself to “advanced skills”. Maybe their kid is just going to be a kinesthetic learner, or maybe their little muscles were just ready to achieve that skill. Don’t get me wrong-- I support the view of a holistic child. I know that much of what most people think about a child’s abilities depends on what theories they subscribe to regarding development. But let’s be honest-- how many of you knew a seriously gifted athlete that seriously struggled with reading?!  One great skill doesn’t equate perfection in another. Thankfully, I can’t say that I’ve been the target of these scenarios. (And it is not because Abi Kate is gifted or advanced.) I think people just leave me alone in general because I’m a newbie. But I notice it just the same.  Like for example, a woman will say when her child achieved a certain skill, and you hear another mom chime in, “Oh that’s great! Of course my little boy was just off and running several months before that. Such a go-getter.”  And I’m sitting there thinking, “Wow. Way to make that other mom feel like her kid is a big lazy terd.” Don’t get me wrong-- I don’t think there’s anything wrong with stating when your child achieves a particular skill or even being proud of them! Trust me, when Abi Kate first pulled up on the ottoman with those chubby little thighs quaking all the way up, the joy and admiration was pretty palpable in our little living room.  But you can tell when there’s an air of self-righteousness, as if they as a parent have done something that the other parent just hasn’t quite gotten a grasp on. Therefore, their kid is advanced and the other kid will “catch up soon, I’m sure!”

And it’s not even just in situations like that. There’s the age old war of staying at home vs. going to work. Formula feeding vs. breastfeeding.  Public school vs. homeschool. Attachment parenting, discipline, vaccinating, and the list goes on and on.  I’ve even noticed it amongst people who hold the same views. I’m not even joking when I say that it’s like a competition to see who can be the “greenest” mom amongst those that shun some mainstream ideas. I have seen women on forums just crucify another mom because they use a disposable diaper at night and only cloth in daytime hours, or because they only allow their children to play with natural wood toys not those chemical plastic toys. REALLY?! And of course it works the other way, too. Women who jest at others for breastfeeding past a certain age, avoiding chemicals, or using cloth diapers.

That’s not even embarking on the whole world of birthing and all the vehement feelings that brings up.  Please believe me when I say that I believe it is important to know why you’re doing what you do as a parent, to make informed decisions, etc. (Nothing gets me more riled up than someone who outright disses another parent’s decision making without having done any studying on that subject themselves.) I think maybe this is the reason that there’s so much hostility amongst women. Or at least part of it. Usually, or hopefully, when we do something as parents, it’s because we believe in it. So by default, it seems that we disagree with someone who is doing something different. Most women that I know, including myself, are interpreters-- always reading into what someone else was saying instead of taking it literally. I don’t think it has to be that way, but it’s hard not to be. Because if I’m being completely truth-on-the-table honest, I struggle not to be that way. I may not voice it, but in my mind I might think otherwise. I think the issue is deeper than that. I think it’s a sin issue. And I think it is about pride. I’m working on a gut-wrenchingly honest blog that I’m still working up the courage to post-- it’s a lot about the ugly topic of pride (and how it controls me, specifically)… and in these last few months, I’ve come to notice  that it is often a main deterrent in allowing us to form meaningful relationships with other women, particularly other mothers. It’s pride. Our child’s behavior is better than theirs. Our child can do more than theirs. We pat ourselves on the back for being successful in this journey of motherhood.  And we feel slightly more validated because our child can do things another child their age can’t.

It’s easy to be around people who are like-minded and do things like us. But what about those who do things differently? I struggle to find a balance in that. I struggle because I focus on myself instead of my purpose in relationships. Watching that ridiculous video made me stop and consider what my responses are to others. But mostly what my heart’s motivations are-- and sometimes, it’s not pretty folks. I’m in no way suggesting that it’s wrong to have strong ideas on any topic or that it is wrong to tell what you’ve learned. It’s no secret that I hold some pretty definitive views. (It's also no secret that I have friends who don't support those views. Please don't be paranoid after reading this and think I've been sitting around hating you & your choices!) But if those ideas aren’t grounded in the goodness of Christ, if I can’t mercifully love others who do things differently than me, then I’m out of line. If I have to make someone else feel small to advance a cause, my need for validation as a mother, then I’m out of line. It’s not really a place I thought I’d find myself in because I’ve always been very, “If we don’t see things the same way, let’s happily go our separate ways.” I’ve found in recent days that Christ continues to call me to leave things behind, even more so now that I’m a mother. This is one of those things. 

So, even though the mompetition will rage on, I want to disassociate myself from that. I want to love as Christ has called me to and to serve as he has commanded me to regardless of parenting decisions. Maybe by kid #??? I’ll actually be there…..