Redemption at its Best

A week or two ago I passed the 17 year mark. 17 years of redemption. 17 years of following Christ. I thought a lot about those moments leading me up to salvation. I remember sitting on the 2^nd pew of the middle section at church. I even remember what I was wearing-- a really fantastic pink and black sweater with teddy bears on it and some even more fantastic black Chic jeans (please tell me you remember these too?!) It was a Sunday night, our pastor wasn’t there that night and one of the men in our congregation was leading service in his place. I know it had been building for several weeks because I remember the previous weeks, the tug at my heart while I sat in the sanctuary. The nervousness I felt at the benediction because I didn’t want to go forward. I even remember my own reasoning against it, trying to harden my heart even as an 8 year old. Outstanding how even at that young of an age I didn’t want to admit that I was a sinner. But that night, I felt that familiar tug. That night Christ called me, and because He loved me first, I responded. I sat in the pew crying during the prayer, acknowledging my need for Christ, and immediately made myself stop crying when we stood up to sing. I didn’t want to anyone to see me crying. It’s the first time I can remember feeling shame about my spiritual condition- shame because I knew what I was. I knew what Christ had done. And I was embarrassed, embarrassed for other people to know I was a sinner (as if they didn’t know that already ha!) So when service was over, I ran to the water fountain and acted like I’d gotten water in my eye just in case anyone asked why my eyes were watering, in case they noticed I’d been crying.(Obviously, my skills at deception have never been particularly fabulous.) I remember thinking in my mind that I’d tell them I was thinking about my grandfather who’d died years before in case they pressed me on it. Funny how we go to such extremes to hide who we are when we are confronted with it, even as a child. I remember talking with my parents that night in my bedroom. I was even nervous to tell them because they’d know that I had been lost (which is even funnier to me now. Seriously, they KNEW I was lost. As if there was any doubt after my first tantrum as an infant.)

These years of faith have brought me through life’s journey with clearer perspective and with countless lessons. I guess I thought there’d be fewer things for me to learn as I aged. It’s been just the opposite. One of the biggest struggles for me throughout my faith has been for me to understand grace- it’s been easy for me to apply it to my own life but not to others’. I’ve written about that before. But God has been diligent in ushering me to the things of Him in spite of my arrogance and ignorance. I’m not sure if I struggled with this because of my age when I gave my life to Him, that outwardly I hadn’t committed all these “stereotypical sins” that would leave me hollow, or if it’s just because I particularly have an inclination towards pride. I tend to side with the latter. It’s taken me a long time to understand the cost of redemption, and I’m still not there, so to speak. It’s taken me a long time to realize that the sins of the heart and of the mind had left me just as hollow as any outward misgivings.

It usually takes me several days to write a blog in its entirety. One, because I have a one year old who keeps me busy. Two, because I write then rewrite and take forever to compose my thoughts. I’ve come back and forth to this particular post for 2 weeks. Occasionally, I start from the end of a blog and work backwards. At least that’s how this one has panned out. Timing is funny sometimes, because last Sunday, our pastor preached on part of this next section-- the section that I’d written weeks ago. It affirmed in my heart that the Lord has indeed been working on me in this area. That said, here’s the struggle I find within our culture and within myself--

We forget about God’s wrath towards sin and want to dwell only on the love and the forgiveness. I see it all the time in our culture, even renowned pastors preach that “feel good” theology. Christians who claim grace on their lives, claim to love Jesus, but refuse to call sin “sin.” But if we skip God’s wrath, we skip the grace. We miss what a great gift it is, the sacrifice that was involved, and the heart of the Father. Ever offered grace to someone who has repeatedly sinned against, offended you, and will continue to do so even after they apologize and say they love you? Ever given up your priceless child for those who would water down the message in His arrival? This is the picture of God’s mercy and grace towards us. His wrath is righteous, and we deserve it. Romans 5:10 says we were His enemies-- Not sweet, lovable creatures that He just couldn’t live without. It’s really easy to have this lofty view of ourselves, that we’re a lovable people. But that is simply falsehood in the sight of a holy God.  We earned His wrath, yet He offered something else. He offered mercy. And He didn’t just stop there-- He adopted us, He rescued us, He made us His own and brought us into His family, pouring out the riches reserved for His perfect Son onto us.  If we skip that or gloss over how justified God was in offering us nothing but destitution, then we can’t fully understand the magnificence of His grace and the extravagance of His love.

And if we understand the picture of His sacrifice, of the wrath and then the grace, then we are a changed people.  Our lives cannot be the same, and they won’t look like the world’s. It will alter the decisions we make, the way we think, and the company we keep. I can speak whatever I want, but unless my words are backed up with actions and life-change, it looks like foolishness to the world, hypocrisy at its best. A real encounter with Grace demands change, not just words. Simply dwelling on God’s mercy, letting it make us feel good, just isn’t enough.  

I think this is where it’s an easy spot to get hung up. It’s easy to look upon the baby in the manger. It is warm and tender, innocent and full of life. Jesus the baby is proof of God’s love, the evidence of the pursuit of His Creation. But Jesus, the man, on the cross-- that is something else to behold. It is proof of our sin and proof of God’s justice. It acts like a mirror when you look upon it, and what it reflects is truth-- the reality of who we are and what we are apart from Christ. It is offensive, and I suppose it should be-- the gospel offends. I think that’s why the world struggles to accept this image, of Jesus’ ministry and sacrifice. It demands a second look at ourselves, introspection that reveals our depravity. We are exposed as less than adequate at the foot of the cross, and this goes against our inward love of self. It is why people are angered when you mention the name of Christ. It is why Christians don’t like calling sin by its name, instead we call that ‘judgment of others’ to make it feel and look a bit easier because otherwise, we might end up identifying the sin in our own lives. The cross of Christ is where horror and love collide, where grace intertwines with righteousness, where the realities of sin meet the riches of mercy. And it is hard to embrace because it pictures death-- an agonizing, selfless death. But right alongside that picture, there is life. And if we don’t look at the cross, if we turn our eyes away because it’s too much to look upon, then we also miss the life-- life that erupts as a result of the death of the Perfect One. The blood that runs down the cross isn’t just evidence of the death of Christ, it is evidence of our life in Him. It is punishment intermingled with freedom. I read once that when Jesus cried out from the cross, that the Greek term suggests that it wasn’t a quiet whisper or a whimper of emotion-- it was a scream. A guttural death cry, echoed for all to hear. How could it be anything else? Jesus’ sacrifice was extreme, and His life far from mediocrity. Why should the final cry to His Father be any different? Why should my life reflect anything different?

I’ve never seen anyone justify their own mediocrity, their own wrong actions like a believer, myself included. We have a way of picking out what we like in scripture and saying that we fully accept this idea, but we don’t really embrace another idea. That’s not what scripture “really means.” The reality is-- who am I to choose? I don’t get to choose what is valid and what isn’t in the living words of a holy God. I have a call to obedience-- I am the creation not the Creator. Either we believe in the sufficiency of the gospel or we don’t. We either believe it’s inerrant or we don’t. It isn’t a gray area to be washed down with our own pretty theology or science or morals. Oh we cling to salvation, to the blessings promised, but when that same Scripture requires a sacrifice on our part and demands that we live differently than we want or what is acceptable or comfortable, we push the opt-out button.  I know because I am far too familiar with that button.

See, I am so many of these things mentioned above. I’ve dwelt in so many of them- - easily slipping into complacency, easily glossing over the realities for a more acceptable picture of forgiveness, easily speaking of His grace in my life but struggling when it’s time to apply it to my actions. It has taken me 17 years to get a true glimpse of what grace actually means, of the price that it cost; and somehow, I know I still don’t get it all. I know the coming years will bring it to light and life more fully. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not encouraging judgment of others, but that is different from calling sin what it is. I don’t have an image of an angry God lacking in love, handing out punishments with pleasure.  Quite the contrary, in fact. But I believe in the holiness of God, and I believe it’s more than I can comprehend. In fact, this holiness that makes it “right” or “ fair” (for lack of better words) for Him to pour out His wrath, it is what makes His love so significant to me. How easy is it to love the lovable?! The kind hearted. The thoughtful. The compassionate and sympathetic. People who place you first always and themselves last. It is SO easy to love them. It takes almost no effort whatsoever. But to love your enemy, to bring them into your own family, to ransom them when they will continue to do wrong by you but shout your praises while they offend-- to love THAT person…. That is real love. It is sacrificial and has depths that are unreachable. That is the love that Christ has for me, for us. It is Redemption at its best. So I’m not going to water down His righteousness and His perfect justice and His call for obedience, because I would simply be watering down His love along with it.  

I still struggle with obedience, with letting go. There’s a line in one of my new favorite songs (courtesy of my sister) that says “Father, use my ransomed life in any way you choose.” I often stop at that line and don’t sing it out loud because truthfully, I’m afraid of it. I don’t want to simply say the words and sing it without meaning- that’s empty worship. But meaning it in my heart means embracing anything--things that might be hard, sorrowful; and they might bring great change. And I tremble at the thought sometimes. This is where the heart of the Father is precious to me-- He is patient in growing me, in stretching me. And even though I should I have no trouble releasing my life to the One who gave it to me, there is grace as I strive towards knowing Him more, in losing parts of myself as I press on into Him. 

Sovereign Grace said it better than I did, and more fluidly:

  

“But as I ran my hell-bound race 
Indifferent to the cost 
You looked upon my helpless state 
And led me to the cross 
And I beheld God’s love displayed 
You suffered in my place 
You bore the wrath reserved for me 
Now all I know is grace."

Thank you, Jesus.

The Big O-N-E!

It has been one crazy last week! I believe birthday mania is finally subsiding and my house is beginning to recouperate from the birthday explosion. I thought I might be sad all day on her birthday, but I wasn’t. I cried mostly all day Thursday (I know I need to get a grip), but come Friday, I was so excited to celebrate her birth! She had all sorts of fun with new gifts and new foods on Friday. She got to try her first processed food, first refined sugar, and first grains-- all wrapped up in the form of a Pillsbury cinnamon roll. Yum. I only gave her a little bit, just tossed it in with her blueberries and pineapples. I walked over to the fridge to fill up her sippy cup with water, and when I turned around all of the cinnamon roll was gone. I’d say she liked it ;)

We had a birthday party on Saturday with our immediate families and several close friends who’ve invested themselves in Abi Kate this past year. She always gets excited to see her little friends, so even though she was running on only one nap, she still had a blast. And even though we requested no gifts, she still made off with new bibs, books, toys, clothes, money, and even personalized pacifiers (who knew they could put names on pacis?! So cute!). We opted for a sock monkey theme, for no specific reason except I liked it! For some reason that I cannot explain to you now, I decided it would be a fantastic idea to make the decorations for her party. I am not crafty, people. It’s not that I’m not creative. I can be creative, but then I quickly find someone that I can pay to bring any creativity to life. I seemed to be laboring under some delusion that this would be better, cheaper, and more meaningful. While I’m happy to say that I covered the more meaningful part, I’m not sure I can tag it with “better” and definitely not with “cheaper.” Things that take other people a few minutes to make take me more like a few ages. Multiple hot glue burns, endless ribbon, and more than 2 dozen helium balloons later, I have accepted my title as Uncrafty Momma. (Seriously, there is a scar on my index finger that no longer has feeling from one burn in particular!) As a result, every future Garrett child will be having a sock monkey first birthday party. And should we have a boy, I hope he likes pink! But I do have all the memories of working on them for her and thinking about her as I worked. It was worth it. 

 Delicious cupcakes! (At least I was smart enough not to attempt to make these!)

 Sock Monkey Cake Pops (I'm ashamed to admit how many of these I ate...)

 The sign- in table

 We had everyone sign this book for Abi Kate as a memory book. Who doesn't love Dr. Seuss?!

 You cannot see it well in this picture, but on the front of the candy table there is a flag banner made from sock monkey fabric. THIS is the culprit that left burns ALL over my fingers (Seriously, I didn't even get a picture of it?!)... Never again...

 Her month-by-month pictures above the candy table... She has changed so much!

 The playdough table for the big kids

She played with her friends in the ball pit and ate an entire cupcake and we were able to see what a sugar high looks like in our 1 year old. Oh my. Wild Woman.  And then we got to watch the crash afterwards. We both said in the car, “And this is why we opt not to feed her refined sugar.”

 Our sweet 1 year old!

 This is what the end of a sugar high looks like.

After she woke up she decided it was play time again while we loaded the car. And I am seriously in love with these sock monkey woolies. This is one part of cloth diapering I am not allowing myself to get addicted to! (Or at least I'm trying)

We followed up her birthday weekend with her 12-month checkup, which involved a terrible finger prick, not exactly a great birthday gift. She now weighs 20 lbs 10 oz and is 28 in tall, which puts her right between the 40-45 percentiles in both. If you knew her when she was a baby you’d know how hilarious this is. For the first 8 months of her life, she rocked the 90-95 percentiles for weight and height. Her pediatrician told me she’d probably gain very quickly in the beginning and then plateau off after a few months. He was dead on. I guess it’s hard to hang on to the 95% in weight when you don’t sit still for more than 15 seconds at a time. ;) In her full year, Abi Kate has never been to the doctor for anything other than well-checks, and I am unbelievably thankful! She’s had a cold once and the sniffles once. She’s never had a fever or ear infection or stomach virus, and I’m just so grateful. Everytime  we go, her doctor always says she is the picture of health. I’m just thankful that Christ has been faithful to answer our prayers about her every day health. I'm such a hypochondriac, so I’m sure the first time she gets really sick I’ll be melting down. I'm glad we squeaked through the first year without this experience!

                                               

She isn’t walking yet, and I still think she has another good month or so until she takes those first steps. But she has started standing unassisted. She doesn’t do it all the time, but when she’s really distracted she’ll stand for a decent amount of time. The other times, it’s just funny to watch her face when she has realized she’s let go and is standing alone. Her fourth tooth broke through the day before her birthday, guess he didn’t want to be late to the party. She looks a little older with all those big girl teeth.

Her new favorite things are:

• Pretending like she’s talking on the phone. She’ll use just her hand or steal my cell phone and put it up to her ear and say “Heeeyy”
• Asking for more food-- She says “Mo! Mo!” when she sees food she wants, is hungry, or actually wants more food. She hung out with some friends who have used baby sign language before and she came home signing “more” along with the word, which is cute to watch, too. 
• Looking at books by herself- We have a huge basket of books in every room that Abi Kate plays in (courtesy of teaching). Sometimes, I’ll just watch her crawl across the floor and grab a book and sit down and “read it” to herself. I have no clue what she’s saying, but she turns the pages and points at the pictures in the book and just babbles. I think we might’ve read “No More Monkeys” a few too many times as she looked at the book the other day and shook her fingers at the monkeys and said, “No, no!”  Whoops….
• Pulling everything out of drawers within her reach-- At any given time, there’s likely to be pans on my kitchen floor, burp clothes and onesies on her floor, and panties all over mine. She also likes wearing my underwear like a necklace… I held her for five minutes the other day before realizing there was a pair around her neck. Is it bad that it fits her like that?!
• Cleaning up-- I’ve started modeling for her how to pick up her toys. She’s a little copy cat, so she thinks it’s great to put blocks away and other toys into a container. We always clap afterwards, and sometimes she gives me a high five. 
• Clapping her hands- This is still a favorite. She claps when we start “Pat-a-cake” or if we sing “If You’re Happy and You Know It”. I also listen to mostly live worship music when I’m driving, so at the end when people are clapping, I always hear her in the back seat clapping too and saying “Yaaaaa.” 

 These are big, important things, people- Clapping your hands?! Come on.. that’s HUGE! ;)

And at the risk of completely humiliating myself... See, underwear around the neck. Fantastic.

The morning after her birthday, we brought her into our room and played with her on our bed when she woke up. Tommy and I both looked at each other and said she seemed older. She was playing more purposefully-- handed Tommy his phone, she picked up mine and put it up to her ear and said, “Hey.” She stood herself up, wiggling and jiggling the whole way, and let go. When he brought her in, she didn’t see me in the bed, so when I rolled over she laughed out loud and said, “Mama!” She just seemed like an older baby, and I guess she is. I thought it would make me sad, but instead it made me excited. Excited to watch where this year takes her, to see her do things she couldn’t before, and to see her grow. Our first year with her has been as close to perfection as we could imagine. We’re looking forward to another year full of memories with our lovely little lady. 

Fluffity Fluff

Yes, I have been blogging, blogging, blogging this past week… more than I ever have (or probably ever will again!) It’s been a good outlet for me as it seems I was just made to be one big basketcase of emotions as I got closer to Friday. My mind needed to write but my heart needed something light-hearted, so I picked this topic… I had good intentions of posting this last week but life happened…

You know what I’ve really enjoyed about Abi Kate’s babyhood? Changing diapers! I’m totally serious. Abi Kate is cloth diapered, which I know grosses about half of the American population out upon first mention; but I’m completely addicted to it. Like if I have extra money, guess what I want to spend it on?! Diapers! I know, I’m revealing how strange I am right now…

I was cloth diapered as a baby, so I always assumed I would do cloth, too. Except my mom and all the other women from the 80’s and down-- they are the REAL cloth diaperers, when it wasn't convenient or easy or cute. I’m like the fake version. They used prefolds and pins and rubber pants. No, thank you. I have attempted a prefold with a pin before. When I picked up the baby, the diaper fell off. Thank goodness there are gobs and gobs of user-friendly choices these days!

I chose cloth for a few different reasons… First, there are very few chemicals in cloth diapers. If you haven’t already, you can read about my sluggish transformation and stance on chemicals here. They’re healthier, more breathable, and there’s less diaper rash. Win, win, win. Second, it’s cheaper than spending money on disposables that go into the trash. Honestly, I would’ve cloth diapered if it was more expensive, but it just happens to be a bonus that it isn’t. Third, it’s like an accessory. I can literally match her bows with her diapers. Enough said. J Fourth, I’m definitely no environmentalist. However, the thought of all that bacteria and chemicals inside of disposables being placed into the ground where they sit, get into the soil, it rains and creates run-off which reaches the ground where my food is grown-- that whole idea just grossed me out in ways I can’t explain. I didn’t want to be a contributing factor to that. Last, I don’t wear paper underwear. That doesn’t sound comfortable. Cloth diapers are just softer and made sense to me.

See- squishy and cute 

Abi Kate was 5 or 6 weeks old when we started cloth with her. We waited a few weeks for a couple reasons…. 1. I ordered her diapers from a small company that is sadly no longer in existence. Even though I ordered the week or two before she was born, they didn’t arrive until she was 5 or 6 weeks old. 2. If you’ve ever breastfed, you know what the first few weeks look like. It’s literally a diaper change every time they eat, which is about every 2 hours. That’s a lot of diapers every day and therefore, a lot of laundry. I was afraid I would stress myself out by having to do laundry in those early weeks.

These are the top complaints I hear about cloth diapers and my thoughts:

“Gross! Poop in a cloth diaper!” -- Ok, this one usually comes from people who aren’t parents or who haven’t changed many diapers. Honestly, it’s really not nastier to deal with poop in a cloth diaper. For one, it smells less because there’s no chemicals in cloth like there are in disposables. No poop interacting with strange chemical concoctions to make a bad smell worse… Second, with a cloth diaper, poop goes in the toilet and is flushed away (which is where it belongs in my opinion)-- It doesn’t sit around inside your house or your baby’s room in a pail for a week or until the trash goes out stinking the room up…. Also, if your baby has ever had a diaper explosion that’s gotten on their clothes, then you’ve done far more work at cleaning cloth than you’ll have to do when cleaning poop out of a cloth diaper. If it was that nasty, I wouldn’t do it. Trust me. Back when I was a baby, they soaked dirty diapers in a wet pail. I’m too much of a germaphobe to get ok with that one. Insert the diaper sprayer for the faint of heart, like myself. You don’t touch anything, spray the poop away, and it is gone and out of your house.

“They’re expensive” -- Depends which kind you pick. Either way, top line or not, you’re likely going to save gobs of money.  Use your own cloth wipes and you’ll save even more (I know-- this grossed me out, too until I realized she gets MUCH cleaner with these than with a disposable wipe). The average American spends $1,000 dollars per year on disposable diapers. Most kids are in diapers until 2, some longer (especially at night). I have a stash that is much larger than I need (because I’m addicted- I told you!), and it cost me about half of one year’s worth of diapers. And mine can be reused with subsequent children. See, they’re looking better and better aren’t they?! ;) Of course, I tend to prefer the ones that are more expensive. Story of my life. I wish I could love those 5 dollar pocket diapers, but I just can’t. I like American-made and that means a higher price tag. Even with my preferences and stash size, I still have spent around 60-75% less than the average person spends on disposables per child.

“It’s so much laundry”-- Yes, it is more laundry. But not so much more. Some people pay to have a diaper service clean their diapers. I prefer to do my own. The diapers stay in my care and are used with the type of cleaner that I want. (Control issues, anyone?!)  And I save more money. I have enough diapers now to last me about 4 days maybe 5 without doing laundry. Unfortunately, my diaper pail only holds about 2-3 days worth of diapers. ;) Honestly, I think it’s gross to leave them sitting for longer than that even if I could, and it’s not good for the diapers as it can cause build up. So on average, I do about 2 more loads of laundry than I used to. And guess what else- -I LOVE doing diaper laundry. When all those diapers are hanging up to dry over my washer, they look so lovely. I’d rather wash diapers than towels any day.

I think the cloth diapering world is a bit overwhelming to people when they first get started for a few reasons. There are so many types of diapers and so many brands that people don’t know where to start. I think I’ve tried about 5 different types of diapers and a variety of brands within each of these types. Another reason people get overhwlemed is because such a big deal is made about how to properly care for them (aka the laundry). After a year of cloth, here’s my take--

I’ve tried a variety of systems. 

• All-in-Ones (literally just like a disposable diaper except made of cloth, put it on and you’re done) 
• Pockets (looks like an all-in-one, it just has a pocket where you stuff in an insert so you can increase/decrease the absorbency of these), 
• Prefolds with a cover (prefolds look like burp cloths with a waterproof cover over them), 
• Fitteds with a cover (a fitted diaper goes on like a regular disposable diaper, but it isn’t waterproof, so it has to have some type of cover to keep in wetness), 
• Hybrids (These are basically a cover that has multiple insert options- some inserts are disposable, some are reusable) 
• All-in-Two (basically any diaper system that has two parts, but goes on as one piece once stuffed). 

And in each of these, there’s a variety of sizing, variety of materials, snaps vs. aplix, etc. It made my head spin in the beginning. What I’ve found is that different types of diapers work best for what my needs are. These are my favorites and what makes up my stash:

Pockets- Overall, these are a favorite. We use pockets for quick diaper changes, daytime, whenever we go out anywhere because they’re very convenient, and sometimes overnight. I prefer aplix because I feel like it gets a better fit. I know tons of people of LOVE snaps on their diapers. I’m just not a fan. Aplix is easy-- everybody can do it, it’s just like a disposable. I also prefer more natural fibers like bamboo or hemp(and not because they’re “natural”.) Their absorbency is almost always bullet proof for us as Abi Kate is a super heavy wetter, and they are more trim than microfiber inserts.

Fitteds/Cover- These are another favorite.I use fitteds while we’re at home during the day (not for going out anywhere) and overnight. They have great absorbency for nighttime and rarely do we have leaks in the morning. I don’t have to stuff them heavily like I do pockets for nighttime sleeping. Fitteds are where I splurge the most. ;) I use a variety of covers-- most are aplix PUL covers which makes them waterproof. At night, I prefer a fitted with a fleece soaker. They’re more breathable. And bonus, my friend Rachel makes them!

Prefolds/Cover- I have a few prefolds because I’d feel like a fake cloth diaperer if I didn’t. I can fold a prefold ok. Now they make Snappis or Boingos-- goodbye scary diaper pins. But I just never could love these. I use the same aplix PUL covers over these as I do my fitteds. Some of the covers I have allow it to become a hybrid or all-in-two. Basically, I lay the prefold down flat in the cover, no folding or pinning. The cover has material that holds the prefold down, and then I just put it on all as one system. These are kind of my backup. I have friends that used only prefolds and can fold a diaper in their sleep. Impressive and much more economical-- I’m just not skilled enough with my wiggly baby!

All-in-Ones-- I started off with these, only 12 of them. Loved them, and then found other diapers that I loved more.

I prefer One-size diapers. Yes, that’s right--the same diapers that fit Abi Kate at 5 weeks old fit her now at 1 year old and will continue to grow with her. This is part of the reason why cloth diapering is so economical in my opinion. Another benefit-- when I’m done with a particular diaper, don’t like it, etc. I can sell it and recoup some of my cost. Can’t do that with a used disposable! In fact, at one point, my all in ones started leaking, and I was itching to try new diapers. So I sold off about half of them and used the money I made to buy new diapers.

The whole laundry thing that scares lots of people has become very simplified in my opinion. Most websites and companies tell you not to use detergent with this, that, or the other, use only so much, etc. Here’s what I’ve found- laundry is laundry. You’re washing cloth. If they stink when you take them out of the wash, they aren’t clean. Use more detergent, just like with regular clothing. I’m really picky about the detergent I use anyway, so I prefer not to use detergent that has enzymes, optical brighteners, and scents anyway. Some people won’t do diapers without a detergent containing enzymes. It’s just personal preference. A big deal is also made about how you wash them too- the number of rinses, wash cycles, air dry/dryer etc. I’ve found it depends on your diapers, how hard your water is, and the type of detergent you use. I’ve tried several different wash routines and I know what works for me best now. It’s really just trial and error. The long and short-- it’s just laundry. Don’t stress over it. And when you want to get stains out- put them in the sun. It naturally kills stains, germs, and stink.

This is the secret: find a friend who has clothed before you. My friend Rachel started cloth diapering her daughter a few months before I had Abi Kate, so I was able to ask her, “Do you think I really need this? How many diapers do you think I truly need? How do you wash covers….” and on and on. You’ll find a thousand different reviews online, but I think it’s easiest just to trust the opinion of someone you know.

We’re not purists. Abi Kate wears a disposable when she is at church or with someone who isn’t comfortable changing cloth. And we used them every night for a while before we could figure out a nighttime solution for her. However, I just bought a pack of disposable diapers for the first time in 3 months yesterday. It took 3 months to go through a 36 pack.  That’s gotta make your heart smile ;)

 My sweet, chubby 3 month old. P.S.- this diaper still fits. And the photo is courtesy of Jen Turner Photography.

 Baby Legs and cloth diapers are a perfect match!

 Pink Pocket diaper

 Matching!! Pampers have no appeal after this!!

 Look at that fluffy heiney... Love it!

Fleece soaker right before bed. I promise my baby DOES wear pants regularly! ;)

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.