children are a blessing

I am not going to tread lightly here: parenting over the past few months has been tough. It has been a really difficult season. Both my husband and I have felt burnt out and like we can’t keep on and are just making it by going through the motions.

To start, we started out the holiday season with colds, croup, and the flu over Thanksgiving. I found out I was pregnant with our third baby in early December and with that came endless exhaustion and the special joy that is all day nausea and vomiting. December also means an increase to our spending, and for a single income household, that makes things tight. Unfortunately, I had to put aside what little income I’ve been making online to rest up during naptimes instead of pushing through the afternoon to make some extra cash. And ah – yes, naptimes! Our two and a half year old has recently started flirting with not taking a nap but still really needs one which makes getting anything productive done during the hours of 1 to 3 a bit of a joke.

Right before Christmas, we all came down with the stomach flu. I was up on the 22^nd throwing up all night, trying to decipher if the horrendous symptoms I was experiencing were, in fact, caused by the pregnancy or the stomach flu. To top it off, both of our kids have noticed my lax parenting over the past 8 weeks and have acted accordingly. Obedience is no longer on their agenda and pushing the envelope at every opportunity is their new norm. And bedtime? What’s that? Late January has brought with it teething and colds. Again, it’s been really tough. That’s probably the understatement of this (relatively new) year.

Last week, Joe and I climbed into bed a little early. We were both just burnt out and whining a little more than we should have been. I turned to him.

“God says “children are a blessing.” He said it. I have to think it is true. God doesn’t lie. He said it and it’s a promise.” It was like a light bulb went off in my head. “How are our children currently a blessing to us?”

Now, I have had a love hate relationship with Psalm 127. I love the word of God and believe it all to be true but there are definitely parts of Scripture that have been taken by certain portions of Christian culture and twisted to fit their agenda. This is one of those passages. (At some point I will likely do a post on my thoughts regarding the Quiverfull mindset. Spoiler: I don’t think it’s Biblical.) Today though, I just want to meditate on these words:

Unless the Lord builds the house,

They labor in vain who build it;

Unless the Lord guards the city,

The watchmen keep awake in vain.

It is vain for you to rise up early,

To retire late,

To eat the bread of painful labors;

For He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.

Behold, children are a gift of the LORD,

The fruit of the womb is a reward.

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,

So are the children of one’s youth.

How blessed in the man whose quiver is full of them;

They will not be ashamed

When they speak with their enemies in the gate.

(PSALM 127 – NASB)

 Oh, to see my children as a gift from the Lord. I want to have that mindset. I want to view them as the Lord sees them. I’ve been meditating on this passage all week – just trying to focus on the blessing in the midst of the endless Cheerios crunched across my carpet, the bad attitudes, and the toddler who bites their sibling not just once, but three times, in one morning.

An outtake from our fall photos last year – simply enjoying our precious children.

My two year old is a blessing. He is learning to be my helper. He gets up in the morning and can peel an orange or bring a banana to his sister in her bed so that she can have a snack first thing while mama stumbles out of bed. He helps unload the dishwasher. He has the cutest observations about the world and is becoming so fascinated by details about animals, vehicles, and other people. Anything really! He shows me grace on a day-to-day basis. When I snap or overreact, he is quick to forgive and accept my apology. I would love to have his gift of forgiveness.

My one year old is also a blessing. She loves her mama fiercely – it’s impossible not to feel loved in her presence. She is passionate and is learning how to speak and her favorite words right now are “Spot” (the dog from the popular book series), “eat,” and “no!” The girl has her own special brand of feistiness and I trust that God will shape her and mold her into one who uses her spunk for His glory and for other’s good. There is no doubt in my mind that her love and spunk will make a lethal combination down the road.

And then there is the sweet baby in my belly who is now at 12 weeks gestation. I don’t know much about this baby, yet. But I do know that it is a joy to get to experience pregnancy again. That alone is a huge blessing when there are so many out there who just long to be mothers.

That’s been my heart’s cry lately – to see my children as a true blessing. I’m about to close my laptop, hop out of my bed, and race downstairs to try and straighten our home up a bit before my two sleeping toddlers wake up. I will be picking up dried up cheese that got stuck under the couch, putting away endless toys, and rinsing off lunch plates that have barely been touched. I will be pulling out my vacuum for the millionth time this week and probably should bring out the mop, too. Little feet tracked milk across my dining room floor just this morning.

It’s been a tough parenting season. It will get easier – and it will get harder, too. Parenting just seems to be one of those things that ebbs and flows. But I desire to view these children with His eyes – as true blessings, as gifts, as a REWARD from a God who “gives to His beloved even in his sleep.” Just think about the reality of that.

Saturday morning nature walk

This past weekend we decided we needed to get the kids out of the house and into the sunshine for a hike in nature. We are lucky to live in an area where you don’t have to go far to enjoy a quick hike. Just fifteen minutes from us there is a preserve on one of the bays of the lake. This gorgeous wetland habitat is said to be home to around 34 unique animal species, including 27 bird species. It features a nice path that makes it easy to hike with children.

A gorgeous view from our walk.

Now, I’ll be completely honest. I am the type of girl who likes to stop by her favorite coffee shop and go for a walk downtown. That to me is quality outdoor time. But Joe loves nature and he wants to impart his love for the outdoors to the kids so I’m learning to go along and enjoy the natural beauty and fresh air, too. Maybe by next summer he’ll have finally convinced me to give camping a try with two young children in tow.

Cooper and Marlowe loved the hike, of course. Cooper enjoyed running the trails and being the first to reach the signs along the pathway that told us about various geographical features and species present in the area. Marlowe refused to be worn in the Ergo. I always forget that she’s a big 14-month-old now and that she can do it herself, thank you very much.

My sweet family enjoying the crisp, early Fall morning.

My children teach me lessons almost daily, and this walk was no different. Along the walk, the kids were getting distracted at nearly every opportunity. Every leaf, flower, rock, or root needed to be inspected and touched. At one point, both of the kids had gathered sticks and were drawing designs in the dirt. Joe and I were both anxious to keep on with the hike so that we could get towards the end of the walk to see the best views of the lake. Of course, that never happened. I doubt we even made it halfway down the path. The kids were more interested in the minute details of the walk than they were in what was coming at the end of the path. (After we got into the car to go home, Joe and I promised each other that we would try to get back to the preserve one of these days without the kids so that we can finally make it to the end of the trail.)

This reminded me so much of my daily attitude, though. So often I’m wishing away the little moments that make up parenting – the potty training accidents, the spilled sippy cups, the umpteenth load of laundry, the book I’ve read over and over and over. I just want to make it to one o’clock (naptime around these parts) or to bedtime or to something other else that I think will be far more exciting than what I’m currently doing.

Just like my kids looked at a simple rock or leaf on the hike and thought they were beautiful, I too need to look at the various parts of our daily routine and marvel in the beauty found there. I need to not get caught up in what is coming ahead – but really enjoy each stage as I’m in it.

Bent over to inspect the plant.

It’s a simple lesson. And it certainly isn’t anything new or original. But that’s all I could think about on the hike – that I want to be just like my kids, enjoying each new thing as it comes along.

dads play a role during pregnancy too

Tonight my husband Joe and I were driving home after a fun evening having dinner on the lake with family and friends when I relayed to him a story my aunt had told me over dinner. Essentially, the story was about a man who had fathered triplets with his wife and then had to sit back and watch while his wife decided to selectively reduce the multiples down to a singleton pregnancy because she refused to carry more than one child. He was devastated by the ordeal, as he would have rather kept all of the babies. The situation was obviously gut wrenching for him – and I won’t get into the politics or the morals or my thoughts on the matter. That’s another post for another day.

What was most shocking to me was the conversation that played out with my husband after I told him about the story. I said something about how I felt frustrated over the fact that a woman’s choice trumps even the father’s and that a man’s choice is essentially meaningless until the birth, at which point he is fully expected to contribute.

Joe replied, “well, I don’t think dads are given much of a role during pregnancy, anyway. Everyone always says that moms do all of the work after conception. There is no focus on the dads.” I asked him if he felt like he had contributed to my pregnancies and he said he didn’t really think he had beyond the, you know, actually getting pregnant part.

I was stunned. Without a doubt, this man played a vital role in my pregnancies. I had to remind him how.

With both of my pregnancies I had bleeding early on — bright red bleeding. It was scary, and we were sure I was miscarrying. The first time I experienced bleeding with a pregnancy we’d been married less than two months and I was snuggled up in my new husband’s arms, tears streaming down my face. There was nothing he could do in that moment but just be with me, love me, support me, and remind me that it would be okay. And he did that perfectly.

I also experienced morning (okay, all day) sickness with my pregnancies and our home reflected that. Cleaning was low on my priority list and cooking just wasn’t even feasible. How can you cook when you immediately have to vomit the moment you open your refrigerator? Joe would go to work every day and return home to cook and clean instead of relaxing in the evenings. I remember one night in particular. We were just getting ready to go to bed when I suddenly felt starving. He made me a breakfast burrito and I enjoyed it – and promptly barfed it up 15 minutes later. I was still hungry and the pregnancy emotions were real, so at that point I was crying. He made me another one without complaint.

Joe gave me countless back massages, foot rubs, and snuggles. He went to Bradley Method classes with me so that he could be a help during labor, even though there were a million things he would have rather been doing every Tuesday night for 3 months. He went to prenatal appointments with me, and played a large role in determining what would be the best choice for our birth plans. He indulged all of my pregnancy cravings, and never judged me for all the naps I took advantage of over those long nine months. He didn’t get mad when our budget took a major hit after I decided I needed more clothing options and went on a maternity clothes shopping binge. He even packed my hospital bag with our second.

Somehow awake enough after going through 36 hours of hard labor with me to hold our first, Cooper, while smiling for a photo.

During labor, he applied counter pressure to my back for contraction after contraction as I endured horrific back labor naturally for hours with our first. He laid down next to me and held me in my exhausted, frenzied state while I fell asleep for a minute and awoke to the next jarring contraction. He stayed with me during the entire 36-hour ordeal, encouraging and praying for me, and didn’t judge me when I opted to tap out at the 30-hour mark and begged to be taken to the hospital instead of having a natural home birth as we’d planned. He made such an excellent doula that our home birth team actually said that he would be an asset to their team.

Sitting down and taking a breather while waiting for the induction start.

With my second, he encouraged me, prayed for me, and held me as I cried (out of fear) the night before my induction at 42 weeks. That labor was dramatically different at less than four hours long from start to finish, but he still helped make it more bearable as he walked through each and every moment with me. I will never forget the way he quoted Psalm 23 to me as I went through transition.

Meeting Marlowe a few moments after her birth.

Needless to say, his role did not just start when our kids were born. I might have carried our children throughout the pregnancies – but he carried me.

Dads, you play a role. Your contribution is just as significant as the mother’s is, and it doesn’t just begin following labor. It begins before the pee is even dry on the stick. There are a million ways to show support, and that will look different for each and every couple, but please know: your role is valuable. It is needed and it is appreciated.

And to my husband: thank you for loving me so well throughout our pregnancies. We make a good team.

an end & a beginning

I stood on my front porch this morning to wave goodbye to Miss Amanda, the speech therapist who has come to our house weekly over the past six months to provide Early Intervention speech services to my son. There was nothing unusual about this moment – in fact, it had become quite routine. At the end of every therapy session my son would run to the entryway to fetch Miss Amanda’s shoes for her, and then would open the front door, bounding down the steps to go open her car door. If he was really lucky and had participated well in therapy that day, she might even honk her horn for him.

But today a tear rolled down my cheek. I was choked up as I said “thank you again, have a great weekend” and waved to Amanda. This time, for the last time. Normally I’d follow that sentence with “see you next week” but today I was acutely aware that Friday mornings now sit blank on my calendar.

You see, as of this morning, Cooper has graduated from Early Intervention. We had just finished the final tests for him to exit the program and he passed them all at or above where he was expected to for his age group.

The few tears I blinked away weren’t because I’d miss seeing Amanda every Friday – even though she is a lovely person and a fellow mama I have really enjoyed chatting with and getting to know.

Just relief. So much relief. Seven months ago we started on a journey where we had to come to terms with the fact that our son was quite a bit behind with his speech. Almost a whole year behind, to be exact. He was struggling socially and he was also quite a bit behind with his gross motor skills.

I know that six months is not a long time in the grand scheme of things. And a delay of any type is certainly nothing to be embarrassed about – and we weren’t. Just concerned as most parents would be, I think.

But there is something about coming full circle from a time when you felt desperate, frustrated, and sad for your son to a time where he is finally meeting developmental norms and has worked so hard to get to that point. That moment brought out emotions I never really even knew I had.

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Emotions. They creep up often in my mothering, most often when I least expect them.

I’ve realized that pictures don’t often capture the emotions behind an event. A good photographer does a better job of it, certainly, but I’ve noticed that the pictures I take in a hurry with my iPhone will never fully depict how my heart feels.

Enter this blog. I need a place to remember the emotions, to dwell on the past, and to look forward to the future. There is so much I know I will remember about my years as a mama down the road, but I know that these feelings, these moments, are fleeting and I want to have a place to save them.