Hot flashes & head-bobs

On Friday, we welcomed our new little man, Theodore Edward into our family. It has been a whirlwind of activity as we assist Davyd in adjusting to being a big brother, and Theo in adjusting to life outside the womb. 

Meanwhile, I have been readjusting to the life of a nursing mom. It has not been long since the last time I did this, but I seem to have forgotten all the different elements of the process. Like the fact that I often have hot flashes & nearly fall asleep every time I nurse. The other part of that is that I often drop whatever is in my hand, which is usually my phone. This creates an obvious hazard for my dear little babies. I remember dropping the phone on Davyd when he was pretty young. I felt like the worst mom ever. I probably even cried. Poor Theo didn't even make it through his first night home without me dropping my phone on him. My response this time was quite different. I believe what I said to him was, "I'm sorry, buddy, but let's be honest, this won't be the last time". He seemed to be understanding. It's true what they say, the second baby is totally different...

The Art of Breathing

Sometimes waiting for answers makes be feel like I can't breathe.

This week I've had difficulty breathing, both literally & figuratively. Davyd caught a cold somehow (what is the deal with summer colds?!?!), and of course, then Matt & I caught it as well. Let's face it, neither of us has much of an immune system at the moment. We are a pregnant woman & a man with an auto-immune disease. We are sitting ducks. 

I, obviously hate being sick, but I'm even more cranky about it when I'm also pregnant. I mean really, as if growing a human inside my body isn't difficult enough-- we have to add a cold to the mix? What makes me even more cranky is not being home when I'm sick. We are in Ohio this week, partially on business for Matt & partially to visit some family (it has been quite a whirlwind of a week. My husband often resembles a tornado to me, but it's especially twirly when he's working so hard). So we've been staying in a hotel, which does not have my comforts that I count on when I'm sick, and this has made me grouchy. However, one thing that has been enjoyable is the fact that I don't have have any laundry to do or anything to clean or straighten. This has given me the opportunity to read while my son sleeps. On Wednesday, I read 3 different works on worry. I know this is not a coincidence, because I was having an exceptionally hard time breathing on Wednesday (again, literally & figuratively). I was so focused on not having the answer that I've been craving, I was finding it nearly impossible to breathe. 

I've been waiting for an answer about a potentially exciting change, but as I've been waiting, I've allowed myself to worry so much that the excitement has worn off. 

So on Wednesday, I decided to exhale. I was challenged to stop worrying & talk to God about it instead (a novel idea, I know). Doing this has always proven helpful in the past, but for some reason, I'm constantly re-learning this lesson: I can do nothing about it, so talking to myself (worrying) about it is useless. God can (and will) do something about it, so He is the one I should talk to. 

Breathing has become easier since Wednesday, as long as I remember to exhale. 

"He's not going to sleep in our bed" & Other Words I've Eaten Since Becoming a Mom

I wrote the following draft of a post this past winter.  I'm not sure why I never got around to finishing or posting it before, but I figured I might as well share it now, even in it's unfinished state.  Enjoy! ;)

I'm certainly not an expert on this parenting thing, but one thing I can tell you with certainty is that things will usually not go as you expected. 

Davyd has been sick this week, & in an effort to get some sleep (and maintain the shreds of sanity we have left at this point) we've been letting him sleep with us. If you would have told me a year ago that I'd be letting my baby boy sleep in bed with us, I'd have told you you were crazy. I likely would have said something to the effect of, "My dear husband has no sense of what he's doing in his sleep", & then I'd recount the story of how he once attempted to squeeze our dog's stomach in an effort to get her to... well... relieve herself (this is a wonderful story... I'm happy to share it if anyone is interested). I would then reiterate that it wouldn't be safe for our tiny baby to be in bed with us, & I really would believe it. 

Fast forward to last Thurdsday night when the boy was only staying asleep in his crib for 15 minute increments. At that point I was willing to sleep anywhere (couch, floor, bathtub, whatever) if it meant we would all get some sleep. 

I will add that I still haven't totally regretted this decision. Although, I imagine I will at some point-- when my son is 5 and still wants to sleep in our bed.  For now, I'm enjoying getting whatever bits of sleep I can get when Davyd is sick.  It's not ideal by any means, but at least I'm not spending most of the night bent over his crib trying to get him to sleep, which has become increasingly difficult as my pregnant belly continues to grow.  (Sixteen months apart.  These boys are going to be sixteen months apart.  As I've said before, prayers and wine are always appreciated.)

The moral of this post is this: parenting is something no one is ever fully prepared for.  By nature, it's something that you must learn as you go.  One thing I've learned in the past year is the importance of giving myself grace as I navigate the best ways to care for my son.  This is something every mom needs  from herself and from those around her.  I'm thankful that I have so many mom-friends who are willing to pour out grace and share stories of their own triumphs and failures.  I wish more moms would be like them. 

Summa' Time (and God's grace)!

The time that I've been counting down to has finally arrived-- in a whirlwind, I might add.  School was out on the 10th, Davyd's first birthday party was on the 13th, the Bellis-Hughes-White-Prekop family day was on the 14th, and we left for the beach on the 15th.  So much fun, so little sleep! But summer has finally arrived, and with it, the opportunity to begin writing again.  

I've been inspired by some mom-authors that I've been introduced to lately.  I read the majority of Lisa-Jo Baker's book, Surprised by Motherhood on the beach last week.  I don't know how else to describe this book other than "a warm hug".  It was so encouraging to read about another mom who has insecurities and doubts about her ability to be a mom.  I've never considered myself to be very maternal, but after reading this book, and others like it, I'm reminded that being a mom doesn't have to mean having the cleanest, most organized house, or the perfect dinners on the table precisely when my husband walks through the door (let's face it, my husband is the cook.  He merely tolerates what I make because he's desperate and let's not forget the fact that I never had any desire to do these things).  Being a mom is about so much more than outward appearances.  I'm learning this more and more as I parent a wild little man, who is always dirty, hates being cleaned up, and LOVES to throw anything and everything he can get his hands on.  I'm also beginning to wrap my brain around the fact that I'm going to have ANOTHER one of them in October, and my life is going to be filled with dirt, bugs, and naked butts all over the house (Davyd loves to be naked… it really must be innate in boys.  We've already had the "keep it in your pants" conversation-- the one appropriate for 1 year olds.  The other one will come later.  We're already practicing it).  My son has stretched me in many ways since he came into existence.  I've been given the ability to do things I never would have dreamed I'd be able to do in the past. I always knew I wanted to be a mom, I just didn't know that I'd be able to handle it.  

That's the beauty of God's grace.  Tonight, I read the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 (does it bother anyone else out there that women and children weren't counted?) to Davyd, and I was reminded of the ways that God works in and through us.  The little boy with the five loaves of bread and two fish might have realized that there was no way that could have fed all of those people, but he offered it anyway.  And Jesus took what little he offered and multiplied it to feed all of the people there, and still have leftovers.  I like to think that's what God is doing with my parenting skills.  I don't know how to raise boys.  I'm an only child, and a girl.  I don't understand the desire to eat gross things, tear bugs apart, or wrestle at every opportunity.  I like my personal space, and I like my sleep.  I've lost both of these things in the past year (and nine months… let's be honest, growing a person inside of you is the ultimate loss of personal space), but I have gained so much.  I have been given the chance to get a glimpse of the way that God loves me.  Having the experience of loving Davyd despite his tempter tantrums and waking up way too many times during the night has made God's love for me more real.  To think that God loves me, even more than I love my son, despite my disobedience and lack of faith is truly humbling and awe-inspiring.  Knowing this is the way God loves me makes it that much easier to give Him what little I have in the way of my ability to be a good mom and trust that He will continue to turn that little into much, and even leave some leftovers.  I'm thankful I don't have to do this on my own.