Mourning The Miracle. Losing Hope.

Woke up feeling just so sad and defeated this morning.  Had another intense night of false labor last night, that left me both physically and emotionally exhausted this morning.

I've tried everything, and what they say is true: if your body is not ready, it's not gonna happen.  Problem is, will my body ever be ready?

I've tried:

red raspberry leaf tea, since 36 weeks

evening primrose oil, since 36 weeks

long long walks

acupuncture

spicy food

exercise ball

'time' with the man

chiropractor

pineapple

breast pump

deep breathing

the elyptical

visualization

TONS OF PRAYER

stretches and exercises of all sorts
membrane stripping THREE TIMES

on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on..........................

Nothing.  Just hours, days, and now weeks of false labor.  I've gotten myself 50% effaced, and 2 cm dilated.  I am grateful for this progress, FOR SURE.  But I just want more.

Today I am processing seriously through the fact that the chances of me ever knowing what it is like to go into labor on my own, are getting smaller and smaller, and less realistic.

I just don't understand.  I don't understand why my body is built the way it is.  But it makes me very very sad.

God I know you don't have to give me everything I ask for, and that most times you answer my prayers different than I would expect.  I'm trying to trust that your plan is the best, and you have my best in mind.  I just don't understand why asking for something so natural as this is a prayer of mine that every time gets rejected.  This is my last chance Lord, and still the answer seems to be no.  I know there is still time for a miracle, but through these tears I can see that once again you will most likely ask me to accept and trust your answer of 'no'.

Ugh.  If nothing else, I guess today I can be thankful for the cleansing effect tears have on my soul, and the fact that within 4 days, I will meet my son.  Even if it doesn't happen the way it was supposed to.

My TOP 7 Of The Day.

1.  Ranch kids were wearing shorts just two days ago, and tonight we had to brave a blizzard to get home.  Where am I?

2.  Felt a little weird driving through a snow storm tonight with our new snow tires INSIDE the van, instead of on it.  Auryn kept telling us the tires wanted to be out in the snow.  I agreed.

3.  Why on the snowiest day of the season are my contractions the strongest?

4.  Being 9 months pregnant, with a full bladder, driving on a bumpy road, having strong contractions, listening to a over tired screaming two year old, while having that over tired two year old kicking me in the back of my seat, during those strong contractions, while on the bumpy road, with a full bladder, while 9 months pregnant, is NOT my idea of a good time.  Glad to be in bed.

5.  My suspicions were correct.  My pelvis is in fact NOT aligned.  Makes more sense as to why labor really has been starting and stopping for me this last week.  He can't get where he needs to get, and make happen what needs to happen.  Hoping the alignment stays in place and helps things get MOVING.

6.  Wait.  I am 9 months pregnant, an hour from my hospital, in a snow storm, with no snow tires on my van.  This feels like a bad idea.

7.  Four year olds are SO much more rational than I was expecting.  At dinner tonight Auryn ordered mac n cheese, and Kadence ordered a grilled cheese sandwich.  We let them choose their own meals.  When Auryn's meal arrived she was obviously dissapointed, and I braced myself for the whining and complaining.  Instead, she just sat there a moment, looking at Kadence's plate and said "Next time I think I'll order the grilled cheese sandwich", picked up her spoon, and dug into her mac n cheese.  THAT WAS IT!!!!!!!!!  3 months ago I would have had to hear about it for hours!!!!!  I couldn't believe it.  I'd LOVE to say we are starting to see some of the fruit of alot of 'good' teaching and discipline, but I am more inclined to believe it's a maturity thing.  She is old enough to feel the weight of a 'bad' choice, own it, and wear it, and leave it behind.  She is old enough to know there will be a 'next time' to make a different choice.  She is old enough to know that loosing self control will get her no where.  She is becoming so grown up.  I just love that little girl.  She truly is one of my very best friends.

Ten Days And Counting.

So after a totally uneventful appointment today, the waiting game resumes.  After some long hours and days of contractions, and other unspeakable bodily changes, my body is still doing NOTHING.  Sitting at 0%, and a 1.  Yep.  I'm that awesome.

I hadn't realized this, don't know that they ever actually told me, but I sat at 50%, and a 2, for 3 WEEKS!!!!!!! with the last kiddo, AND still ended up with the induction at 42 weeks.  AWE-SOME.

Today she made it sound POSITIVE that she won't make me go past 41 weeks, so although I am sceptical, I am planning on that for now.  Keep in mind that will be a full 2 WEEKS after my original induction date.  14 days feels like a REALLY LONG TIME when you are this fat and uncomfortable.  A really long time.  But, out of that 14, I apparently only have 10 more to go.

The blood pressure was a little high today, so they are having me come back on Wednesday for a blood pressure check, and a non-stress test, and possibly another 'sweeping' of the membranes.  TMI, I know.

Feeling fine about it.  Just SO confused by my body.  I really don't understand why it is SO easy for some people to go into labor, and why alot of people I know seem to have their babies before or 'on' their due dates.  I CANNOT FATHOM WHAT THAT WOULD BE LIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!  Really, that's like an alternate reality to me.

So tonight I begin the 10 day countdown.  Cause that's all I have.  Hoping still the little man will make his appearance before then, but realizing from my lovely history, we'll be seeing this little guy in 10 days.

Drowning In Self Pity.

Today started out with a 'bang', of horribleness.

The 'plague' has been circulating the canyon as of lately, and thus far I have avoided it.  However, this morning I woke up with that exhausted 'hit by a truck' feeling, a HUGE painful cold sore on my lip, and the suspicious scratchiness in my throat.  ON TOP OF THAT....I am puking.  AND, on top of that....I am having contractions.

Now don't get all excited.  I've been having contractions for at least a week, off and on.  Every day I get them, is stronger than the day before.  But there have also been days that I have nothing, not even one single solitary contractions.  Nada.  The other day for 6 hours straight I had VERY regular contractions.  They were getting more painful at the end.  And just when I thought, 'gosh this really could be it', they ALL stopped.  Ugh.

It's to the point now where vomiting, although physically miserable, is becoming just emotionally torturous.  It is SO defeating to be puking your guts out at this point.  Several reasons, but the biggest: if you have even an ounce of liquid in your bladder, it comes pouring out because of the force of your straining while vomiting.  TMI?  Maybe.  But yes, almost every time I puke, I also pee my pants, and the floor, and whatever else is around.  LOVELY.  Really don't know if the man will ever be able to look at me the same again.

And then the plague, oh the plague.  Luckily I'm not feeling super horrible with this one, yet.  Just a cold sore the size of a skittle on my lip, and the feeling that I stayed up ALL NIGHT LONG.  Funny thing is I actually slept great last night. (Well except for the hour I woke up and realized the boy hadn't woken me up with his kicking once that night, anxiety settled in, I drank some cold juice, and started doing an hour of kick counting.  He of course was fine.)  But I really slept great all night.  Well, pregnancy great.

If it sounds like I am drowning and self pity and complaining non stop.  You are right.  And at this point, I don't really give a crap.  I am in survival mode people.  AND still 6 days from my due date.  I think the crappy part is that my doc basically assured me I would be having him by induction sometime yesterday or today, so to be here, and have no baby, and not be in the hospital, is just a little much for me right now.

Alot too much right now.

AND....my poor kiddos are stuck downstairs with my mom, which to her credit is doing a fine job, but my kids are just VERY tired of her after a week.  So their crabiness, and fits are getting OUT OF CONTROL.

I think everyone would be happier, on the entire planet, if this baby could be born soon.

Lord, where in your wisdom and timing do you feel like it is a good idea for me to still be pregnant?

Desperate For a Break.

Well, since it's all started early this morning, might as well deal with the insomnia through blogging.

Up early this morning.  The dude left for his small group, and lets be honest, once I'm woken up these days in the early morning, there is no going back to sleep.  I wake up, I lay here trying to go back to sleep, but the nausea comes rushing in, and it's all over.  It's to the point now where the husband has to bring me food to my bed every morning before I can even get up.  If I get up before eating something with protein, it is 100% that I am going to be puking so much by the time I get downstairs that I won't be able to even stomach the kitchen or the fridge to get myself some food.  The funny thing is, if I do eat breakfast, there is still a 98% chance I will be vomiting shortly after, but this time, instead of just puking up white stomach foam, it's full on chunks.  Yuck.  This week, it's a 100% chance no matter what I do, but still, I hold out hope that my man will come back in our room in a half our, and feed the beast.  Something inside me tells me this will make it all better.  Ha!  I'll be naive for now.  His small groups are supposed to last til almost 8, but this season I have made him come home at 7:15 so he can help me get through my morning puke session, and help launder whatever needs to be decontaminated from that mornings upchuck.  I know.  He's a saint.

OF COURSE what's on my mind this morning, besides trying not to vomit of course, is the fact that I am going to have to deal with this monotony for so much longer.

I honestly don't think people who never make it to, or go past their due date understand how lucky they are.  No really.  They don't.  And they shouldn't pretend to understand how hard it is to go 2 weeks past your due date.  Yes, they can try to sympathize, that is fine.  But until you live through going PAST your due date, by any significant length of time, you don't know the torture.

People all around me start popping out their kids, ON THEIR OWN, anywhere from 37 - 39 weeks pregnant.  Why is it that I have to go to at least 41 weeks, 4 WEEKS LONGER than some of these lucky women, to then even get to have the possibility of induction.  Let's be honest.  If they let me, my body would go at least 44 weeks before jumping in and doing something productive, but by that time, I don't even know if the child within would still be alive.

God where in your wisdom to you think it's a good idea for me to keep going in this pregnancy?  I guess it has to be one of those 'unseen' things I'm supposed to focus on.  I never saw the purpose behind you keeping the girls in for so long.  AND, why is it that being patient and waiting on you never seems to work for me in this situation.  After Auryn, when I was induced at just 9 days post due date, I thought maybe I had rushed things, so with Kadence I believed:  I'll just be patient, and wait for God's timing, she'll come on her own.  My body was designed to do this.  It knows what it is doing.  I just have to be patient.  I just have to wait for nature to run its course.  You know what.  That's a load of crap!  I waited and waited and waited, and guess what.  I got to 13 days past my due date, and had NO promising signs of starting labor on my own any time in the next hundred years.  THEN, the poor kid was born HUGE, with long fingernails I had to cut hours after birth, and dried up skin from cooking so long.  Her skin was peeling off in huge THICK layers for weeks after birth.  She was way past done.  What good reason did my body have of holding her in there longer?  What good reason did God have to keep her in there for?  What was the purpose of me waiting and waiting and waiting to have her in 'HIS' time, if 'HIS' time was never, freaking, going to come.

So, at the start of this pregnancy, I made a plan.  Stupid me.  Plans never work.  I held this one alot more openhandedly in the past, but honestly, this plan seemed to be totally plausible.  I decided that I would be induced at 39 weeks.  Really, what is the point of going to 42 weeks if a baby is 'ready' to come out at 39 weeks.  There were many reasons for this plan:  I have a husband who has to work his ass off when I am pregnant because I can't even feed myself alone.  I have two other kiddos to care for, who get severely neglected when I am sick and pregnant.  Reduction in baby weight.  Less tearing.  Less stretch marks.  Planned childcare for my girlies.  Ending to gallbladder symptoms.  Ending to the vomiting.  On and on and on and on.  Saving my mental sanity!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  DUH.  That tops them all!

My doc even thought it was a good idea, and was TOTALLY on board last week.   So WHY OH WHY LORD did she change her freaking mind between then and now.  Why did she not even consider it yesterday?  Oh ya, cause my body is doing NOTHING towards getting this baby out.  NOTHING AT ALL!  Ya, all those contractions that keep my up at night: doing nothing.  All of the 'natural' remedies I've been trying to get him out: nothing.

So now.  I get to puke my way towards 42 weeks, just PRAYING that he will come ALIVE someday before then.  Please Lord keep him alive.

There are TONS of things women have to deal with when they arrive to and pass their due date that those lucky millions don't have to that never make it to their EDD.

Fear is one of them.  Every day, waking up, praying for movement.  Praying that this dang placenta is still working for him.  That is emotional torture.  The chances of still birth are so much higher after 37 weeks, and SO much higher after 40.  It is a really horribly scary thing to have to go through.

And on top of everything else.  Puking for 2 weeks longer than I thought I was going to have to.  Having to be a horrible wife and mom for 2 weeks longer.

Feeling defeated.  Feeling scared.  Feeling sad.  Obviously impatient.  Feeling like I DESPERATELY need a vacation, a mental mommy recharge.  Oh wait, you need money for those things.  Ya, we don't have two nickels to rub together (a whole other lame part to my life right now).  So ya, just stuck here.  In the middle of the desert.  Feeling miserable.  Feeling hopeless.  Just waiting for a baby.

How long?

Finding MY Happy Heart.

These are the nights of parenthood that I have to die to myself the most, stick a fake smile on my face, and do what is best for the heart's of my kids.

I am tired.  I am frustrated.  I am tired of puking (yes I'm talking about vomiting again, don't you know that's all I do). All I want to do is take a bath, zone out to a show, and go to bed.

But tonight is the annual Harvest Party, that my kids have been counting down to for literally weeks.  So I'm going to go load up on pain pills, reapply the eye makeup I've cried off today, stick a mint in my mouth to hide my vomit breath, a put a huge fake smile on my face, and drive us all down to the dang party, and pretend to have the best night of my entire life.

Why?  Because tonight that is what being a good mommy means.  Choosing my happy heart, and having self control: two things I talk to them about daily.  If I can't do these two things, why should I expect them to?

Again.

Can I seriously not go one morning without puking my guts out?

SERIOUSLY!!!!!!!!!!!

Caught In Limbo.

I think my favorite place to barf is hunched over the hard wood floor downstairs, puking onto a clean towel.

I am dead serious.

Places I hate puking the most are into the toilet and/or the sink.  Why?  The SMELL!!!!!  Makes the puking go on and on and on, cause I can never catch my breathe, never catch a scent of something calming.

Yes, this is a freaking nasty, very pathetic blog post.  But this is my life.

I have no words to describe, nor do I want to take the emotional energy to portray what end of pregnancy 'morning' sickness is like.  All I will say is this.  I spend my ENTIRE day trying not to puke, and I fail miserably every single day.

On days like today I ask myself, "Why in the hell would I not be induced ASAP?", "Why continue one more day of this endless torture if I had an option?".

The truth is, I don't really have a good answer.

From the moment I learned of this pregnancy, I thought, "I am going to be induced a week early with this baby, and get an epidural."  This was my plan the ENTIRE pregnancy....until a little less than 2 weeks ago.

All of a sudden I started thinking that I have never had the chance to know what it is like to go into labor on my own, and started getting REALLY sad to think I was never going to know what that was like.  I want an adventure story, even if its not too adventurous.  I want a real labor story.

This is our last pregnancy, our last baby, our last delivery.  I have such picturesque ideals of how the onset of this labor would go.

It'd be on a dreary fall day, slightly chilly outside, with rain coming down.  I would spend some of the day at home, laboring in my room while listening to the rain outside, as my husband packed the car for the hospital, and the girls came in off and on to check on me.  Some of the day would be spent in a bubble bath, just timing contractions, and reading something peaceful, like devotions from my Jesus Calling devotional.  When things became regular and were picking up more I would get dressed in some comfy (but hospital stylish) clothes, have a 'what to expect' chat with our little girlies, and head out to the van.  I would be in the back with some pillows and blankets.  Laboring away.  Driving into town.  In the rain.  Smelling the rain, and listening to it splash up against the sides of the van, and trickle on the windows.  We'd arrive to the hospital before anything got too hectic, and go from there.

Why do I dare write my own labor story?  Simply because I know it doesn't exist.  God has a plan, I keep hearing.  I know this to be true.  I just fear that his plan for me won't include going into labor on my own.

I've researched online, and know, some women's bodies simply do not go into labor on their own while it is still optimally healthy for the baby.  I've seen this in the life of my friend who started labor around 32 weeks, and in my own life with my child that had to be induced at 42 weeks, and was born with lots of post term 'ailments'.  Neither one of these times were optimally healthy for the baby, yet the body did what it did.  I do of course ultimately want what is healthiest for the baby, and I do realize an induction could be the safest thing for sure.  I just wish for another destiny.

I am in the mourning process.  Still holding out hope.  Trying to be realistic.  And realizing those don't go together.  Caught in limbo.  Puking my guts out.

I'm supposed to be huge, I'm 8 months pregnant. What's your excuse?

For some reason, when women get towards the end of pregnancy, I've noticed that people feel the need to say insensitive things to them, or about them.

This is something I really don't get at all.  Well.....except for the fact that these comments usually come from people who have never experienced the blessing of carrying a child.  So, these remarks come from a very very naive and selfish place.  Or these comments come from men, usually older men.  Again, you don't get it.....

This has happened to me EVERY SINGLE PREGNANCY i've had.  Yet still leaves me scratching my head.  I still don't get it.

I was looking online at just random pregnancy and labor stuff, where women were sharing 'end of pregnancy' stories, and came across a FANTASTIC 'come back' to the 'kind' remarks people LOVE to share with very pregnant women.

A woman was sharing how she was getting just sick of people telling her that she is huge, and so instead of being pissed and bottling it in, she started responding to them.  Her response?

"I'm supposed to be huge, I'm 9 months pregnant.  What's your excuse?"

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!

Upon coming across this quote I shared it with my husband, who of course just rolled his eyes.  After begging him to PLEASE let me use this comeback at least once in response to someone's remarks, I finally agreed with him that responding this way isn't necessarily the most mature or kind thing to do.

So to honor my husband's wishes, I will not be using this comeback.  Out loud at least.  I can't promise I won't be thinking this in my head the next time someone shares the obvious with me.

Cause after all, if they ever get to experience the blessing of pregnancy, they'll be huge too.  And I hope the embrace it like a WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!!

Leave Enough Room To Twirl.

The other evening, while at the women's dinner out here at the ranch, I had one of those 'slap you in the face' moments from the Lord.  It was totally divine, and completely awesome.

As you know, we've been restructuring alot of how we do things around the Morrow household in terms of teaching and disciplining our children.  Sadly, this came as the result of doing these two things 'brainless and heartless' for several years, until the light bulb went on and we finally asked the Lord what he would have us do.  Not surprisingly, he started leading us in the opposite direction from which we were presently traveling.  It has been months upon months of praying, listening, experimenting, failing, and succeeding, but we have settled into a routine that feels emotionally and spiritually healthy to our family, and that is a huge blessing.  I never ask myself the question 'Why am I doing this?  I hate this!' while instructing or disciplining the kiddos, and that in itself is entirely freeing.

In the early years, not so long ago, I was just blindly following the crowd around me, even though day to day I was shriveling up inside with conviction and doubt.  I felt like what I was doing was stealing life from my kids, my self, my husband, my family.  I felt like I was trying to put too many firm borders on my family, for no other reason than I felt like I was 'supposed to'.  Not a convicted from the Lord supposed to, but a everyone else is doing this supposed to.  What I say daily in the hearts of my family was devastating.  I felt like my man was stumbling to get his footing and gain respect while trying to settle into our 'family plan', and I saw the hearts of my children starting to loose their child likeness.  They were loosing their girly screams, they were loosing their endless laughter, they were loosing their shiny smiling eyes, and they were becoming restricted.

This was the kicker, when I saw this all happening, that finally freed my heart to look at other options for child training.  I knew what we were doing was stealing life and joy, and not promoting the love of God in our family.  I was inhibiting their child likeness, and I wanted them to experience joy and freedom and innocence and childish fun.  I wanted them to have insanely fun chaotic moments, within safe boundaries and borders.  But, I didn't want them to be so surrounded by these borders that they only concentrated on them.  I only wanted them to recognize these borders when they bumped up against them.  Other than that, I wanted the to be totally free to be them.

The other night at the women's dinner I was talking with a friend about her beautiful back yard and gardens.  They are truly immaculate.  So well planned, so well placed, so well thought out.  This year she added yet another 'bed' to her garden on the edge of her yard, a sort of border if you will.  Once again, a masterpiece.  She was talking about her plants, and her 'beds' and in doing so brought up a conversation that she had had with a young girl out here more recently.  This women had asked the young girl if and where she thought they should add yet another flower bed to her yard, and the girls response:

"Make sure you leave enough room to twirl."

This one simple sentenced slapped me in the face harder than most other things have in my life.  This is what had felt so wrong to me about our 'old ways' of training our children, and this is what feels SO right about this new way of training our children.  We are leaving enough room for them to 'twirl'.  Isn't that just a beautiful image, of a young girl, in a summer dress, on a summer day, in a green lawn, surrounded by beautiful flowers.  Her head is tipped back with her face towards the sky, sun streaming down through her blond hair, her eyes are closed, her arms are out, and she is twirling.

Not a care in the world.

I want to give that to my children.  And I am so extremely satisfied when I do.  The freedom to be innocent, to have not a care in the world.  The freedom to connect with who the Lord made them to be. To feel like a pretty little princess, adored by her King.  To feel confident in who they are as young young women.

I once heard that a goldfish, if alive long enough, will eventually grow to fit the size of the bowl it lives in.  Meaning, stick that goldfish in a tiny little bowl, you're going to always have a tiny little fish.  BUT.....stick that same fish in a huge aquarium, eventually you're going to end up with a healthy size fish.  Why?  This fish has been allowed to develop and grow into who it was made to be.  It was given the freedom to be all that it was meant to be.

Now....back to the little girl.

Lets say this girl is twirling and twirling in this yard, soaking in the sun, her mind off on things even more beautiful than the garden she is in, when all of a sudden the texture of the ground under her bare feet changes from soft green grass, to sharp rough bark chips.  Is this girl gonna keep on twirling?  Maybe.  She might just step once into that bark, in that flower bed, that is a border on that lawn, and be able to quickly remind herself that border in there and move back in to innocent twirling.  But....there is a good chance when she does bump into that border, its going to jolt her into another world.  Her eyes are going to pop open, her feet are going to start burning, and she's going to have to stop twirling in order to deal with the situation at hand.  She has bumped into a border.  She' gonna sit down, and start picking all of those bark dust slivers from her feet.  Her mind in no longer in 'fantasy land' but now in reality.  She's thinking through how she got too close to that border, she's making a plan to avoid this next time, to prolong the twirling.  She's mapping things out in her head, wanting to go back to her 'freedom' but at the same time hoping to stay aware of the 'dangers' at hand.  Once she's finished picking the pokies out of her feet, and finished processing through her new plan, she goes back to the safe center of the yard, surrounded by the borders of beautiful gardens, tilts her head back, and the twirling begins again.  There has been a lesson learned in there, but her freedom remains in tact, and her heart remains in contentment.

This is what I more than anything want to provide for my girls.  A place of freedom and innocence, surrounded by 'beautiful' borders.  Just like the gardener, I want my borders to be well planned, well placed, and thought out.  I want them to create the most unobstructed environment possible in order to insure optimal 'twirling space', but I want them to remain there intact indeed.  I don't want the borders to be the focus, but only the reminder.  I want the twirling to be the focus.  And when a well placed border is bumped into, we will certainly do the work it takes to learn the lesson.  But once the lesson is learned, we will return to the wonderful joy that childhood is as quickly as possible.

After all, childhood is short.  We must leave time for twirling.

Breech Baby Frank.

So, for a few weeks now I have been having what was assumed to be gallbladder pain.  I went in yesterday for my confirmation ultrasound, to confirm indeed that it was my gallbladder.  We were then going to make a plan from there.  Oh plans.  They never work do they?

Good news: gallbladder is normal, healthy, perfect.....well except for the large baby head, hands, and feet that are pressing against it.  Yep, you heard me right, I've got a breech baby in there.  A frank breech baby to be exact.  Now, this is fine.  I've been through this many times before, the thought of a breech baby in itself doesn't freak me out.  Even the knowledge that I will most likely have to have a c-section doesn't freak me out.  The thing that freaks me out is that during the ultrasound they found that the cord is wrapped around the babies hand.  At first I thought 'well at least its not the neck', and although that is true, a pinched cord, is a bad bad thing.

So of course I did what any logical person would do: went online.  Yikes.  Online you find tons of stories of babies dying due to a cord being wrapped around their neck, but you also find a slew of stories of babies dying from their cords being wrapped around other places: like their foot.

Oh holy heck.  What am I supposed to do with this info?

Trust God.

Yep.

It just feels that lately, in my life, trusting God usually doesn't go in my favor.  I know that sounds horrible.  And it is.  But again I said thats what it feels like.  Feelings don't often match up with truth.

The idea of having to deliver my little Ozzy, dead, because of something stupid like the cord being wrapped around his hand, is a little unbearable right now.  And it should be.  I am analyzing every feeling I've been having, everything he is doing, trying to figure out if he is in danger.  I want his hand to slip out of the cord, but then again, if it does, then there is a huge chance of a knot forming where his hand was.

I want to trust God, I really do, but I don't.  I trusted him with Noah, that tanked.  I trust him with my marriage, that fails often too.

I know trusting God is the right thing to do, and really the only option, but right now, it doesn't sound like a good plan at all.

Please don't be alarmed.  I am not having a crisis of faith.  I am just one who believe that the Lord would rather us admit the fault of how we are actually feeling, than fake the perfection of false emotion.

He knows I am having a hard time trusting him right now.  Why pretend?

If what's going to happen is what's going to happen, what's the difference anyways?

Perspective.

Life is all about perspective isn't it.

Dealing with a miscarriage is a cake walk compared to this.

Begging for Christ's swift return.  I'm ready.

He Lied.

I'll spare the details, but today is one of those days where you honestly think:

"This must be a nightmare, this cannot be reality, I cannot survive this, when am I going to wake up?"

Then you realize it's real life for sure, and you just don't get the freaking point anymore.

Really Lord?  Really?

Don't understand why so many things have met me at this one intersection of time.

The Lord promises He won't give us more than we can handle.  I think He lied.

Ya, He lied.

Check Up.

So a few days during this last week little Xavier's movements were SO SO painful, and the only thing I could figure is that he had moved head down.  I thought my suspicions were confirmed when how movements afterwords starting feeling different.

Today at the appointment the Doc basically figured out that she thinks he was head down, and I probably actually felt him flip around the other way: head up.  He's breech.  I have another appointment in two weeks, and if he still kicks her in the hand when she's trying to feel for his head in my lower abdomen, we'll have to do another ultrasound.  It's still a little early, so hopefully he'll flip back over, but he's getting so big I honestly don't know how he has much room left for acrobatics.  If he doesn't flip, the chances of a c-section are pretty high.

The funny thing is: I don't really care.  I of course do not want to deal with the hard hard recovery from a c-section, and the risks of that procedure, but at this point in my life, I just want a baby in my arms, I don't care how he gets there.

With the girls I was SO opinionated about how they should arrive.  I wanted to have them naturally.  There were several reasons:  1) It contained the least amount of risks to me and baby.  2)  I felt like I needed to prove that I could do it naturally.  3)  It was the fad.

It still is the fad.  People are constantly talking about how midwifery and birth centers are the best option, and honestly: I don't buy it.  I think that, like everything else in life, is subject to individualism.  There may be some individuals where using a midwife is the best option, but that's just not for me.  I've had to be induced for both girls:  Kid A: 9 days late, 9 pounds 8 ounces,  Kid K: 13 days late, 10 pounds, 6 ounces.  With the little sis, if I had been at a birth center, or at home, she would have died.  She had severe respiratory distress symptoms, most likely caused by her quick plunge down my birth canal (7 minutes of pushing, 2 contractions worth of pushing, 2 pushes in all....not enough to clear the lungs), and showed signs of infection from birth.  Because of the immediate response of the hospital staff, her life was saved, and I will FOREVER be SO thankful to them.

I think because of this, and because of my miscarriage, I just don't care anymore.  The life of a child is such a huge blessing, I don't really think we should be so picky about its arrival.  I remember a wise women, when I was pregnant with my first, saying to me "Women often spend so much time thinking about, planning for, and nitpicking about the birth of their baby, that they miss out on the responsibility of preparing spiritually and emotionally for the addition of a new person to their family."  I have seen this to be true in myself and others.  The responsibility God gives us in loaning us one of his own for a time, is truly miraculous.  He entrusts his most precious creations to people he can guarantee are going to screw up.

So if Ozzy flips around and I can have him vaginally (yep I said vaginally) like the girls, that's great.  But if to ensure the safety of his life and mine we need to do a c-section, fine by me.  Of course the procedure does sound scary because any major surgery sounds scary, but I have to trust the Lord with that one.

All I can say for sure is that we have been nothing but pleased in our experiences with hospitals, and for us, they have been literal life savers, never endangered us in any way.  I have been nothing but blessed in my birthing experiences, they have both been magical, isn't every childbirth.  I am SO thankful the Lord has given medical wisdom to some of His people.  What an enormous gift to us all.

So sorry world.  I'm not going to sacrifice the safety of my precious little Ozzy just to jump in with the fad.  We'll be using a hospital, most likely doing an induction (if not a c-section), and I'll be receiving as many pain meds as they'll give me.

If I ever did have anything to prove, I've already done it.  I was induced twice (far more painful of a labor I hear), and delivered two very large babies vaginally with minimal pushing and NO pain meds.

It was wonderful.  It was torturous.

And I will never, ever do that again.

On another note, the morning sickness is coming back.  First time in the history of pregnancy for me to be feeling it so late in the game.  Just so blessed that I'm only 9 weeks out.  Doing it for 20 weeks of this pregnancy was hard enough.  9 weeks seems like a walk in the park compared to that.

The end is in sight.  I'm feeling thankful, blessed, excited, and content.  God's gonna write this story like all the others before.

Can't wait to see how its gonna unfold.

The only thing I care about is holding my live baby X in my arms sometime in November, and getting to live a long healthy life with him and the rest of my zoo.

I Promise.

I think the only one thing that makes me a good mother, is that I'm not under the illusion that I am a good mother.

I hope to always know this.

I am fully aware that one day, in their adult life, my children will be reflecting these years back to me in a mirror of their words and actions.  They will have many complaints and corrections.

I know this will be painful, but I say: BRING IT.

I am flawed little angels, in everything I do, in the moment, I believe it is the right choice, but all I look back upon now are 4 years of awful mistakes.

I will cry with you one day over the mistakes I have made and the burden they added to your life.

I promise.

Life Minus The Meds.

The last few weeks of weaning off of my happy pills have gone amazingly well.  I think three factors play into this.

1) About 6 months  ago we started suspecting that I might be lactose intolerant.  Did you know that the most common symptom of a food allergy is anxiety?  Because of this I cut my dairy intake all the way down for several months, and then was able to find my limit of eating dairy no more than twice a week, and while still being able to feel normal.  I've been eating it about once a week in small amounts and doing fine while weaning from my meds.  I'm hoping this will continue.

2) There is an end in sight.  I know that in less than 10 weeks if I need to I can just go right back on them.  That feels amazing.  I am so thankful that God put the idea in some dudes head to make these meds, and so thankful that he convicted us that using them was the right thing for us.  Sure, I don't like the thought of being on them forever not knowing the risks of that, but one thing I do know for sure: a lifetime of anxiety and stress would most surely shorten my life even more than needing to be medicated forever.  Plus, I am on the smallest dose possible, so that feels good too.

3) The Lord's had it out for me.  I feel like over the last few years he's really been making me examine my thinking behind EVERYTHING, and this has been great in building my trust in him and my faith in who he is.

I have been having a few more worrisome thoughts than normal, usually fear stuff surrounding the health of my kids (like why Kadence has so many bruises on her legs, and if Auryn's cold sore is going to cause some sort of life threatening infection......irrational you see), but other than that its been great.  I just need to not let myself freak about about anything until I am medicated again, and not able to freak out about anything.  LOL!  Oh goodness.  Basically I know my thinking right now is not always filled with TRUTH, so I just need to postpone everything until the meds allow the Lord to reign in my mind again.  I do believe that God is all powerful, but I also know that when your brain is screwed like mine, no matter how much TRUTH you try to shove in there, its not enough.  It would be like laying on the floor hemorrhaging asking the Lord to stop the bleeding.  Yes he could do it totally on his own, but most likely its gonna take an ambulance, a doctor, a blood transfusion, and a few stitches.

He uses lots of stuff to heal us and prolong our lives and sanity in this very very broken world we live in.  Mine just happens to be a tiny green pill that the Lord has used to save my life.

Thank.  You.  Jesus.

Social Anxiety: Double Dose.

I think one hardest parts about raising my first born is that she and I are SO similar.  Inside and out.  No, we are not the same.  The Lord gave us our own uniqueness, and our own souls, but sometimes the similarities between us outweigh the difference by far.  Some of them I love seeing in her, but some of them I hate.

Today I'm processing through the one I hate the MOST.

My sweet little girl, on the outside from the neck up, looks like my twin.  Although I know I'm flawed for sure, her and I get a ton of joy in looking in the mirror together at our faces that 'match'.

Unfortunately: my sweet little girl, on the inside from the neck up, is built like me too.  I can't be for sure, because she is only 3 (4 in only two weeks though!!!!), but I think her brain is broken like mine.  My burden has become her burden, and it devastates me to my core.

ANXIETY.

Ugh.

As she has grown older, I have been able to recall alot more memories from my childhood as she is experiencing things for the first time, and I am recalling what some of those times were like for me.  Alot more lately, those memories have made me just plain miserable.

Although I do have fun memories with friends during my youth, honestly: most of them are plagued with memories of severe anxiety.  I hated organized sports, I hated organized games (like duck duck goose), I hated having happy birthday sung to me, I hated playing in groups, I hated being in a group where I didn't have at least 1 very close friend giving me undivided attention, I hated breaking into groups....on and on.  My mom always tells me that I was so shy in preschool that I would not talk to anyone, and on the playground I would stand on the edge by myself.  Although I don't remember many of these early times, when I think back to them I feel anxious all over again.  Social anxiety, my nemesis.

I unfortunately have had a lifelong struggle with performance anxiety too.  Double trouble.  I have an overwhelming amount of memories of gagging.  Yep, you read that right, gagging.  For some reason my bodies response to anxiety has been nauseousness, which results in me gagging.  Weird I know.  I have so many memories of gagging before swim meets, dance recitals, piano recitals, math contests....on and on.  My middle school memories are filled with instances of having the lunch bell ring and gagging my way to my locker to get my lunch, and gagging my way to the lunch room, just so stressed over where I was going to sit, who would be my friend.  And I tell you this next part, not to brag, but to only illustrate my point further, but: I was extremely popular from 5th grade to 11th grade, so I should not have been experiencing anxiety like this.  I was plugged in with the popular crowd since 2nd grade, I was never an outsider during those years.  I should have been confident.  But I was terrified.  I loved having friends, I loved having fun, I loved being a part of things, I just also had a fear too.  A fear of rejection.

Isn't that really what social and performance anxiety are based around.  A fear of rejection, a fear of failure.

Now, at the ripe old age of 29, when I am at birthday parties with my 3 year old and they start playing party games, I get anxious, I get nauseous, all over again.  When we arrive to a party late, or the playground or the pool where a crowd has formed, my anxiety level spikes.  Some of these, most of these, are STILL situations I myself find hard to maneuver, but I think the real cause is fear of rejection for my precious daughter.  I could care less for me if people like her, but I see in her a high need for friendships, and it crushes me SO MUCH to know that she herself will be rejected at times.  I want to protect her, I want to set up every situation to insure that she succeeds, but I cannot.  But it is so so painful for me to watch.

Just the other day we got invited to a birthday party.  For about a week ahead of time she would look at the invitation hanging on our fridge and talk to us excitedly about going to her friends party.  She was so excited for him that it was his birthday, so excited that she was invited, so excited to go to a party.  We were at the store a few days before the party and all on her own she asked if we could get this little buddy of hers a card and a present.  She loved browsing the aisles and picking out what she deemed a worthy card and present, all the while talking about how fun it would be to go to this party.  The morning of she woke up so giddy that it was finally the day she could go celebrate with her friends.  She helped me wrap the gift, she told me what to write on the card, she was beaming.  Then it was time to leave.  Her daddy was off that morning, so we all got to go as a family.  The party was being held at the condo just two up from ours, literally a 1 minute walk.  She rushed to get her shoes on, grabbed the present, and headed towards the door.  But as she exited the door I saw her entire demeanor change.  I could tell it had finally hit her, what she was about to do.  Her face got serious, her smile disappeared, she started slumping her shoulders, and walking really slowly.  When we arrived and opened the door she stood hesitantly outside for a moment as she peered in to her friends playing with balloons.  I could tell she was getting sad.  She was nervous to go in, nervous she wouldn't know anyone, scared no one would talk to her, scared she wouldn't fit it.  The whole party she stuck close to daddy and I.  She refused to play the games, had a really hard time getting in line for the birthday treat, and didn't like the birthday song as usual (ok, is this genetic?  both my sister and I HATED it as kids, and now both of my kids do too....).  She was SO excited to see this little boy open the present she gave to him, but nervous that he wouldn't like it.  She had a hard time telling him 'your welcome' when he so politely thanked her.  When she had all she could take, she started wandering home.  My heart sank.  I had SO wanted her to feel successful, and I could tell she had not.  I praised her for going, and being a good friend, and encouraged her that her buddy was glad she had come.  It wasn't until hours later she looked at me and said "Mommy, I had alot of fun at _______'s birthday party!  My favorite part was the balloons!".  I was shocked once again.  She had enjoyed herself.  It had not gone as she hoped, but she had found fun in the midst of it.

Today it happened again.  She heard kids playing outside, ran up to me, and said "I hear friends outside, can I please go play with them?!?!?".  I told her yes, but then as soon as the older neighborhood girl sweetly came to play with her, she froze.  She looks up to her so much, and doesn't want to do something wrong, doesn't want to be rejected, so she freezes.

I think the tricky part with social anxiety too, is the fear of doing something wrong.  You feel like the entire world understands how to socialize, and you have missed that part of the lesson.  Like me, I still suck at group conversations and am constantly interrupting people.  I seriously don't understand how they work.  Weird I know, I'm 29.  You fear doing something wrong, it makes you feel really anxious, and really stressed, and then you do something awkward, and your fears come true.

She does this too.  She SO badly wants to fit in, and SO badly wants to be like, and is SO scared that she won't fit in and won't be like that she freezes, the anxiety builds, and she acts awkward.

I am scared.  I know we are just around the corner from one of her buddies calling her weird.  I am SO dreading that day.  She is a first born, being raised by a mother who struggles with social anxiety, and a father who finds humor in pretending to be socially awkward.  She is weird too.  Poor girl.

Social anxiety.  There was once song played by this A-mazing band, and the line to it said: What you fear the most, will surely be the death of you.  That's social anxiety in a nutshell.  You fear failure and rejection the most, it paralyzes you, the stress builds, you do something awkward, you are rejected.

Kids are noticing that my princess is not exactly like them.  Who wants to play with a kid who stands on the sidelines, won't participate in group stuff, and won't always join in conversation?  I just pray someone does, she needs a buddy.  I had one buddy.  That changed everything.  Someone to make you feel normal, make you feel like you belong, someone to be the bridge that connects you to the group as a whole.

Why is she this way?  Well, I think alot is genetic.  My side of the family has a long line of mental illness.  Some mutant gene somewhere got mixed in.  I also think its because she is a firstborn and has a need to do things right, and doesn't have an older sibling to look up to as a social example.

And also, its my fault.  I was so controlling in her younger years, and even sometimes now, that I was always correcting her, always feeding her lines, basically teaching her there was a right way and a wrong way to socialize.  Although, to my knowledge, I've never punished her for this, the tape I've set up to play in her head isn't a great one.  Its full of correction, full of direction, and lacking in encouragement.

I'm trying with all my might to learn how to parent a child who deals with this beast, but its pretty hard when the same beast has lived in your head for as long as you can remember.

I'm just praying the Lord does a miracle.  I'm praying he gives her buddies that truly love her.  I'm praying he gives her confidence in the creation he made her to be.  I'm praying he gives me tools and skills to help her on this journey.

Social health, relationships, is really the food our souls survive on.  When you struggle in this area, life can feel lonely, confusing, and depressing.

Lord, please save my angel from this.  I will gladly take it all if she can somehow be spared.  Please Lord, give me direction.  Please correct the tape that plays in her head.  Please Lord, you are all powerful, fix her brain, break mine more if you need to, but please fix hers.  I can't bear the thought of her living like I have.

And even more Lord, please give her companionship in you.  Please steal her heart and make it yours.  Please help her to hear these words and practice them:

"You are never really by yourself.  God is always there.  If you feel alone, just talk to him.  It would make him so happy.  And it would make your heart happy too.'

Darkest Days.

Its a 'husband is out of the house, both kids are glued to the TV, dog is barking nonstop, I am hiding under the covers in my bedroom balling....ignoring them all' sort of day.

Yikes.

Myth of The Mansion.

I live in a mansion.

Ok, not really.  But to me, it's a pretty huge house.  Our house is 2,500 square feet (last I heard), that is 2,500 square feet of livable space.

Here is the rundown:
1 master bedroom
4 decent size bedrooms
5 bathrooms
2 good size living rooms
1 large dining room (playroom for us)
1 stair case
1 huge kitchen
1 good size mudroom/laundry room
a few hallways
and a large middle area we call the foyer (we use it as a sitting area)

In addition to this, we have a medium front yard, a small back yard, a large back porch, and two gardens.

Let me tell you folks, it is ALOT ALOT ALOT to take care of.

When both my husband and I worked, it was not biggie.  I would clean it once a week, straighten it twice a week, and it looked almost perfect most days.  Why?  IT WAS SITTING THERE EMPTY 40 PLUS HOURS A WEEK!!!!!!  And the other hours of the week, when people were in it, they were always adults.  Adults clean up after themselves.

When I had just one kid, I could still keep a pretty good routine of housekeeping.  My standards had to drop a ton, but I could definitely keep up.  My one kid would be easily distracted by toys, movies, naps, independent playtimes, daddy, or watching me clean, and I could still get alot done.

When number two arrived, things changed a little bit.  It helped that this little bundle took several long naps a day, so at first it wasn't a huge adjustment.

But now, number 2 is just as much of a kiddo as number 1, and they are both making sure I have my work cut out for me.

Then there is the dog, oh the dog.  Dog hair.  Need I say more.

So my perfectly clean house that used to sit totally empty for 40 hours a week, now has a zoo living in it everyday.  From the big girl, to the little girl, to the doggie, and don't forget the pregnant mommy, we are ALL making messes nonstop.

Add pregnancy in, and its all over.  My two hour window, where chores used to get done with two active kiddos around, has now disappeared.  My husband many times works the night shift (like this entire work week he works 12-9 pm), so this means my goal for the day is reserving energy in order to make it through the crazy hours, from 5-8 pm, alone.  I cannot possible express my distaste for spending this 3 hours alone most days.  I would much rather my man work 5 am to 5 pm, if he could be home from 5-8.  It is a sick sick joke, those hours.  The kids go into crazy mode, and I go into tired mode, at the same time.  I am stuck cooking dinner alone, while trying to manage them, which means they are off destroying any cleaning I did that day.  Then right after we eat, my tired very pregnant body is ready for bed, and they are ready to bounce off of the walls.  Torture.  So now, my two hour window a day, when the kids are in their quiet times, is used for resting.  This usually means reading a parenting book, and just praying I don't fall asleep.  Naps for me bring back the morning sickness.  Another cruel joke.

Life has made the ultimate switch folks.  We used to use the weekdays for getting chores done, and the weekends for relaxing and having family fun.  But now, the weekdays are for survival, and the weekends have become totally full of chores and projects, with the occasional family time here or there.

It sucks.  Weekends that are supposed to be used for relaxing are becoming busier and busier.

Take today, for instance.  Its our friday, and we have a TON of house work today.  There is dog hair absolutely everywhere.  The toilets are getting rings, and the floors are a sticky mess.  In my stupidity I thought it would be fine to use part of the kids quiet time to get a head start on the weekend chores, therefore saving my man from part of the work, but that was a huge mistake.  I made it one hour, and then piled on the floor in a heap of tears.  Defeat.  Failure.  Overwhelming exhaustion.

I've been googling to try to find ways of how to make this balance of chores and motherhood an easier one for me, and guess what answer I always run into?  Hire a nanny/housekeeper.  LOL!!!!!!!!!  They obviously don't live in reality folks.  Believe me, if that was at all possible, I'd have hired help.  But that doesn't exist for me, at all.

Its days like today, where I cry so much in defeat that I question the wisdom in putting on eye makeup that morning, that I just want to SIMPLIFY!!!!!!!!!!!

Today, I want a small house.  1,500 square feet sounds good.  3 bedrooms, 1.5 bathrooms.  1 living room, a small area for a playroom, an eat in kitchen.......  Something easy to keep clean.  I also want  a husband who works monday through friday 8-5.  I want a simple, boring, life.

If you are reading this, and you have found the ultimate solution for balancing your roles as mother and housekeeper during the day, please, do tell.  I need your wisdom.  How do I ever keep up with the endless crumbs, puddles of milk, dog hair bunnies everywhere, a minefield of toys, and don't even mention the laundry.

I read once that the best way to protect a marriage is to enjoy it.  Have fun with your spouse.  Is that the best way to protect a mother/child relationship too?  To enjoy it?

Really, how, in the midst of the endless work, am I supposed to take time to do that.

I can't even breathe.

The End.

I have hit total burnout folks.  The end of the race where your legs are killing you, your lungs are done, you are just plain exhausted.  But still you look at the finish line, and the closer you seem to be moving to it, the farther away it moves into the distance.

This season has been freaking difficult.  Bad news.  Its not over.  And the even worse news.  I have to do it again.

I am sick and tired of having a season of life every year where everything great about life turns into utter hell for months upon end.

Am I crazy.  Why do I keep doing this?  Why every year does the excuse 'its just for a season' seem to plaster things over.  This is not healthy.  And its not just me.  There are lots of others just like me.

I am tired.  Life is a wreck.  Every relationship I have is disconnected.

I am SO over this.  SO completely over this.

Lord you have to do something.  This is not ok, not at all.

I have to be able to accumulate rest.  I have to be able to be healthy.  This is being stretched WAY past the breaking point.

I.  Am.  Done.

Lord, please provide.  I can't do this anymore.

Naming the Rocker Within.

Picking a name: for some reason this has always been easy for us, when we are choosing a girls name that is.  The week Kadence was born, we had already named out 'third daughter', who of course now we know doesn't exist.  So when we learned we had to think of a boy name, for real, it was a little more challenging.  Honestly, I had a name stuck in my heart even before the ultrasound, but its taken that man of mine a little more time to jump on board.  Usually I am alot more 'submissive' in what we name our children, but this time, I was pretty set.  Auryn was named after an island in Europe my man visited and loved.  Kadence was named after a musical term, cause the hubby's our music man, so I thought it was only fair that I get some pretty prominent say in this one.

The first name I loved for a boy was Lennox, but the man wasn't having that one at all.  I wanted to name him that because its pretty sweet, and original, and because it provides a few sweet nicknames: 'X' and 'X-man'.  But, I could see that was going to be an impossible sell, so I moved on.

We have these friends, who have 5 sons, all with incredibly rad names: Xavier, Emmit, Mavrick, Linus, and Ford.  So of course, we contacted them for help.  At the time they were trying to think of their own name for their fifth son, so couldn't be of much help.  Finally, it dawned on me: if we LOVED their names so much, why not use some form of one of them, or just steal one all together.  Try as we may to be original, I had a name stuck in my heart already.

Xavier.

I loved the name, but even more I loved the meaning behind it: 'New House'
(or sometimes 'owner of a new house', either way it works great for us)

This is SO fitting to our family if you know anything of our story the last 7 years.  Our first 5 years were pretty difficult due to some not great choices being made, but 2 years ago that man of mine made the most important decision of our lives: he turned his heart to God in EVERYTHING, and decided to live totally vulnerable before Him, me, and others.  Still to this day, I don't think anything could make me more proud of him.  It honestly changed the trajectory of our entire family, from death, to LIFE.  As God promises, he makes everything knew, and he truly has made this family brand new:  HE has given us a NEW HOUSE!!!!!

So we hope your honored, instead of insulted, that we stole your freaking sweet name anonymous family.  This name is just so meaningful to us and the journey the Lord has had us on, we just couldn't not use it.

The middle name, FREAKING RAD if you ask me.

Ozmond.

This is our made up version of the name Osmond, which means: 'Divine Protector', which to us means 'God's Protection'.

If you know anything about our more recent story, in November of last year we lost a son to miscarriage.  His name is Noah.  A few months later we were blessed again to find out we were pregnant with another precious bundle.  A week after getting the positive pregnancy test, I started bleeding, yet again.  We were DEVASTATED!!!!!  I could not seriously believe that I was having another miscarriage.  A few days after the bleeding started, when I thought the miscarriage was over, I went to the doctor to get my blood HCG levels tested to make sure the entire pregnancy had passed.  We were shocked to find out a few days later that the levels had gone up.  I had an ultrasound done on the same day though that showed an empty uterus, no baby.  So so sad.  But since my levels were still up, the had me come in once a week to see if the HCG was going up or down.  It took a month of weekly tests, and finally concluded with another ultrasound, but there was no getting around it this time:  there was a LIVE growing healthy 8 week old baby in there!!!!!  It had been SUCH a traumatic month having to wonder each and every day if I had lost another baby, but we were SO blessed to find out we HAD NOT!!!!!!  We felt the Lord's protection like never before.  He had saved our child for us, we were SO thankful.

So as you can see, the name Ozmond fits our story well too.  God protected our little man, God protected me, God protected our family from what could have been another tragedy.  God protected us from death and destruction both in not loosing a second baby to miscarriage, and in having grace with my husband when he finally turned his heart totally towards him.

God's protection has been written on the walls of this new house.

Last name:

Morrow

No surprises there I hope.....  I am almost positive Morrow means morning, or new day?


So there you have it folks:

Coming to a Hospital Near Us

Xavier Ozmond Morrow

Expected Release Date:  November 8, 2012

My favorite, most favorite part of the whole thing, is what we are going to call him:

OZZY

Yes, yes we are serious.  Until he can tell us otherwise, we will (most of the time) be calling our son Ozzy.  

I am told that this is now where the whole world starts criticizing our name decision, but let me save you the energy folks: we are dead set.  Unless they are 'that's rad' comments, we don't want to hear it.  We named our first daughter Auryn 4 years ago, and are still IN LOVE with this name.  We have confidence we will love this name in 4 years too!

It honestly took my man a little getting used to the idea of naming our son this, he kept saying the name seemed too bold, to which I would reply: 'If Auryn is ok, anyone can be ok.'  We love unique names.  We know that they are different, but this is how the Lord has led our hearts.

Yes we know that there is a musician most call Ozzy, but no: we are not naming our son after him.  That Ozzy's name is actually: John Micheal Osborne.  He is called Ozzy, as a nickname from his last name, which is Osborne.  We are calling our son Ozzy, as a nickname from his middle name, which is Ozmond.  Totally different!  LOL!  Not really......  

We are in love, we hope you will be too, with the baby in my tummy, just growing more and more each day.  He's moving everywhere, showing off for his big sisters, dancing wildly for his daddy's voice, using my hip bones as drums, and my rib cage as a bass guitar.  I love my Xavier Ozmond Morrow.

I love my Ozzy.

Come Back Please.

Today is going to one of those days.  One of those days of motherhood that will ensure I am hanging my head in defeat by noon.  By dinner time I will we doing my job through tears running down my face.  I hate days like today.  Totally trapped.  Totally hopeless.  Totally helpless.  Totally alone.

She woke up in one of her moods today.  Right now, in fact, I am taking a 10 minute sanity break to type this because I need to process but my man is at work.  We've been in a battle already for almost an hour.  Little baby girl is luckily still asleep, just praying she stays that way until the battle is over.

I know I'm supposed to look at this strong willed thing as a blessing, but right now, not possible.

I hate that our days are nothing but discipline.  Literally, we sit in our house, all day, battling it out.  She tests me, I hold my ground.  These days it feels like its literally every waking moment.

I just want to enjoy each other.  I want to make her smile more than I make her cry.  I want to spend the day doing fun things, instead of having talks upon talks and tons of discipline.  We are both miserable.

I am trapped in a relationship I never wanted or thought I'd have.

We are a classic 'personalities crash' scenario.  I rub her totally wrong, and she rubs me wrong too.

And today is a day where I doubt I'll survive it.

Today is a day I just desperately hope Jesus will come back and just take us all.

Pills and Polish.

When I was a little girl I had not a care in the world.  My mom said I was the sweetest most joyous little person she has ever met.  I would sing instead of talk, and skip instead of walk.  Life felt light to me, and I felt good.

Then puberty hit.  I'm pretty sure that was the end of the real me.  With all of the raging hormones, my brain chemistry was forever changed, and things never quite settled down right.  Since then I have had seasons where the chemical imbalance in my brian has effected me more than others, but its something daily I need to evaluate and keep in check.  The truth is:  I have a broken brain.  Just like someone gets a damaged kidney or liver or any other organ, I have  damaged brain.

There have been three stages in my life where I have needed medication in order to help my brain function like a healthy person's brain does.  The first go around with my beloved happy pills was when I was in high school.  The second was when I was in college (a few months into my dating relationship with my hubby actually).  And the third stage began when my second baby was born.  This has been the longest stage by far that I have gotten to take these little capsules of magic, lasting just over 2 years.  But this week marks the end of this blissful stage of mental health.

Starting last week I had to start weaning off of my meds, and soon I will have to be med free for the remainder of this pregnancy.  All I can say is I AM NOT EXCITED!!!!  It has been such a magical thing for me to feel more like a normal human for the last 2 years.  I am SO looking forward to November already when I  can go back on my happy pills (which on bad days I call my crazy pills) and the relief that will bring from the inner workings of my damaged brain.  I don't know why puberty had such an extreme effect on me, but it did.  Part of the fallen broken world we live in I guess.

All three stages of med use have come for slightly different reasons, but one reason trumps them all:  I am the real me when I am on them.  This last stage of med use started from looking back at my horrible postpartum days with my eldest, and realizing that I really do owe it to my kids to do the best that I can for them in every way, including taking care of myself.

So far I feel pretty normal.  But I'm still getting about 1/2 of the lowest dose, so we shall see next week.

On a slightly different unrelated note (lol), today once again I realized how controlling I am as a mommy.  When my big kid was younger, we painted her nails a few times, but honestly she wasn't that into it.  But today when she saw daddy painting my toenails (yep, cause I can't reach them already) she just had to get in on the action.  She wasn't sure if she wanted her nails painted, but she knew she wanted to join in on the painting.  Her first nail to paint was the big toe nail on my right foot, and she actually did a really good job for an almost 4 year old.  This didn't push too many of my 'controlling mommy' buttons, but I was of course anxious as the whether the polish would end up on my toe, or on the couch right by us.  She then expressed interest in painting daddy's toenails, which of course he agreed to since he is such a wonderful wonderful man.  So I held the bottle of polish as she painted my giddy husbands toenails the color coral.  Now this pushed a few more of my 'controlling' buttons when in all of her concentration she kept getting her long hair into the polish on his toe nails.

I made it through to her finally wanting me to paint her fingernails and toenails.  Now this for sure pushed a few more of my buttons as I knew for sure she would quickly rub her nails on something catastrophic.  Surprisingly she sat totally still as I painted all 20 of her tiny little nails.  She was so happy, and felt so pretty, it was a great moment for my man and I equally.  Towards the end of nail drying, as daddy was blowing on her toenails she started wiggling around and I started loosing it.  I was boiling inside, just desperately wanting her to sit still, but like any 4 year old who has been asked to sit still for more than 15 minutes, she started getting really restless.  With daddy's blowing, we made it through.

I was feeling pretty good about the whole thing, pretty proud of myself that although I was feeling anxious inside I had had enough self control to keep my mouth shut and ensure an enjoyable experience for my daughter.  That, is of course, when it began.  SHE STARTED PICKING THE POLISH OFF OF HER FINGER NAILS!!!!!!!!!!  It became a moment by moment struggle for me to keep my mouth shut.  Thoughts were running through my head like:  Little flecks of polish are getting everywhere!  I worked so hard to get them painted just right, she is ruining it!  They are going to look so ugly now!  She wanted to show the neighbor girl and now she can't!  She's going to want me to do it again and thats alot of work!  Is this normal?!?!?  Why is she doing this?!?!?........on and on.  I was able to keep my kind voice as I asked her to please stop peeling and picking, but she was already way too into it to be reasoned with.  But inside, I had lost it already.

It all reminded me so much of the early days with her, and watching her play with her first stickers.  I HATED how she would put stickers on the paper, and then peel them off.  I thought it was such a waste of time and money, and we had no finished product to show for our art time together.  I went through all of the same questions, and eventually reasoned with myself that it must be a developmental thing.

So back to birth order:  when my second did the same thing with her stickers, I thought nothing of it.  It did not invoke feelings of stress at all.

Sometimes I think it is a cruel cruel thing that we loose our memories of early childhood.  I have no memories of playing with stickers the first 1000 times.  I have no memories of getting my nails painted for the first time.  I bet you anything that I peeled and picked like my kids, but all I remember is doing these things just the 'right way'.  Doesn't it come down to that?!?!  I mean really.  The reason these things BUG me SO much is because they go against my opinion of the right way and wrong way of doing things.  Its like watching your kids play with play dough the first time, and they MIX THE COLORS TOGETHER!!!!!  Or painting with them and they use the same brush (without rinsing) in more than one color of paint!!!!!  AHHHHHH!!!!!!!

 I would have to say that I am proud of the amount of self control I have with my mouth in these situations, like today letting my kiddo put the sticker of a bib on the dino's tummy instead of his neck.  WHO REALLY FREAKING CARES!?!?!?!?!?!?!  The sad thing is: I do.  Me.  Their mommy.  It bugs me.  I want them to do things just like me.  But they can't.  They are little.

The thing I am not so proud of at all, quite disgusted by actually, is the lack of control in my heart.  I can go from 0 to 60 in less than a second.  The ugly controlling-ness I have in my heart is just plain gross.

So once again, to my eldest:  I apologize.  I am so sorry you have to be the first child.  It is really really horrible.  I know.  But as I've promised you already, the counseling is on me.

Dashed Hopes.

I think one of the things that constantly shocks me the most about motherhood is the fact that my naivety is shoved into my face almost continually.  This week, I had another lesson in learning just how true that is.

I tried to take the girls to my moms house for 3 days without the husband.  I was picturing getting to rest, and relax; you know, I thought I'd end the 3 days feeling refreshed.  Why did I think that?  Who knows really.  I've thought this before, and been proven wrong again and again.  I seriously don't know why I thought this time would be better.  Hope I guess.  Oh hope, you trick me every time.

I was working 24 hours straight, for three straight days.  What would be relaxing about that?  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  (To be fair, I did get a 2 hour break where I went to Starbucks and Motherhood Maternity, and that was a DREAM COME TRUE!!!!!)  The girls were tired because they weren't sleeping in their own beds, crabby because they weren't eating their normal food, and defiant from being spoiled silly.  My days consisted of constant discipline, and my nights were interrupted every few hours by all four of my 'people': the girls, the dog, and the baby in my belly.  Living nightmare.

I don't know why I didn't realize being this pregnant with 2 little ones around would be so difficult, but it is.  So difficult.  I look back on the days of being pregnant with my first as a daily VACATION.  I mean, I was pregnant, and not working, how hard is that?!?!?!  I look back on the days of being pregnant with my second as a trivial challenge.  Really, I thought that was difficult at times?!?!?  Come one, my oldest napped twice a day.  Having 1 kid is SO freaking easy compared to this.

The funny thing is, I'll be saying that same thing in a few months about the current me.  I'm sure I'll look back at these days of having two little ones as such blissful simple days, and life with three little ones as an uphill battle.

I thank the Lord for little 'breathes of fresh air' along the way, cause most days lately I feel like I am suffocating.

I'm sure this will come back to bite me in the butt very very soon, but:  The thought of no longer being pregnant, having my body back (after about 6 months of daily running, of course), and having 3 little kiddos sounds really amazing compared to this right now.

Being pregnant is really really hard when you are in your third trimester, and have 2 little kids already around.  I cannot wait to birth this child.  I am SO FREAKING EXCITED to meet him!!!!!!!  And almost equally excited to be able to feel like me again: to be able to stand in the kitchen long enough to finish a job instead of having to sit down cause my feet hurt so bad, to be able to pick up the house 2 times a day again instead of letting it pile up for the husband cause I can't bend over through my back pain to pick much up these days, to be able to have energy to play with my kids again, to be able to pick them up and hug them when they ask for it.......

So I am once again ending this vacation, needing a vacation.

Good news, one is in my future.  In exactly 25 days, we have a Stay-cation on the calendar once again. The kids are coming to my moms, and I will have 5 days without them to catch up on rest, to nest, to organize, and to hang with my hubby.  The best part is, HE HAS THE WHOLE TIME OFF!!!!!!  Thanks to my mom, off days and vacation days we will have 5 days at home with no kids together.  Can.  Not.  Wait.

I guess I thought 'they' were lying when they said 'a mother's job is never done'.  It's no lie people, a mother's job is truly never ever done.

So thankful I have a hubby who gives me little breaks here and there to catch up on rest when I need it. Even though he has no idea how tiring it is to be pregnant at this point, he has a ton of empathy for me, and I appreciate it.  I will not be leaving his side again for a very very very long time.

I kinda need him alot.

My Demise.

These are the days of motherhood I hate the most.  When everywhere around me is work to be done, staring me in the face.  Literally, in every room there is something screaming 'WORK WORK' at me.  And all I want to do, is take a much needed nap.  These are the days that make it perfectly perfectly clear, a mother's job is never done.  I still keep tricking myself into thoughts that start with 'When I have everything done I will.....' and end with a various assortment of things like: 'take a bath' or 'put my makeup on' or 'upload photos' or 'fix my toe nail polish that has now been chipping off for over a month' or 'workout' or 'get homeschool preschool stuff together' or 'work on the babies room'....on and on and on and on, forever and ever.

These are the days I walk around feeling defeated THE ENTIRE DAY.  Shoulders down, head down, tears streaming down my face, and no forcefulness of fake emotion makes much of a difference at all.  Why?  I am exhausted.  Literally I want to fall over into my bed and sleep for 3 days straight.  But, that would put me even more behind in work, and make me even more stressed out, so nevermind.  Sleeps not that important, right?!?!?!

Part of it is my fault, the reason I feel overwhelmed and so behind on chores.  I read a book.  For gosh sakes.  I read 1 dang book people.  And guess what, it wasn't even a fun selfish 'for me' book.  It was a PARENTING BOOK.  So, for the last few days I have been reading at naptimes, reading after bedtimes, and guess what, the work added up.  Silly me.  Why would I even attempt to do something important like read a book in search a better understanding of my strong willed child?  Why would I take the time to become a better mommy to her by reading something like that?  Silly me.  I should have never read it and been back one week ago wanting to rewind time and never have kids (more on that in an upcoming post).  That was a much healthier place to be.

Overwhelmed.  That's the only emotion I feel today.  And I'm pretty freaking sure I'll feel that way for the next 18 years, or more.  Pretty, dang, hopeless.  I can't ever get caught up on rest, I'll feel tired 'forever'.  I can't ever get caught up on chores, there will literally ALWAYS be something on my to do list.  Every thing I ever do that is supposed to be relaxing will be tainted with guilt, for years and years to come.  Watching a movie?.....I should be picking up toys.  Taking a bath?....I should be folding laundry.  Looking through a magazine?......only on the toilet.  Reading a book?......there's dishes awaiting.  Going on a date?.....my kids are upset we left.  Blogging to process life verbally to anyone....anyone?.....your house is a freaking wreck.

Guilt guilt guilt.

So please, if you find yourself in the position today where you actually get to experience a true break, true rest, true freedom, true down time with nothing looming in the shadows, please:  LIVE IT UP.

I'd like to take solace in the fact that today is in fact our friday, but I have learned that is a very deceptive hope to latch on to.  You see, we've made the switch.  Weekend are no longer for relaxing, they are for WORK WORK WORK.  Its the only time my man can get caught up on his few chores (yard work, work laundry, bills) and the only time I can do certain chores that are impossible to do during the week with two toddlers (vacuuming, cleaning their rooms, cleaning their bathrooms, and any  project that takes longer than 1 hour to do).  Weekend actually make me more tired most of the time, and almost always result in the inability to walk as I try to push myself through my most recent back/hip injury thanks to the pregnancy and expanding hips.

LOL!  Can't even finish this post.....a little voice is calling me in the room across the house.  Better catch it before baby sissy is awoken by the hysteria.

Oh motherhood.  I love you.  But stay at home motherhood, you will be my demise.

The Strong Willed Child.

I have found a new counselor and new best friend all wrapped into one portable rectangle of relief:

The Strong Willed Child,  By Dobson.

Don't know what I'll be saying by the end of it, but at 50 pages in, it is such a breath of fresh air.  So comforting to read stories from other mommies, and to know that what I am going through is challenging but normal.

This is the first time in months I haven't felt like a total failure in my parenting.  Such a great perspective change: this is my God given assignment and the Lord is going to help me fulfill it.  It is not a curse.  I am not failing.  Well, lets be honest, we are all failing.  But its great to realize I'm not failing anymore than everyone around me!!!

Don't know why I'm the one who needed to receive a child with a will stronger than most, but apparently the Lord has a purpose.

Getting myself prepped for what seems like a long hard journey, but with a new hope in mind.  Just like in childbirth, there is a purpose to this pain.  She will be great.  All I am asked is to keep on doing what I'm doing, being obedient to the Lord myself.  She makes for a challenging child, but she will be an immeasurable asset to the kingdom someday.

I think someday I will look back at this all and wonder why I got to be the lucky one to have a child like her.

The challenge now, to see her as an asset today.

Birth Order's a Beep.

I heard a quote once, that about sums up my experience with motherhood:

"If you want to be guaranteed to fail, become a parent."

Yep, pretty dang accurate for sure.  I think I'd alter it a little bit to make it a little more on mark for me.  It'd go something like:

"If you want to be guaranteed to fail, try raising a first born child."

It's not that I think I've got it all together with my second born, but I do have to admit, I do think I am doing a much better job.  The world does too.  My second kiddo is what I call a 'spotlight child'.  She loves being the center of attention, and is pretty dang good at it.  She is very compliant, answers me with an 'ok mommy' very consistently, has incredible manners, is very friendly, loves drawing people in, has a very likable personality, wakes up laughing in the morning, is constantly smiling, and gives life to those around her.  We are constantly getting comments about how great she is.  And you know what, that feels pretty, dang, good.

I've got to be honest though.  It'd be a lie if I said I had much to do with it.  I think a few key things go into who my second born is, and here they are:

1) GENETICS!!!!!  I think that is the hugest one honestly.  She was born this way.  Sure, she's been living with us for the last 2 years, but the first year of life we were her caretakers, the second year we were her teachers, and just now, only now, are we becoming true parents of her.

2) She's only 2!  Lets be honest, up until the age of 2, all kids are pretty darn easy.  The first year you just take care of their basic needs, and the second year you teach them stuff.  Pretty simple.  She honestly isn't to the age yet where she's tried to ruffle many feathers.  She's had a few moments here and there of being defiant, but we have just now started seeing the true beginnings of a disobedient heart.  Also, 2 year olds are just comical and lovable by nature.

3) She is very socially advanced.  I remember at around 6 or 9 months old she was sitting on the floor across from a baby her age, and she was trying to play 'catch' with him.  He was a little younger, and a boy, and at a normal stage of social development, so he wasn't reciprocating, and she was pissed.  To be under a year and trying to interact with a peer like that is VERY advanced, and she has continued on that pattern to this day.  She seems fun, and unique, and different, because she is like a 3 year trapped in a 2 year old body.  She's very with it socially.  Now, she didn't walk until she was 18 months old, and still toddles like a baby, so that's another story in itself.  All kids under 4 or 5 seem to have one area that they excel in over their peers, hers just happens to be social skills, and that gets her noticed for sure.  Most 2 year old aren't trying to draw the majority of adults into their world, but she is, and that makes her unique.  When kids get to 4 or 5 they all even out, by then she'll just be an average kid in this way.

4) Birth order.  I think this is probably the second hugest reason she is the way she is.  She's a second born.  Second born kids have a pretty sweat gig if you ask me.  With my first born, still to this day, I am overly cautious, overly strict, overly opinionated, overly controlling, overly fearful, and way overly prideful.  And guess what, she is cautious, a perfectionist, opinionated, controlling, fearful, and gets embarrassed easily.  Hmmmmmm, I wonder why that is.  With my second born I have always been WAY more relaxed with her.  And honestly, I think this has created a better environment in which to flourish.  I know from experience.  I grew up with a very dominating father, and I am a first born.  Guess what, I am cautious, a perfectionist, opinionated, controlling, fearful, and prideful.  I married a second born, who is VERY relaxed, and within our marriage, for the first time in my life, I was able to flourish and developed into who I was made to be, with no fear.  Why?.....because I was finally out from under the rule of the iron thumb.  I was finally loved unconditionally for who I am, exactly how I am.  Thats what I am able to give to my second born.  I am relaxed with her, I do not rule her with an iron thumb, I let her make a ton of mistakes, I show her love regardless.  Why?  Because I've been through it all with my first born, and I know that every stage they go through, is just that, a stage.  When my first born at 18 months went through the 'NO!' stage, she got lots of spanks, and lots of talks, long long talks.  Why?  Pride.  I was afraid that if people heard my kid yelling no at me they would think I was a bad mother, so I wanted to stop that behaviour right away.  I thought if I had too much grace she would turn into some horrible child, so I got on her with every infraction.  When my second born went through the 'NO!' stage, she got a "No thank you, that is not kind.  Please don't talk to mommy that way.  Please say 'no thank you' instead"....and that was it.  I knew it was a stage, I knew she'd grow out of it, and she did.  With my firstborn everything is so new, and I am fearful still in every situation.  With every new thing she does I have to go through the ugly questions: Is this ok?  What do I do with this?  Is this normal?  Is this going to ruin her if I don't get on top of this right away?  Oh no, what will people think if they hear/see her doing this?.....  For instance, right now she is in the 'spitting stage'.  Of course I've researched it online for hours, and from what I have read its a totally normal 3 year old stage to go through.  But I still struggle through the ugly questions: Is this normal?  What will people think?  I garantee you though that when my second born goes through the spitting stage I will handle it with a ton more grace.

So what did my second born do to become the way she is today: absolutely nothing.  Genetics, age, skill level, birth order.  Not in her control in the least bit.

And what did my first born do to become the way she is today: absolutely nothing.  Genetics, age, skill level, birth order.  Not in her control in the least bit.

I hate this.  I have been so convicted lately by this thought:  I am my first borns greatest critic, and my second borns greatest cheerleader.  I heard this quote just today:  "Be careful how to speak to your children, one day it will become their inner voice."

So what are their inner voices telling them?

My second born hears: Way to go sissy!  Wow, what a big girl!  Good choice!  Good listening!  What a happy heart!  Uh, oh, please try that again!  That's ok, lets try it different next time!  I'm really sorry that happened to you!

My first born hears:  The answer is no, you whined.  Please go upstairs and find your obedient heart.  Please go upstairs and find your kind heart.  If you don't obey, no movie/milk/story/pool time for you.  Please go out of the room.  I told you not to do that.  Please settle down.  You are whining/being disobedient/being unkind.  That's not drawing, that's coloring.  No, like this.  No, not like that.  DEFEAT DEFEAT DEFEAT!!!!!

I am SO quick to point out what my first born is doing wrong, and SO slow to point out what she is doing right.  I am SO slow to point out what my second born is doing wrong, and SO quick to point out what she is doing right.

So to myself, and those people that look at my first born, and her behaviour, and think:  "They need to discipline her more, they need to be more consistent with her, they need to reign her in".....to us all I would reply: "You've got it all wrong!  With her I need more grace!  I need to be her cheerleader more.  I need to be making her feel proud of who God made her to be.  Because I have learned first hand, no sun can shine when pushed out by dark clouds."  I am a dark dark cloud in my first borns life.  And I am a clear clear sky in my second borns life.  They did nothing to deserve this.  And when my first born tells me someday that it is not fair, I will agree with her, and cry with her.  It is not fair.

I want nothing more than to be a good mom to my first born.  I don't understand why this is so hard, except to acknowledge: just like she is only a 3 year old girl, I am only a 3 year old mom.  Everything with her is new and scary.  Everything with her turns me into the most prideful person on the earth.  I make decisions in her life based on to what degree her actions are embarrassing me.  I make decisions based on what others will think of me.  I need to only make decisions based on what is a moral issue or not, and what is best for us as a family.

Because of having a lousy mom, and being a first born, my eldest is not a warm fuzzy person.  She does not try to draw everyone to herself.  Why?  I don't think she sees the point.  I don't think she sees what's so great about her.  And sadly, she's trapped in a cycle where the world affirms it.  I've learned, sadly, that people LOVE friendly kids.  They LOVE spotlight kids.  Why?  Because these kids make them feel good about themselves, these kids make them feel loved.  People don't love cautious kids.  They don't love fearful kids, they don't love shy kids.  Why?  Because these kids make them feel rejected, and unloved.  Sadly, when you're 3 and this way, you have little to no control over it.  You don't mean to make people feel this way.  You're this way because you're  'made' this way.  I have joined in with the rest of the world in this thinking at times, thinking that there is some defect in my eldest's personality.  And then one day it dawned on me "SHE WAS BORN THIS WAY!  That means God made her this way.  That means He sees her personality type as an asset to the kingdom."  If God thinks it was important to make people like her, then He has a great purpose for them.  They are part of the 'body' just like the 'attractive' kids.  They play a vital role too.

So yes, I do know that my youngest seems to be more lovable, but I will tell you only this: that it's because she is overflowing with the love that is poured into her.  If my eldest was given that same chance, to be loved and accepted exactly how she is, she would overflow too.

My kids are carbon copies of my sister and I.  My kiddos are 21 months apart, and my sis and I are 18 months apart.  All four of us, little blond girls.  My first born is so similar to how I was as a child, being first born myself.  My second born is so similar to how my sister was as a child, who is also a second born.  I remember from my childhood my sister getting more 'loves' from people.  It was sad.  I wanted love too.  I was just afraid to ask for it.  My mom frequently tells me that when we were little my sis would just run up to people and jump on their laps and get lavished in all sorts of love and attention.   I would get ignored because I wasn't asking for it.  She would have to remind the adults that I wanted the same love and affection too, I just wasn't going to beg for it like my sister did.  I think its easy to assume that shy kids don't like social settings, that they have lower than normal social needs.  But I think this is way off.  I think shy kids just interact in social settings different than we expect them to.  My eldest kid does not participate in most large group activities (like games at VBS this summer), so I am quick to assume she doesn't like stuff like that, or that she hates being around big crowds of people.  But I am dead wrong.  She likes stuff like that, but she likes to be the observer.  She isn't going to beg for attention, she isn't going to steal the spotlight, she is content to sit on the sidelines and observe her friends having fun.  She enjoys seeing others enjoy life, that brings her happiness.  I think my first born will make a great friend some day.  I don't think that she will be a total social butterfly, but I think she will have a small circle of friends that she enjoys, and is very faithful too.  I think she'll be a good listener for a friend, I think she'll be good at asking others questions.

When she was 4 months old, I was literally starving her of physical nourishment because some dumb book told me a 4 month old was only supposed to nurse 4 times a day.  Now she is almost 4 years old, and I am starving her of real nourishment, soul nourishment, for the same reason.  PRIDE.  I want so badly to be a good mom for her.  I am so afraid that I'm not a good mom for her.  Its a fear that paralyzes me, and makes me ineffective, and therefore fulfill my worst nightmare.  I am not a good mom for her.  I know I'm not.  I see 4 years full of regret and mistakes.  It is so sickeningly painful to me.  I have failed her.  I want to be better.  Somehow, still, in all of this, I don't know how.  Why do I not know how?  If her and I are so similar, why is she such a mystery to me?  If her and I are so similar, why does so rub me so wrong?  Why when I get into a hard situation with her do I just want her out of my space, and I am so more able to work through things peacefully with my second kiddo?

I think when my eldest was a baby I was warned so much to 'not let her get away with things' to 'be consistent' to 'show her who's in authority' that I started operating in fear.  I still frequently hear the voice that tells me 'if you let her have an inch, she'll take a mile'.  I think I was taught that having an obedient child is the most important thing to accomplish as a parent.  I was fearful when she was disobedient because of what I thought that meant.  This has stifled me from allowing her to grow into who God created her to be.  It has stifled me from allowing her to become independent as she naturally develops into an independent little girl.  I try to control everything about her, because I am so fearful of her getting out of control.  Redundant much.

This is not what children need.  This is not what adults need.  Humans need to be loved unconditionally.  Isn't this what the Lord does for us?  Yes, God wants us to be obedient to Him.  But I don't think that's what he wants the most.  I think what he wants the most is our hearts.  I think he loves us SO much, he just desperately wants us to love him in return.  That's really it.  I think of course he wants us to be good moral people to the best of our ability, but I know he doesn't expect us to be perfect.  In fact he built that into his word.  The old testament is many things, and one of those things is a 'rule' book.  It has tons of rules/laws in it.  Now we have the new testament, which yes has some 'rules' in it, but is mostly just the love story about Jesus.  The reason God 'made' the new testament, why he made a new plan, was cause the old plan wasn't working.  That WAY dumbs it down and simplifies it I know, but basically that was it. Now, I don't think AT ALL that we are supposed to toss out the old testament, but I do feel as though we are supposed to look at it in a different light than those who lived by that law 'back in the day' did.  I think now we are supposed to look at it for what it is: unachievable.  I think we are supposed to look at the law, and try to be good people, not because its the most important thing to be good.  I think we are supposed to look at the law, and try to be good people, so that we can realize that we can't be good people.  As hard as we try, we will never be 'good'.  As hard as we try, we will never be 'perfect'.  As hard as we try, we will never follow the law to its entirety.  Why?  We are all really screwed up, and all really imperfect, we are broken.  The only thing that can fix us, is Jesus himself.  Think about it, if the laws in the old testament, and all of the things we do as people to 'work our way' into heaven were working, then what was the point of Jesus?  I don't think God would have sent his son to die on the cross unless he felt it was absolutely necessary.  I don't think that was a 'let's try this' type of thing.  I think that was the ONLY ONLY thing that would work.  And it did work.

Jesus came here as a man, just like us, be he was perfect.  He was sinless.  Can you imagine that?  He was actually perfect.  So what did he do?  He must have boasted in that right?  He must have wanted everyone to know just how perfect he was, right?  He must have worn really fancy clothes to draw attention to himself.  He must have promoted himself among the dignitaries, and only stayed at the finest establishments right?  He probably only hung out with royalty.  I'm sure he rode on a white horse, with people following him everywhere feeding him grapes and cheese.  I'm sure he told everyone to be perfect just like him.  I'm sure that's why he came here right?  To show everyone that its possible to be perfect, and to shame us all into perfection ourselves.  He came here to rub it in.  He must have shown of his mad skills of perfection, and put himself on display.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

He came here to give grace.  He came here to show love.  He came here to give acceptance.  He came here to love us for who we are, just how we are.  He came here to reconcile us to his father.  He came here to draw attention not to himself, but to his father.  He came here to save us.  He came here to ask us to stop.  He desperately wanted us to stop trying to be perfect.  He desperately wanted us to stop trying to figure it all out.  He came here with the answer of all answers:  I AM THE WAY.

Done.  Pretty, dang, simple, if you ask me.  Not easy, but simple.  He really doesn't ask much of us, does he?  He doesn't have a check list.  He doesn't have an iron thumb.  He has an "Uh oh, please try that again!" and a "That's ok, lets try it different next time!".  Its not like he loves our disobedience, but he able to look FAR past that, into our souls.  He sees our hearts.  ALL HE WANTS IS OUR LOVE. He knows who loves him.  He knows who is trying.  And he, has, grace.  He knows when we are being outright disobedient, and he knows when our actions are a direct result of who we are, human.

I think in parenthood this is where the difference between willful disobedience and childish behaviour come in to play.  The problem is, with my first born, I can't tell the difference.  When she went through the "NO!" phase, at the time I classified it as willful disobedience, but now I know, it was just childish behaviour.  It was a direct result of who she was, a baby!!!!  I can't expect her to act like an adult, when she is a child.  Just like Jesus doesn't expect me to act like a saviour when I am only human.  But still, at almost 4, as she is moving in and out of these stages, I don't know what in the world they are.  Is she spitting because she is a gross kid who has totally lost it and gone of the deep end into a unrescuable pit of unruliness.  Or, is she spitting because its a new skill she learned, and she likes looking at the bubbles it makes, and loves the sound it makes, and sees her daddy spitting time to time.  I want a handbook.  I really do.  I want a specific book of how to's guidelines from the Lord himself in regards to my first born.  I want direction here people.  But you know what?  I think there might be a book sorta like that.  And I think this is what it says:

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and DO NOT HINDER THEM, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."

DO NOT HINDER THEM.  This verse is in relation to Jesus's reaction to his disciples when they rebuked the people who were bringing children to him for prayer.  He said DO NOT HINDER THEM.  But I would guess, if Jesus was with me in the flesh right now, he'd grab me by the face, stare me in the eyes, and sternly speak those words, "Do, not, hinder her."  The definition of hinder I found online fits this well.  Hinder: create difficulties for (someone or something), resulting in delay or obstruction.  I do.  I hinder her.  I do not say "let her come".  I say "come when I command you".  I obstruct her, I cause delays for her, I create difficulties for her.

You know.  My first born is the way she is partly because of genetics, but the hugest factor that goes into get personality at this point in life, is birth order, and my reaction to that.

Its a pretty daunting task to be a first born myself, trying to raise a first born.  Oh if we could all be second borns, life would be much simpler for sure.  First borns have a natural fear of mistakes and a desire to do everything right.  This makes for a lousy parent I think.  I do nothing but magnify the struggles she has, because they are my struggles too.

My second born has it much easier for sure.  I have though, more recently, become keenly aware that although my second born does have a very attractive personality, there is a hidden ugliness in it.  Already, at 2 years old, she is becoming a people pleaser.  She loves being obedient because it gets her praise and positive attention.  She loves being friendly, for the same reasons.  And really, its developed out of survival as the second kid: she had to find a way to get attention somehow.  She figured it out for sure.  She's the way she is out of necessity.

So please, self, have grace with both of your children.  Please recognize that both personality types have blessings and curses.  Please don't fall in with the rest of the world and favor one of your kid's personality types over the other based on what 'feels good' and makes you 'look good.'  Yes, your second born makes you look like you are succeeding, and your first born makes you look like you are failing.  But please remember, God gave you life to make you holy, and chances are, he gave your first born a greater purpose in your life because of that fact alone: she refines you more.  God gave you children to refine you, let him fulfill that purpose in you.  It is not her fault.  She is 3.  She has not control over who she is becoming.  She is victim to genetics and birth order just like the rest of us.  She is wonderful, others will see her light shine someday if you let them.  Please have grace with her, please do not hinder her.

After all, you've learned first hand, birth order's a &*%$#!!!!