First World Problems

I'm barely hanging on here much of the time in these last few weeks of my pregnancy.  The physical limitations are starting to get to me.  When I watch other people get up and down off the ground I seriously wonder if I will ever be able to do that again.  When I think about wearing pants with a zipper and button it seems like a foreign concept.  Will I get there?  It's weird.

I have misplaced my grabber and this causes me to try first, before bending down, to pick up whatever it is with my foot.  Since the lower leg cramps of the final trimester have settled in, this isn't really the best idea.  Sometimes I just wander around looking for it, whining under my breath, grieving its absence.

To add chaos to mayhem around here, we have begun major construction on a third bathroom.  Not doing all the work ourselves; Jimmy is working alongside a handy man he has developed a relationship with through work.  This is exciting, but I must admit I feel very American (and thus spoiled) to be spending our hard earned and saved money to have a third bathroom.  But we will use and enjoy it.

I am attempting to start home school up tomorrow, feeling glad that the large amount of screen time in our house will decrease.  It is extremely sad yet hard to escape, the number of hours my kids are entertained.  I worry what this is doing to them long term.  There is no way to know.

We have been swimming a lot next door and so that is an extremely positive activity.  Although Penelope's hair has turned to straw because, do I have her rinse it out every time?  No!  Of course not!  The kids found a mole at the bottom of the pool last week which provided plenty of excitement.

All these are silly first world problems.  Home improvement projects, large amounts of television/internet entertainment, moles at the bottom of a beautiful pool...pregnancy in a country where I can rest in an air conditioned home on a soft bed...I cannot complain.  We have it good.  We are all happy, healthy, provided for by a loving God, and together.  We are a family, just trying to work it out one day at a time.  And somehow all this mundane will build memories for my children, even though it seems just that--so mundane.

I am so privileged to be a wife, a mother, to live in America.

I JUST WANT MY GRABBER!

Jackson's Birth Story

I thought I would use these weeks leading up to the birth of our sixth child to remember the birth stories of my other five...I wrote them all a little over two years ago...I will start with Jackson.

I took a home pregnancy test for the first time in January of 2001.  I remember closing the test in the bathroom and telling Jimmy he could not go in for five minutes.  Even though it said three to five minutes, I wanted to make sure we gave it plenty of time.  He barely made it to three.  Pushed me out of the way and announced to me that I was pregnant.  We were super excited.

I had already bought a “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” a few months after we got married.  Now I had a reason to read it.  We were always checking in our pregnancy books to see how big the baby was and what was developing.

 I had the typical first trimester nausea.  I have food issues (emetaphobia-- fear of vomit) and so I follow pretty strict guidelines.  I don’t eat spicy food or fatty food and rarely eat late at night.  But I was getting up at 12:30 a.m. and eating leftover mac and cheese from a box...the baby and my body were definitely calling the shots.  I remember loving really cold milk and eating a lot of cottage cheese with fruit on top.  It was actually nice to break away from my food rules.

 I had the typical first pregnancy growth curve.  I didn’t even need maternity clothes until about 24 weeks.  I could wear a t shirt and you couldn’t even tell I was pregnant until about 30 weeks.  I ran around like normal, I had no major issues.  I had the normal mild physical issues such as leg cramps, which were annoying, but with the perspective I have now, after five pregnancies, this was like pricking your finger.

 I started having Braxton Hicks contractions early.  At about 20 weeks.  At first this startled me, but then it just became part of my pregnancy and lots of contractions were my normal.  One good thing about it, I dialated early--I was 3 centimeters at 37 weeks.  I had an appointment on my due date and was 3-4 centimeters.  The baby was at plus 2 station.  My OB said, “I don’t know how you’re not walking around like a cowboy.”

There had been many contractions, but not regular or consistent.  My OB recommended inducing me because “At this point the conditions for the baby aren’t getting any better.”  This made sense to me and I was ready to get it going, but I was hoping for a natural delivery so I asked if we could just break my water and not use any drugs or other intervention.  He agreed.

I arrived at the hospital at 8 am on Wednesday, September 26th, and when the nurse hooked my belly up to the contraction monitor she said, “We might not have to do anything.  You’re having some pretty good contractions.”  But again, not consistent and they broke my water at 10:30 am.

I walked around, I sat on the birthing ball, sat in a rocking chair, visited friends in the waiting room, played scrabble, and was pretty bored.  I was having regular contractions but they were totally do-able.  Intense at the peak, but I could handle it.  As the day went on I did have to concentrate more and more.

I decided to get in the shower at 2 something.  I was about 5 centimeters dialated.  It felt good.  Things started to get intense and I couldn’t talk through my contractions at all.  Jimmy and my parents were hanging out in the L&D room and I thought maybe I needed to get out of the shower, to sit down!  I couldn’t really expend any energy to yell enough to be heard, so I knocked on the door that led out of the bathroom into the L&D room.  I heard I think my mom say, “Someone is at the door."  Then I heard Jimmy open the door to the hallway and say, "Nope, no one's there."  I wanted to scream "It's me!" But again, couldn't. 

 I’m freaking out a little.  I am bracing myself through another contraction and when it is over I knock again.  Success.  Jimmy came to the door.  I was in the middle of another one.  I couldn’t explain myself so I held up my finger, to signal, “Wait just a minute.”  He took this as me not being ready to get out and left.  I hear him tell my parents, “She’s not ready to get out yet.”  I knock again and this time when he comes to the door I say, “I want to get out!!!” in a voice you can only use when you’re in labor.

 I get out and get into the bed and I’m at 7 cm.  It had only been a few minutes in the shower.  Then things really got intense.  All of a sudden I had NO break between contractions.  I remember thrashing back and forth, unable to deal with the pain.  I called out for medication.  It was too late.  A nurse said to me, “This is when you want to breathe.”  That helped.  I hadn’t needed anything from birthing class yet.  It had been easy so far.  I was finally experiencing LABOR.  My body was working like crazy.

 I had asked my mom to help me during labor, but she took the initiative to say, “I won’t plan on being there for the actual birth; that is special between you and Jimmy.”  That was fine, I didn’t really care, as long as she was nearby.  My mom had told me that if you can relax and not work against what your body is trying to do, that things will go more quickly. I don’t know if I thought about that advice in those last moments, but all of a sudden I felt the need to push.  It had only been 30 minutes since I was 7 cm.  The nurse checked and I was fully dialated, so I went for it.  Jimmy grabbed one leg and my mom grabbed my leg and I begged her to stay and help me.  She agreed.  She had not been present at a birth since she gave birth to me.

I pushed for less than 30 minutes and at 3:30 pm my baby was on my chest.  It was of course, the most wonderful feeling and biggest accomplishment in my life.  I had been given an episitomy by the doctor on call (the midwife I’d been working with was with another patient who was delivering at the exact same time) but he literally caught the baby and then left.  I remember the midwife was back--holding the umbilical cord like a jump rope, just looking at me and smiling.  I asked her if I should push (for the afterbirth/placenta) and she said, “No, it will come out.” and sure enough it slid right out and I remember it felt WONDERFUL.  Warm and soothing and relieving somehow.

I was able to nurse Jackson right away and that was weird and overwhelming but of course a great feeling.  After I was stitched up and propped up and cleaned up we allowed our friends from the waiting room to come see us and the baby.  I remember at this point I was on a major hormonal high and I told my friends, “You should do it!  You should have a baby!  It’s not that bad!  It’s great!”  And they were all laughing at me and looking at me like I was crazy.  I had just gone through a lot of pain and a big head came out of a small space as far as they were concerned.  But I was trying to convince them to do the same.  About a month later, two of my best friends were pregnant.  They and their husbands had been in the room when I said all that.  It was exciting.  I felt like maybe I had been an inspiration.  At least I wanted to think so.

The hospital stay was typical and uneventful, which is good.  I was trying my best with nursing but it HURT.  Finally the second morning I had a nurse, an older woman, who was small in size but big in personality.  She said, “You need more pillows!  Get that baby up to your breast!  I’m bringing you more pillows and a rocking chair!”  And she did just that and really helped me adopt a go get ‘em attitude when it came to breastfeeding.

I remember the morning we left.  They took Jackson to the nursery for some reason and we were all packed and ready.  When he came back, we were going home.  Jimmy got out the video camera and turned it on me.  I was lying on my side on the bed.  He asked me how I was feeling.  I remember telling him I felt like it was the calm before the storm.  That our lives were about to change in a big way.  That things were never going to be the same.

It was true.  Little did I know we’d do it five times.  And it has been an amazing and beautiful storm.

Some Guy's Hero

Jimmy and the boys are away for the weekend (a trip to Orlando for a yo-yo contest to celebrate Jackson's 13th birthday early) and so it's me and the girls again.

We are enjoying a quieter house, a cleaner house, and each other. 

Tonight I took the girls to get a sandwich at Firehouse, not feeling too guilty because I had a gift card and I also made them eat a handful of baby carrots before we left.  Vegetables, check.  Not spending any money, check.  Firehouse, yum.

While we were waiting for our food a man waiting for his take out order sat in the table close to ours.  When I came back with the girls waters he said, "Wow, you're brave.  Taking 3 kids out by yourself.  I only have two and I don't take them anywhere by myself."

Instead of just smiling and nodding I decided to tell him the truth.

"Actually, I have two more, so this is like a party.  My husband has the boys."

And then you wait for the reaction.  (Because as if this wasn't enough, my pregnant belly gives away we are not finished yet.)

"Wow, 5 kids!  You're amazing.  I'm just out getting food, doing what I'm told, hiding from everything."

So I told him the truth again.  "I hide a lot."

And then we went on with our meal and a couple minutes later his order was ready and he started to leave.  He had been sitting so close I felt like I should say something.  "See you later.  Have a good night."

As he opened the door he shook his head and said, "You're my hero."

And then he was gone.  Here I am, sitting at Firehouse, right below a huge mural of a firefighter saving a child from a fire, and this guy told me I was his hero.  I have to admit it felt pretty darn good.  Because if a hero is someone you look up to and want to be like, I don't know that anyone would want to be like me these days.  I am now in the last two months of my pregnancy and am feeling all that entails.  Not only the physical challenges (turning over at night is quite the process) but the mental and social hurdles my pregnant brain must overcome are assaulting me at every turn.  I drop things, forget things, am unintentionally rude to people...

I guess what I mean is, I'm not exactly feeling heroic.

But this guy said I was his hero, so I'm gonna take it.  Thanks, buddy.  Enjoy your sub.  But maybe evaluate choosing a pregnant lady as your hero...it's a little weird.

My favorite things about summer...so far

It literally sends pain through my core when I acknowledge the fact that summer is halfway over.  But here are some of my favorite things about summer so far...

1.  Popsicles.  When the warm weather comes Jimmy and I stock the freezer with the cheap plastic sleeve popsicles that come in a red mesh bag.  They are not food, but I admit I use them as an appetite suppressant.  "Mom, can I have a snack?"  "How about a popsicle?"

2.  Aunt Susan.  My sister came to stay with us for two weeks while the boys and Jimmy were on their 3GT adventure.  She was there for the girls when I had to work.  We all had fun making lemonade, doing crafts, swimming, eating chick food, watching Tinkerbell movies, she learned some piano duets with Libby...the list goes on.  Mostly it was fun to have someone here to appreciate my amazing children with me and laugh at the cute and funny things they do and say.

3.  3GT.  Susan and I enjoyed living here at home just waiting for what would happen "...on the next episode of 3GT..." Their adventures did not disappoint.  They broke down, they're crammed in a minivan going to the Grand Canyon, the RV is fixed, Jimmy is afraid for his life as they climb up the Rocky Mountains... plus the cute photos and texts I would get from the kids.  And then all of a sudden they're coming home early!

4.  My pregnancy.  Even though it has been difficult, I continually picture Joan Cusak from Runaway Bride telling Julia Roberts "your veil is not attacking you!" only she is saying to me "your pregnancy is not attacking you!"  I know from experience that it is fleeting.  I said to Jimmy this week that no matter how many times you do it, the fact that in 12 weeks what is inside of me will be lying in a crib is mystifying.  It is a miracle, a sacred promise I do not take for granted.  I love feeling a baby move inside of me. 

5.  Grandparents.  This past week I have had a chance for an in town vacation with Jimmy because my parents had Jackson with them and Jimmy's parents kept my other four.  Grandparent camp is an amazing gift.  I have cleaned out closets and rearranged rooms and washed baby stuff and taken naps when I wanted and did not cook any family meals.  It has been wonderful.

6.  The color of summer.  Lastly, I have figured out what the color of summer is.  The color of summer is this.  It is the color you see after you've been swimming with blue tinted goggles on.  Per the rules of color theory, when you take off blue goggles, for the first few seconds everything around you has a beautiful golden orange tint.  And when what is around you are playful children and beautiful puffy cloud skies and sweeping oak trees...it makes the color of summer that much more wonderful.

Here's to the second half of summer.

What it's like to be pregnant...for the sixth time...

When you're pregnant for the first time, your life is full of excitement and new experience.  You hate the nausea.  But you think it's sort of funny that you're eating mac and cheese at midnight.  You buy lots of maternity clothes.  You wait and wait and wait for the day you can justify wearing them.  You take a nap whenever you want.  You exercise.  You barely gain any weight.  You pour over books and soak up all the knowledge you can about this thing called pregnancy.  You smile.  A lot.

This is what it's like to be pregnant for the sixth time...

When you drop something, you stare at it for a while, trying to decide if it's worth picking up or not.  Unless it is worth more than about $10, you leave it there.  (When you drop the soap in the shower, you asses how clean you are and debate stopping your shower right then, instead of picking it up to finish cleaning yourself.)

When you do what are supposed to be effortless kegel exercises, you feel like a 300 pound man with a large gut trying to do a sit-up.

You are 27 weeks.  You are having to dig into the largest maternity clothes you have.  You nearly cry when you remember that during your first pregnancy, no one even noticed you were pregnant until you hit about 30 weeks.

You struggle with extreme feelings of hatred toward all thin people and especially anyone wearing a belt.

When you're going out and you want to make yourself look a little nicer, you pause to reflect...because it is literally like putting lipstick on a pig.

You have a hard time getting your leg up to put on your pants.  This used to happen to you in the last two weeks of your pregnancy.  Now it begins in the second trimester.

You pull your knees up to your chest every morning before you get out of bed.  You want to make sure it is still physically possible so that when it comes time to deliver you won't pull every muscle in both legs.

More on bending over...You borrow your parents grabber.  The one they needed years ago when someone had back surgery.  You use it to clean up around the house.  To pick up the clutter, trash, toys...You think that all you need is a yellow jumpsuit and you will be like a prisoner picking up trash on the side of the road.  After all, you feel like a prisoner in your own body.

Your relationship with food is nothing if not strained.  You feel huge, but you're so hungry!  You want to eat anything and everything, but the scale, heartburn, and reflux are mocking you at every turn.

You deal with the reactions when you tell people you're pregnant with your sixth child.  Sometimes they lean forward because they need you to repeat it.  They want to make sure they heard you correctly.  Sometimes you even have to hold up six fingers to make them understand.  When it gets through, you smile.  Because even though it's sort of embarasing, you are proud and wear it like a badge of honor.

You pee.  All the time.  You have to go really bad.  All the time.  But when you sit down, it comes out like water from a crimped hose.  A strained trickle.

But most of all, you spend most all of your reflective time in awe and wonder of the fact that God has chosen to bless you yet again with the feeling of a baby in your womb.  That He is using your feeble body to bring another perfect, supernaturally formed life into this world.  You wonder if He really is this good.  Can it be that you will nurse another baby on your breast?  The humble realization of how small you are hits you between the eyes every time your baby kicks you in your continually full bladder.

When it's your sixth time, you are so over the leg cramps, cankles, and weight gain.  But you are also much more acutely aware of how much of a privilege it is to be what you are for these seemingly long (but so short) weeks. 

You are pregnant.

3GT

Photo sent from Houston taken by my sister

Yesterday morning Jimmy, Jackson, and Cash left on a month long journey out west.  The trip, planned and organized by my dad a.k.a. "Slim" and "Pop-Pop" spans 3 generations of men.  It is my dad, 2 of his sons in law, and his 6 grandsons.

6 a.m. yesterday leaving for Houston

We have been preparing (haircuts) and packing (in apple boxes that fit under the bunks) for a while.

Sadly I will not be able to chronicle their trip.

 Because I am not on it.

I don't wish I were, though, as it will involve camping, little to no showering, and teen and pre-teen boys.  The imagined smell alone makes me fine with staying behind.  I made them t-shirts.  My love for printmaking has expanded to silk screen.


Since January Jackson and Cash and I have been using home school time to study the different locations they will be stopping at.  It is mostly National Parks and Monuments.

Pulling out yesterday morning.  Starting out right with a thumbs up!

Slim outfitted a motor home he affectionately named "Dumbo" with bunk beds in the back and a huge bike rack to hold 9 bikes. 

The girls and I are going it alone here for now, but are excitedly anticipating the arrival of Aunt Susan, my sister whose children and husband are all on the trip.  She will help watch the girls for a couple weeks while I work (my own plus covering for Jimmy) and we have planned all kinds of fun things to do with them.  Not that we don't miss our men, but since they have been gone I converted their bedroom into a playroom, we have been eating chick food (guacamole for dinner anyone?), braiding hair, and shopping for crafts to do.  Oh, and no video games.  Just My Little Pony episodes.

The men left from Houston this afternoon and are as I type this they are on their way to Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, then on to Mesa Verde.  I hope Jimmy will send me photos, maybe I can update a bit.

Meanwhile I will be next door swimming in our neighbors pool.  Yesterday I discovered that pregnant women float very easily.  I think I am so full of fluid I just rise to the top.  I'm like a cruise ship.  I'm always full of food, and I'm really, really huge.  And I carry passengers.  Well, just one passenger.  But she seems to like my cruise just fine.

Let's hope we cruise through this month of summer and that my men come home safely in one piece.  3GT forever.

The Death Stare & Pregnant Brain

There are many things that go on around here that I could write pages about.  Entire chapters in a book.  Stand up comedic routines.  But then there is pee on the floor (dog or child) and laundry threatening to suffocate me (no, seriously) and 5,000 requests for something to eat, and the moment passes.

Mostly my life is filled with just that.  Life.  I am constantly surrounded with fun and learning and I overhear endless endearing and hilarious things.  I'm going to try and remember a few.

A couple weeks ago Cash did something that made a mess or frustrated me or was something I had asked the kids not to do.  (I can't remember what it was.)  I asked him why he did this terrible thing.  He told me Penelope made him do it.  I asked him why he listened to her; told him he should have told her no.  He responded with, "But mom, she gave me the death stare!"  Since then I have overheard Cash and Libby both refer to Penelope and her "death stare."  I have yet to see this, but obviously I need to get a death stare of my own because it seems to be quite intimidating and get really good results when you want somebody to do something...

There is the reading.  The requests to go to the library.  The wonderful few hours afterward when my house is full of QUIET children reading on their own, reading together, and discussing and sharing books.  The bookstore that Libby and Penelope set up stocked with original books and charged 50 cents for.  Juliet padding down the hall bringing me books to read to her.  I cling to these evidences that my children will not grow up with an electronic device constantly in hand.

There are drawings like these that I find lying around.  Better than any photograph I could take to capture the essence of my three girls.  Penelope stands on her own and Libby sacrifices herself to elevate Juliet to a higher plane.  It is super AND amazing.  (I guess Penelope is without the Death Stare in this drawing...)

It is my Cash, shopping today with his Dad for supplies to give me a home grown pedicure for Mother's Day tomorrow, that makes me feel special.  Cash announced to my friend that he was going to give me a pedicure for Mother's Day.  He then followed it up with, "We have a pedi-file and everything!"

As far as events go, Jackson was in a yo-yo contest.  We spent a few hours a couple Saturdays ago waiting for his one minute routine, which he did almost perfectly.  He didn't move on to the next round, but we didn't care.  I was so proud.  He put his video on YouTube.

I also finished up my art class year with a show, as usual.  It was great, the work was great, the kids were great, and you know I love art when I am willing to wear an extremely unflattering to my pregnant body home made t-shirt out in public.  I was proud of all my students (which includes my own kids) and their hard work.

Last week I hit that part in pregnancy where I was opening something (this time it was a door in the freezer section of the grocery store) and I hit myself in the stomach with it.  This is a pregnancy milestone for me.  There is something beginning to protrude whether you realize it or not.  It's like your brain has not caught up with your changing body.  In fact, when you're pregnant your brain is always a step behind.  Blame it all on pregnant brain.

Which is why I have now run out of things to write even though I know there is more to say.  In fact, when you're pregnant your brain is always a step behind.  Blame it all on pregnant brain...wait...this sounds familiar...

Between the two trapezes

 

A few weeks ago I got a call from a nurse at my OB practice.  She called to tell me that my routine blood screen I'd had ten days or so before had come back abnormal and that my blood levels were positive for Down's syndrome.  This was a blood screening.  This did not mean my baby had Down's syndrome, but just that I was at higher risk after the screening.  She told me the chances my baby would have Down's  was 1 in 270.  She made sure I had an appointment with the fetal medicine doctor (I already did--everyone over 34 is advanced maternal age and goes for this upper level ultrasound at 18-20 weeks pregnant) and we hung up.

I told Jimmy immediately.  We sat with dueling iPhones doing research on an abnormal AFP (Alpha Feta Protein) blood tests.  It seemed many people have abnormal or "positive" results and most of the time have a healthy baby.  Besides, 1 in 270 is fairly good odds.

Yet in the next week until my ultrasound I was filled with thoughts of the possibility of having a baby with special needs.  You consider how this will impact you and your family and how your child will be perceived by others.  I didn't allow myself to get upset though, it seemed like such an outside chance.  Besides, it really didn't make much difference.  I would still be having a baby in a few months.

God kept bringing the scripture to mind--"When I am afraid I will trust in You.  In God whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid." (Psalm 56:3-4)  This puzzled me a bit because I didn't really feel fear.  I just felt thoughtful.  I felt like I just wanted to know.  If she was going to be special, so be it.  I figured I'd know soon enough.  I figured when I had my ultrasound, then I'd know.  I only had to wait a few days.

So when Jimmy and I were called in for our ultrasound and the doctor himself walked us straight back to his office, I was immediately nervous.  When the doctor takes you to his desk, it is never good news.  He set a sheet of paper in front of us full of statistics about three different chromosomal abnormalities.  He said a bunch of stuff that I honestly don't remember.  But words like "birth defect" make your brain stand still and your throat get thick.  He said that before my AFP blood test, my chances of having a child with Down's syndrome were 1 in 270.  But that after my test, my chances were 1 in 34.  (So the nurse had given me the wrong information.)  I did hear this part.  The bottom sort of dropped out.  This is strange news.  It's unknown territory.  I began to feel fear.

So then we went into the ultrasound room.  The tech started my scan and I tried to get her to slow down and tell me every little thing.  She was going so fast as the doctor looked on.  But they do this all day long.  It is nothing new.  As they measured and checked for Down's markers, they found nothing.  Every single thing measured correctly or functioned properly.  About halfway through, I started to cry.  For no apparent reason (they weren't done so I wasn't happy or sad), it was just that I had held it all in and finally let it all out.  It's hard to pay attention to your precious baby when you're blubbering all over yourself.  (I did have the presence of mind to ask her to make sure it was a girl--which I had found out during a quick scan at the OB the week before.  It was!)

All of a sudden it was over.  But the fact that they found nothing wasn't the end of it.  The doctor told me that only 50 % of Down's babies show signs on ultrasound.  But they would double my probability to 1 in 74 since they saw no signs.  The doctor asked me if I wanted to do a more extensive blood test called a cell-free fetal DNA test which can tell you with 99% accuracy whether or not your baby has Down's or one of two other chromosomal abnormalities (although these were pretty much unlikely because they would have shown on ultrasound).  I said I wanted it.  Jimmy said he didn't think we needed to.  Even if she had Down's, we don't have to know beforehand because her heart was fine and she wouldn't need any immediate treatment.  True.  But I wanted to know.  I needed to prepare my heart and my kids.  My extended family.  So they drew my blood right there.

Now I had to wait a full 10 business days for the results.  More waiting.  There is a Coldplay lyric that says "...I'm in the gap between the two trapezes..."  This is how I felt.  I just want to know which path I'm going down.  I did feel scared now.  Just scared of the unknown.  Of going down a path about which I knew nothing about.  So I resolved to follow the scripture and trust in God.  It didn't matter.  I recalled another scripture.  "Ask and it will be given to you.  Seek and you will find.  Knock and the door will be opened to you."  I felt release to pray for a baby with no chromosomal abnormalities.  You can lean toward feeling bad asking for this, you don't want God to think you would be upset by a "different" child.  He makes us just the way He wants.  Yet He knows our hearts and I truly wanted a "normal" child and so I decided to pray for that.  And I did.  I also read, "In His presence there is fullness of joy."  So no matter what I am literally filled with joy.  Because I'm carrying a baby God made.

A few days ago (after only 7 business days) the nurse called.  I had already been jumping every time the phone rang.  Keeping it near me constantly between 9 and 5 weekdays.  She asked me if I was ready for some results.  I said, "Sure..."  Everything was negative for any chromosomal abnormalities.  My chances had now been reduced to a less than 1 in 10,000 chance of having a baby with Down's syndrome.  Which is really as low as they get.  I was of course relieved and grateful and praising God for answering my prayer.

What I learned...

This whole ordeal was an interesting place to be.  Because even though you don't want to get news that there may be something "wrong" with your child, this news wouldn't have changed our day to day life very much.  I'd still be pregnant, I'd still have a baby to feed and care for in a few weeks, I'd still love the baby, she would still be born into a family of five siblings who love her...yet it seemed like something that was life changing.  And I guess it would have been.  But so is having a "normal" child.

I thought a lot about life changing things that happen to people every day that there is no warning for.  Car accidents, heart attacks, that sort of thing.  In reality, we don't really know what could happen at any moment.  We are always caught in the gap between two trapezes.  We live under the hand of a sovereign God who can do whatever He wants.  But the truth is, He wants to do what is best for us.  To care for us and be amazingly gracious to us.  Sometimes this means trials, sufferings, difficulties.  But I am okay with this.  There is no suffering outside of His care.  It is humbling.  And it should be.  I can "fly through the air with the greatest of ease" because I'm not in control.  It's not up to me.  It's a really good place to be.

Easter 2014

Easter weekend was a huge success.  I just typed an entire blog about it.  And promptly deleted it somehow.  So here are photos.  Here is a link to a time lapse photo video I helped with at church.  Here is a photo of the huge chalkboards I designed for the church stage.  That's my friend Brittney helping me.  We had an amazing Good Friday service.  An awesome Easter service.  A wonderful Easter lunch today with my parents and lots of friends.  Speaking of amazing, my blog was.  But I can't write it again.  It was full of jokes and ironies and cute children doing wonderful things, even me crying.  It was too long to try and re-create.  I am going to move on.  Happy Easter from the J Train.  He is Risen Indeed!

 

 

My Well

"What is down in the well comes up in the bucket."

I think this is an old adage, but I heard it for the first time last week.  It has hit me hard.  What's down in my well is a baby.  A tiny person that demands a lot from me and has turned me into someone I barely recognize.  I am tired.  I am not as funny.  I eat copious amounts of weird things like cottage cheese and apples and peanut butter.  And okay, chocolate.  In all honesty, I am short tempered and selfish.  I know I need more of the Word to fill my well.

Usually mothers who have lots of children seem so together to me.  They either have perfect children or the perfect amount of relaxed attitude about everything or a stellar combination of the two.  I always wanted a big family.  But now I just worry that I can't do it all, I can't mother it all, and that I can't raise them all before I go crazy.  This is what happens when a perfectionist introvert is suddenly surrounded with lots of imperfect people.  (Myself included, of course.)

Currently as I write my 9 year old is reading to her two younger siblings.  Not a short picture book, but one with chapters and a plot.  It is precious and wonderful but a little sad for me.  I want to read to them, but I just don't feel like it these days.  I am unable to do my job.  Someone has had to step up.  Yet I sowed the seeds of reading aloud so I should be proud to pass it on.

I want to reach deep into my well and pull out endless energy and smiles and super mom abilities like reading out loud without falling asleep and cooking amazing meals 7 nights a week and organizing neighborhood soccer games.  But my water seems a little muddied by laundry and dirty toilets and (gasp!) home school.  If only I could achieve what I know is the key:  that those mundane things would be the very tasks that make my motherhood shine.  Sometimes I glimpse it.  I will keep working at it.

Today is Cash's birthday.  He is 8.  This seems utterly impossible.  8 years ago at this time I was in terrible labor with him.  It was not an easy one.  A nurse delivered Cash.  She asked me to wait for the doctor but I said no.  I pleaded with her to let me push him out.  Shortly after he was born I remember saying (well, groan/yelling), "I don't want to do that again for a really long time!"  I was back in 18 months having Penelope.

They needed me in the womb, and they need me now.  Un-ignorable.  Persistent.  And irresistible.  I am devoted to my children, my family.  It makes me better.

I have been thinking about what's in my well and what I dump down there and what comes up.  And I've realized something.  These kids.  They're down there.  Because they sure keep coming up.

This ain't my first rodeo

Here I am again, stating for the world and J Train faithful that I am pregnant.  Thus the blog silence approximately the length of when I found out to the end of my first trimester.  I could have blogged during the last two months but all I would have talked about is how hungry I was, how sick I felt, and how I wanted to go to bed all the time.

But I have made it through!  It is tapering off.  I am gaining a bit of my energy back and do not have to eat constantly to maintain the ability to function.

I have also been putting off this announcement because I was a bit overwhelmed myself.  Thinking I was moving on.  Saying a wistful but peaceful goodbye to pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding.

And then, I am pregnant.  I want to tell you I was thrilled.  That I really wanted the test to be positive.  That children are a blessing and I felt blessed.

But this ain't my first rodeo.

Although you do feel excitement when you think about tiny baby socks and the feeling of a newborn on your chest...you also know what is to come.  The fat ankles.  The tums on your bedside table.  Your skinny jeans hiding away in your closet for months on end until you dare to try them on.  The sheer exhaustion from the hard work of carrying around a person who enjoys squishing your organs.  The joy of breastfeeding that often leaves you feeling like a milking cow.  And this is only the beginning! The potty training!  The messes!  The feeling (now times six) you have when you go to bed at night that you are permanently screwing up these little people you're responsible for raising!

AAAAHHH!!

And then tonight I had a revelation.  I have been thinking about how everything is multiplied the more kids you have.  With every child I have gained a little more weight.  With every child my belly pokes out a little sooner.  With every child it takes me a little longer to lose aforementioned weight.  With every baby I just feel a little more weighed down with responsibility.

I just feel really guilty that while all these silly worries multiply, my excitement doesn't seem to multiply.

And then I realized.  It does.

(This is the revelation part.)

The excitement for this baby is not only from myself, it's multiplied by Jimmy, Jackson, Libby, Cash, Penelope, and Juliet.  They are expecting too.  And this little one is surrounded with more than enough love and excitement.

Well, there is much more to be said and I've written this blog many times in my head and I don't think any of that came out, but I'm tired now.  And I'm hungry.  And starting to feel a little nauseated.  And I'm pregnant, okay?  Look!  I have proof!  He or she is in there and they're waiting to get on the J train.  All aboard!

Grandmother

Three weeks ago today, my grandmother, Mildred Eugenia Dake, passed away.  She was 95 years, 7 months, and 3 days old.  She was grand.

There is so much to be said about this woman.  She left a legacy of faith, of musical ability, of hard working self determination, of resourcefulness, the list goes on and on.

But I'd like to share some of the things I remember most.

I remember Grandmother coming to see me in Florida.  All the way from Arkansas.  I remember her staying a long time and taking care of me when I was little.

I remember staying with Grandmother in the summers, for about 4-5 years in a row, from 6th to 10th grade.  She would make me breakfast every day.  I would wake up to the sound of the smoke alarm beeping, the smell of bacon, and the sights of Phil Donahue and Sally Jesse Raphael.

I remember Grandmother talking a lot.  She seemed to tell you whatever came into her head.  Lots and lots of stories about her formative years.  Stories you had heard many times before, that you knew by heart, but you listened to politely because you knew how much she enjoyed telling it.

I remember Grandmother adding lots of accessories to her outfits.  And many times attaching beads or jewels to the clothing itself.  She did what she liked and she didn't care what anyone else thought.

I remember playing with her Avon bottles in the bathtub.  She used to sell Avon products.

I remember going to her church, First Baptist Midland, and watching her sing in the choir and then sit right in front to hear the preacher.

I remember Grandmothers love for quilting.  (And that she was not afraid to stick a bumper sticker to her living room wall.)

I remember in college Grandmother sent me a note on which she had pasted multiple
pictures of herself.

I remember that Grandmother loved all her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. (And one great-great grandchild!)

When I found out she was in her final days, I knew I wanted to journey to Grandmothers house one last time and be there with my family for her memorial.  It was going to be cold.  My mom texted me and said I could wear one of Grandmothers winter coats.  This made me feel warm inside.  I looked forward to that most of all.

I took some photographs in her house, of things I remember.  She lived there for over 70 years.  I wish it could stay the same forever.  These old photographs were lying around.  I propped this up and realized I had made her look like a unicorn, with the glass candlestick coming out of the top of her head.  But I like it there.  It's cool.  And she totally could have pulled it off.  (Or maybe my kids just watch too much My Little Pony.)

I gathered all her Avon bottles to bring home, which I chose when she asked me at age 13 what I wanted to have when she died.

I enjoyed seeing extended family and witnessing such gracious and kind people who all came from Grandmothers family tree.

Grandmother is in heaven now.  She is praising God and I praise God for her.

Confessions of a Home School Library Patron

Earlier this week the whole family went to our local library.  I am a huge fan of the library.  Have been going there regularly since I was a child.  I love it there.  I have a  crush on the library.  (Well, in high school I had a crush on a guy who worked at the library, but close enough.)

But sometimes I can take it for granted.  Sometimes I lose books.  Well, the children lose books.  Or our house eats them.  Or they get left outside and it rains.  Sometimes I keep them too long.  I have overdue fines.  Sometimes I have to pay for the aforementioned damages.  Let's be honest.  Not sometimes.  Lately it's all the time.

I allow my children to get a library card when they are in Kindergarten.  They have to be willing to write their own name on the back of their card and sign the paper.  It is an exciting milestone for us all.  This year Penelope got hers.

I have learned how to work the system.  Once a librarian who liked me leaned forward over the desk and told me in a whisper that they have a one-day grace period.  They don't advertise this, but you won't get late fees until the second day late.  So I use this.  Regularly.

Also I know that I can turn things in late Monday night, and our branch will count them as if they are turned in Saturday, since they are closed Sunday and Monday.  I use this too.  Regularly.  (Actually, I have been known to wake up early and drive to the library to turn them in Tuesday morning before they open.  Pathetic, I know.)

I am pretty good to check online to help me keep track of the high volume of check-outs.  I make lists of what we have due and we go hunting all over the house until we have crossed them all off.  The children pass the blame of who was last seen with a book we can't find.  They tell me there are no more in their room and I go unearth three from under the bed.

I get emails telling me when things are nearly due or overdue.  Sometimes I glance at them.  Usually I pretend they're not there.  It stresses me out.

This week I didn't have time to look online and make lists and search high and low.  I just did my best and hoped for the best.  Did we get it all?  Surely not.  I know how this goes.

When it was time to check out I opened my wallet.  I didn't want to have to pay any fines.  It can be embarrassing.  I want to give large home school families a good name.  I flipped through my library cards.  Mine.  Jackson.  Libby.  Cash.  Penelope.  Which one has fines?  Which one has a lost book?  Which one should I hand to the librarian??  I had to pick quick.

It was like I was a shopaholic flipping through my maxed out credit cards.

I chose Penelope.  Hers is new.  Surely we haven't tainted it yet...

The librarian paused and looked at her screen.  Something is amiss...

I only owed a dollar!  Exhale.

But each card can only check out 50 items.  If I went over 50, I'd have to go into my wallet for another card.  And surely I wouldn't be as lucky.

As I placed the items on the counter, I counted them.  I wasn't sure, I couldn't tell...I had already given her some things before I started counting.  But I thought I had 49.  Would she ask me for another card?  The suspense...

No.  I made it out.  We all lived to see another day at the library.

It's all worth it to be entertained by things that don't light up or make noises.

Check out a book.  Read!

This is not a paid advertisement.

Jovie

Meet the newest member of The J Train.

We got a dog for Christmas.  The children are thrilled.  She is doing well.

Libby has been asking and praying for a long time.  And here is Jovie.

She was a little shaggy.  Had lots of matted hair.  Since I cut the hair of all the people in our family, I hope to learn to cut the dog's hair as well.  However, for this first grooming I needed a professional.  She was pretty weighed down, as you can see from the before and after.  Yes, this is all the same dog.

Since it's been pretty cold, I bought her a clearance Christmas sweater today for $3.50.  She lost quite a bit of natural sweater.  They had to cut super short to rid her fur off all the yuck.

Welcome to the family, Jovie.  If you know how to beg for food, go to bed when you're told, and sit still for an occasional hair cut, you should fit right in with the other kids around here.