Kiss Your Miracle

Before I became a mom I would start most mornings the same way – reading my Bible and drinking coffee. I’m definitely a morning person and I always loved that time. Then one day I started to wonder which I looked forward to more: God’s word or my morning coffee. I knew I would read my Bible even if I didn’t have coffee, but would I read it as long? Would I like it as much? I wasn’t really sure and I felt slightly guilty about it.

Then during our infertility, my relationship with God shifted. I’d never in my life felt desperate and inadequate the way I did then, and I turned to God because I knew I wouldn’t make it on my own. Looking back, I can see it was a time of growth. But in the middle of it, right after our IVF attempt failed, I found myself struggling with depression. Things I had always loved suddenly seemed pointless. The school year was about to start and I wasn’t sure how I would even get out of bed every morning, much less work up the energy necessary to teach six classes of high school English. I began to dread the first the day of school. I remember thinking about Adam and the kind of guy he is – how I knew he would love me and take care of me no matter what, even if I quit my job and dropped out of life for a while. It was tempting.

But in the end, I went to school that first day. Thinking big picture – week after week of teaching – was almost enough to give me a panic attack, so I decided instead to focus on the small things that helped me get through each day. Strong, hot coffee in the morning. Peanut butter and honey sandwiches with my teacher-friends at lunch. Driving home after school with the windows down. Beck and Jack White. Pizza and wine with Adam. I don’t remember praying any big, scriptural prayers during that time. I just thanked God for little things. And I think that kept me connected to him, even though I was still fragile and emotional most of the time.

By winter of that year I felt more like myself again, but I saw things differently. I believe in moderation and in fasting, too. But why feel unspiritual for appreciating something good that God’s given us? Some Christians don’t feel guilty about anything. But others, like me, tend to feel false guilt for things that aren’t even wrong. And it seems to me like Satan wants it that way – for us to feel vaguely uneasy about something innocent while overlooking the real sin in our lives. I know that God wants me to work at developing a deep faith. But I think God also likes it when I spend time with him as a friend. Just last night I thanked him for creating a person who came up with dark chocolate M&M’s. And I think sometimes a prayer like that is just as valuable as any other.

We had Sky’s first birthday party last Saturday and it was a blast. She was a little overwhelmed at first by the crowd of people, and when we put a small cake on her high chair tray, she seemed more confused than excited about the blue frosting covering her hands. But by the time she’d opened her presents, she was racing around with her new car push-toy as if to say, “See mom? I’m not tired at all. I can stay up later now, right?” All in all the evening was perfect.

Except for one thing. After cake and ice cream, some of us were sitting around the table when the topic of holiday plans came up. Because my family lives up north and Adam’s is all down here in Florida, we usually alternate where we go – we’ll do Thanksgiving with his family, Christmas with mine, and then reverse that the next year. 2009 should be our year to have Christmas in Michigan with my family, but if things go smoothly with this pregnancy I’ll be in the middle of my last trimester, and it’ll probably be too late for us to travel. So for now the plan is to stay here in Florida for Christmas. And as we were discussing this, I told Adam’s aunt how disappointed I was at the thought of not being up north this year, especially since my brother Hans and his wife Katy, who live in England, will be there with Sky’s cousin Nicholas. He’s seven months old now and we haven’t even met him yet. “It’s almost like we’re being cheated out of the Christmas we planned,” I said.

The conversation rolled forward around me, but I suddenly stopped, hearing only myself in my mind. Had those words really just come of out my mouth? Did I actually say I’d been “cheated”? Because I’m pregnant? I quickly backtracked, saying something to the table about how much we want this baby and that it’s really no big deal to stay home this year, especially because some of my family might come down to Florida. But that’s the thing about careless words – you can explain yourself or even apologize, but what you said can’t really be taken back. It’s still there for anyone to remember.

As everyone at the party chatted and laughed, I sat at the table feeling sick. I don’t think it’s wrong to feel disappointed about not heading north for Christmas. But during our infertility I told myself that if God ever gave me a baby, I’d do everything I could to keep perspective. And I definitely wouldn’t complain about insignificant things. In fact, I really resented the friends I had who seemed to focus only on the drawbacks and sacrifices of their pregnancies instead of the miracle they were blessed to experience. But now I’d done just that. I felt like a total hypocrite.

Long after everyone left, I was still thinking about it. I love Skylar and I’m beyond happy about the pregnancy. I even wrote a post a couple weeks ago about my goal to be grateful, nausea and all. So what’s my problem? Why had it been so easy to see the baby’s birthday as inconvenient, something that might get in the way of our plans? And then I remembered something Beth Moore says: “It takes no effort on my part to wake up and be selfish.” It occurred to me that the root of my comment is that very thing: selfishness. It’s not that I don’t love this new baby. It’s that I am constantly fighting the tendency to love myself more, above everyone else.

To be honest, I can’t think of anything to say right now that would nicely and neatly wrap up my thoughts and make myself feel better. It’s humbling to admit that even after dealing with infertility, I’m very capable of complaining about pregnancy and motherhood, even though I’ve firmly decided that I won’t. I don’t understand it. But what I do know is that our God is a God of forgiveness and grace. And that truth inspires me to ask him for help and to keep trying.

A year ago today I became a mother. Well, technically it first happened about nine months before then, but on July 22^nd of last year, I held my baby girl in my arms for the first time. And I know this will sound terrible, but I’m going to admit it anyway – I don’t actually remember that moment. The beginning of my life as a mom was surprising in many ways, starting with labor. We went to the hospital on a Monday night for an induction, geared up for a long, slow, medicated birth. Even when my doctor checked me at the hospital, I wasn’t dilated at all. The plan was for him to prep my cervix that night and start Pitocin the next morning to induce contractions. But forty minutes after he’d gone home for the night, my water broke and contractions began on their own.

Labor was a whirlwind. I couldn’t catch my breath or open my eyes. I dilated so quickly I didn’t even have time for an epidural – a good thing, since I’d originally wanted to do it without one – but in the moment, I definitely would have had one if it’d been possible. It probably sounds stupid, but I wasn’t prepared for just how much labor would hurt or how out of control things would feel. Sky’s position was posterior, so she came down the birth canal face up and got stuck. She also had the cord around her neck twice, so with each contraction her heart rate dipped, and she’d had her meconium stool before the birth as well. Thankfully, I have a wonderful, experienced doctor, who was able to turn her and get her out safely. It took a couple long minutes for her to cry, but once she did her color quickly went from gray to pink. A nurse handed her to Adam and I remember him bringing her over to me, but I told him I felt too shaky to hold her or nurse her at that point. Adam later informed me that I did hold her then, but I have no memory of it.

The intensity of my labor and delivery matched the intensity of my first few weeks as a mother. When Sky was a newborn she fussed or cried almost every waking moment, and I spent most of those early days feeling totally overwhelmed. I quickly realized that being a mom was much harder than I’d envisioned during our years of infertility.

But now, a year after Sky’s birth, I can also say that motherhood is much better than I’d anticipated. My daughter amazes me. I watch her walk around, talking her own little language, and I can’t help but think how perfectly God made her. Even though she doesn’t say words yet, she communicates all the time. I love reading the expression in her big, blue eyes – seeing her curiosity, her joy, her intelligence. I make a complete idiot out of myself for as long as she keeps laughing – it just makes me so happy to see her enjoying herself. There are still days when I’m frustrated to tears, when I feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of being someone’s mother. I had no idea just how much work it would be to raise a child twenty-four hours a day. But if that part was unexpected, so was the reward. I am so blessed to know this tiny person, this compact bundle of energy and personality. The knowledge that she is only one year old today is exciting to me. Lord willing, I’ll get to love her through many more years of life. I know that parts of it will be tiring and stressful – the draining part of motherhood can’t be separated from the rest of it. But I’m thankful for the entire experience. Whatever I’ve given of myself to my baby, she has given back to me many times over.

Skylar Grace, I’m a mother living my dream because you are here. Happy Birthday, little girl. I love you.

Earlier this week I was getting ready for church and realized that the scent of my perfume is suddenly nauseating to me. I also feel sick whenever I ride in a car without driving it, when I change Sky’s diapers (okay, that’s always been disgusting), when I’m really hungry, when I’m too full, when I smell cleaning products, and when I brush my teeth. Adam and I were watching the Cubs game the other night and when I noticed all the Cardinals have mustaches (some kind of strange male bonding thing probably), that made me nauseas too. I haven’t actually thrown up lately, but I’m pretty sure that if I went into the bathroom while feeling sick and looked at the toilet, I would.

But here’s the thing: I’m thankful for it. Whenever I’m tempted to complain I remember a couple years back, when I would have given anything to feel sick if it meant I’d be pregnant. I think about the friends I know who are currently doing fertility treatments, which can be painful and nauseating in and of themselves, for just the chance to have a baby, and my mouth isn’t able to verbalize the whining in my head. Pregnancy is not easy. But it’s a blessing that not every woman gets to experience. And for their sake – the couples who are waiting, longing for parenthood and everything that goes with it – I hope I can stay grateful regardless of how I feel.

As I write this on July 15^th, I’m remembering this day last year. It was my due date with Skylar and I was more than ready to have my baby girl. But apparently, my body wasn’t. At my OB appointment that day, my doctor shook his head sadly and informed me that no, the baby hadn’t dropped yet. And no, I still wasn’t dilated.

As Adam and I left his office that day I felt defeated. My pregnancy until that point had been easy. I was so happy to be pregnant after our infertility that none of my aches and pains bothered me. I could feel the baby moving a lot and felt fairly confident that everything would be fine. But once July 15^th had come and gone, I fell apart emotionally. I had nothing but time on my hands and the more I thought about what might happen, the more anxious I became. What if I had to be induced? I’d had my heart set on a natural birth, not one where I spent my labor lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a fetal monitor and an IV. What if the induction led to a C-section? What if something went horribly wrong during the birth?

It turns out that we did have a few complications when Sky entered the world on July 22^nd, but the doctor handled them quickly and we left the hospital two days later as a healthy family of three. My point is not that my fears were ridiculous. Tragedies happen every day. It’s that my fear didn’t accomplish anything except to make me, and probably Adam, miserable for a while. If God had planned to allow a catastrophe in our lives, worrying about it ahead of time wouldn’t have changed the outcome. As a teenager I worried about infertility, and realizing years later that I’d been right about it gave me no satisfaction.

I understand why God tells us not to live fearful lives. And I’m thankful he understands just how difficult it can be for us to actually do that. Psalm 103:14 says that God knows how we were formed and “he remembers that we are dust.” I find that very comforting, especially when I feel fragile and scared. Eleven weeks into my second pregnancy, I could easily give up the joy that should go along with expecting a child, trading it in for a list of fears. Sometimes I catch myself thinking that the solution to fear is strength – as in, strong women don’t worry. But the paradox of scripture is that we are only strong when we concede our weakness. And when I look at it that way, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that I’m a Christian. It’s okay to admit that I can’t do anything on my own, even manage my own fear. God will never reject me or be disappointed in me for that. All he asks of me is to come to him, trusting that regardless of what the future holds, he loves me with an unfailing love and he will always be with me.