Kiss Your Miracle

Skylar loves to look in the mirror. She can be full on crying – tears, red-face, the works – but put her in front of a mirror and a smile emerges. I took this picture of her today and a question popped into my head: at what point in a girl’s life does she stop smiling in front of the mirror? Right now Sky is only nine months old. She doesn’t care that she has a bruise on her forehead or a scratch on her cheek (standing is her new skill, but she’s not the best at it yet). She’s never evaluated her weight and decided she’s too thin or too heavy. And I can’t help but think, please baby girl, let me put you in a bubble and keep you just like this – content to be who you are, unaware of society’s artificial standard of beauty.

This past Saturday Adam’s cousin and her husband renewed their marriage vows. The ceremony was scheduled for 11am on a beach about two hours away. I was happy for them, but to be honest, not really looking forward to the day myself. I love hopping in the car and heading out of town, but now that we have a baby an all day excursion is complicated.

After an extensive packing session on Saturday morning, we left in the Forrester, loaded down with everything we might need for the day. I then spent the next hour and forty-minutes doing anything I could think of to keep Skylar calm in her car seat. I knew I was in trouble when I sacrificed my purse for her to play with just ten minutes into the trip. Bored with everything, she fussed on and off no matter what I did. Fifteen minutes before we arrived, she fell asleep. “Keep going,” I whispered to Adam, who obediently drove past the ceremony site to give Sky a few extra minutes of naptime. Once we arrived things actually went well. Sky’s catnap gave her the energy she needed to be cute and happy for the afternoon. She loved the beach and at the reception she basically crawled nonstop, fascinated with everything, until it was time for us to leave.

At the end of the day we got in the car to make the two-hour drive back to Ocala, swinging through a Starbucks as we left town. Ten minutes into the trip Sky was asleep. Adam’s eyes were on the road and Feist sang to us through the stereo. The late afternoon sun sparkled on the trees and shadows traced their way across Skylar’s smooth white skin. I sipped my coffee, studying her face. It’s crazy to me, but even after infertility, I can get so wrapped up in the work part of being a mom that I almost forget to enjoy the experience. Moments of bliss seem to happen right after chaotic ones, when I least expect them. If I’m not careful I might miss them completely. So as we drove along that day I closed my eyes for a second and acknowledged to myself that yes, this is one of those of moments I wouldn’t change at all.

As Christians we’re often told that life is about joy, not happiness. Joy is possible even in the darkest times when you rely on God for strength. And that’s true. But there’s something to be said for happiness, when you’re so taken with the moment – how you feel, the way things look and smell, the people near you – that you forget your stress for a while. These moments can be rare. I hope I’m never beyond the ability to pay attention to them when they come.

Lately going to church has been an issue for us. It’s not that we don’t like going. But at nine months old, Skylar takes just one nap a day – usually around 10:30, which is exactly when church begins. I’ve tried putting her down early before we leave, but she isn’t tired then. And Sky is an active child, the exact opposite of those mythical, laid-back babies you hear about who fall asleep effortlessly wherever they are. We don’t want to miss out on church completely, so we go and I drop her off in the nursery, telling the staff to please, please come and get me if she won’t stop crying.

Last week when I picked Sky up the staff sweetly told me she’d been “a little fussy, but not that bad.” Megan, an angel who works in the nursery almost every week, said she’d taken Sky on a walk and that had calmed her down. As I scooped up my baby and her diaper bag, apologizing as usual, I noticed Christian, a baby two weeks older than Sky, sleeping soundly in a crib by the wall. The lights were on and kids were playing loudly right next to him, but still baby Christian slept. Don’t compare, said a voice in my head as Skylar squirmed in my arms.

I have to admit, I’ve been tempted to compare myself to others my whole life. It never leads anywhere good – pride if I think I’m better off, or jealousy if I feel worse. It occurred to me on Sunday though, that comparing my child is another thing completely. I might just be thinking of myself (if only Sky were calmer, things would be easier for me), but as a mother I should really be thinking of her. If she subtly picks up on the way I wish she were more like someone else, she’ll end up either resenting me or feeling insecure or both. And the last thing I mean to do is make my daughter feel like her God-given personality is inadequate.

I’m only at the beginning of my life as a parent, but I’m starting to learn how things that seem small – a little comparing, a little jealousy – might have a lasting effect on my daughter and our relationship. I am so glad that the Bible promises me wisdom if I ask for it, and that God gives it “generously to all without finding fault” (James 1:5).

Mother’s Day is coming soon and this is my first year with a child. I actually got to celebrate last year because I was seven months pregnant at the time and my family showered me with cards and presents. But this will be my first official Mother’s Day. It’s a strange transition to go from dreading this holiday to enjoying it. It’s wonderful. But I can’t help thinking about my friends who are still longing for a baby, unsure if it’ll ever happen.

On Mother’s Day a few years ago, Pastor Colin Smith began his sermon by mentioning that Mother’s Day is not entirely happy for everyone at church. He pointed out that a person might have a difficult relationship with his or her mom or a mother who is no longer living. A person might be struggling with infertility or a past abortion or a miscarriage, all of which might be emphasized by Mother’s Day. I honestly don’t remember the rest of his sermon, but I will never forget how I felt when I heard those words. Infertility is painful and lonely, and hearing him acknowledge that someone like me might be struggling that day made me feel understood instead of forgotten. Even though Adam and I hadn’t told anyone about our infertility at that point, I felt like that church was a safe place where my feelings were valid even though they weren’t happy.

This morning I sent an email to the pastor of our church here in Florida, asking him to consider including a sentence or two on Mother’s Day for those who are struggling. I don’t think a simple acknowledgment like that takes any honor away from the mothers at our church – if anything it’s a good reminder for us moms to be grateful for the children we have. Even though one in six couples in the US will face infertility, almost no one in the church talks about it, and that can make it even more isolating. Those of us who’ve dealt with infertility in the past are in a good position to speak up. I’m not sure if my pastor will see the value in mentioning painful circumstances on Mother’s Day. If he hasn’t dealt with infertility or a miscarriage himself, he might not understand. But if he hasn’t thought of it, at least I put the idea in his head.

Sometimes my baby reminds me of Chewbacca from Star Wars. While drinking her bottle she often stops, pulls away and lets out a big, Chewy-like yell, then goes back to feeding as usual. Is she just expressing herself? Letting out pent up energy? I’m not really sure. She’s always been restless. Even before her birth she moved constantly. One night near the end of my pregnancy Adam and I actually went to the hospital because it felt like she was doing flips inside me, and I’d read somewhere that if your baby’s movements seem “frantic” you should get checked. The nurse hooked me up to a fetal monitor for fifteen minutes and came back with this report: “Your baby’s vital signs are healthy, but that is one active child you’ve got in there.” I looked at Adam with terror in my eyes, wondering what we were in for as new parents.

When I finally found out I was pregnant after our years of infertility, I couldn’t wait to be a mom – to hold my baby, comfort her, and nurse her. People had told me how wonderful breastfeeding is, how it causes a rush of feel-good hormones to flow through both mother and child. I’d also heard that it could be difficult at first so I took a breastfeeding class during my pregnancy and read books about it. I was determined to make it work. When we brought Sky home from the hospital my milk had come in and all I needed to do was get her to latch on properly and drink. It sounds so simple! But Sky did not cooperate. She cried almost every waking moment and when I’d feed her she’d suck a little, pull back and cry and squirm, suck a bit more, then pull back again. Sometimes she’d thrash around with my nipple in her mouth. I began to dread feeding her.

I couldn’t figure out what I was doing wrong. She seemed so frustrated, and that made me frustrated. “You need to relax or your milk won’t come down,” my mom instructed. But relaxing while your baby is screaming her little brains out is not so easy. We went to see a lactation consultant. She was very nice, but it didn’t seem to help. By the end of the first week I’d broken down and given Sky a bottle, the very thing I hadn’t wanted to do. Even with the bottle she would cry, but at least it didn’t hurt me to feed her. The pediatrician found nothing wrong with her – she was just fussy. After two months, I gave up. I loved my baby, but I hated breastfeeding her. When combined with other, non-feeding-related crying sessions and major sleep deprivation, I felt like I was going insane. With Adam’s encouragement I began to feed Sky formula exclusively.

There are many things about motherhood that haven’t turned out the way I’d imagined. I wish breastfeeding had gone better. I wanted to be a perfect mom and I’m not. You know what though? Sky is doing great. She is a healthy, happy little girl. And I can’t take credit for it. God is the one shaping my child’s life. I do my best, but he is in control, and I’m so thankful he can make up for my imperfection.