Kiss Your Miracle

Sky is currently obsessed with dogs, which is not a good thing in our eyes, because the last thing we want in our house is a dog. No offense to all the dog-lovers out there. I’ve just never fully understood the joy of barking, dog-smell, hair all over the place, and picking up an animal’s poop in a little plastic bag that you then have to carry with you for the rest of your walk. But Sky of course, is oblivious to all of that, and I’ve never seen her more excited than she was over my parents’ dog, Jack. During our week in Michigan last month she learned her third word (after mommy and daddy) – “doggy” – and yelled it whenever he entered the room.

Every time Sky interacted with Jack, my mom would ask her, “What does the doggy say?” Sky would stare at her blankly and then my mom would say, “Woof, woof!” One day I asked my mom if that was really necessary. “Why do we want her to learn animal sounds? Shouldn’t we just teach her animal names?” My mom laughed and said, “Because it’s fun!” Pretty soon everyone was working on it – trying to get my daughter to bark. But she wouldn’t do it.

When we got home, I found myself falling into it too. It suddenly seemed like an important milestone. What child doesn’t know what the doggy says? We worked on it every day. Then one morning when I asked the question Sky responded, “Woo! Woo!” I was ecstatic and grabbed the video camera.

It’s funny how your pre-parent self is quick to decide the things you won’t do when you’re a mom. Things like wearing sweat pants in public, driving a car with week-old, mashed up pieces of food on the floor, and teaching your child baby-talk. But I’m starting to appreciate that part of motherhood – how in some ways it’s relaxed me, almost without my permission. I’ll admit it: I like hearing Sky tell me what the doggy says. We’re even working on the other animals now. And lately I’ve been driving a very messy car, occasionally while wearing sweatpants. But the days when I let go of what really doesn’t matter long term – those are the days I laugh the most, and when it’s easy to remember why I wanted to be a mom in the first place.

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.

On Thursday nights I work with a program called “Helping Hands” at a pregnancy center here in Ocala. It’s a twelve week course of practical information for parents-to-be. We teach them about pregnancy and the birth experience, SIDS and breastfeeding, basic baby care and CPR, and the social services available to them. When they come to class and do their homework, they earn “baby bucks” to spend in the Baby Boutique, which is stocked with donated clothes, diapers, and other baby supplies. Each leader has a small group and after the teaching hour, we split up for discussion time. I knew my first night that I’d love helping there. The atmosphere at the center is really positive and the girls are usually excited about their babies, even though most of them are young and didn’t plan their pregnancies. I also have to admit that I selfishly like having the night out, away from home for a change, while Adam does the whole bath and bedtime routine with Sky.

Last week the class topic was pregnancy. I was in a back room grading homework, and didn’t finish it until right before small group time. When I came out to the teaching room, I noticed a box full of tiny toy babies sitting near the door. I asked the teacher what they were and she said, “That’s a model of a typical baby in utero at fourteen weeks.” I picked it up. “It’s the actual weight too,” she said. “Hey, do you want one? I gave one to each girl and these are the extras. It’s probably the size of your baby right now.” I thanked her and then stood there for a minute, studying it. It was perfectly formed and fit in the palm of my hand.

When I got home that night I showed the baby to Adam and then set it on the ottoman. The next day Sky found it, immediately stuck it in her mouth, and began to chew on its head. I’m hoping that’s not a preview of how she plans to treat her little brother or sister, though I am envisioning 2010 to be a challenging year. Even so, new life is a wonder. I hope I never forget it.

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.

“…have faith in God, who is rich and blesses us with everything we need to enjoy life.” – I Timothy 6:17b