Kiss Your Miracle

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.

This is my favorite picture from our trip to Michigan – Sky relaxing in a beach chair. She looks so calm. In reality she probably sat there all of five seconds before hopping down to run around some more. Sky is an active little girl, and even though she hasn’t turned one yet, she’s been walking on her own for a couple months. When we first put her down in the sand though, she fell with each step she took. The sand there is soft and fine and very uneven. Each time she tried to move forward, the sand would give way a bit and she’d collapse into a heap again. She didn’t seem to mind though. She didn’t get discouraged or give up. She didn’t label herself a failure and stick to crawling because it was familiar and less risky. She’d just pick herself up and try again. She wanted to walk on the sand, so she kept working at it, and after a week’s time she’d figured it out, only falling occasionally. Adam and I sat in our beach chairs that last day, smiling as we watched her. It’s pretty cool when God uses your baby to teach you a lesson in perseverance.

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.

One morning on our vacation in Michigan Adam and I went outside to take Sky for a walk, only to find our stroller squished beneath a massive tree limb. Apparently, the branch had fallen from the very top of a tree next to my parents’ house, landing with enough force to damage two bicycles and bend the steel frame of our deluxe, baby-shower-gift stroller. Adam managed to get it rolling again, but now it pulls hard to the left. It doesn’t look so good either. “Maybe we can get another one, a double stroller for when the new baby comes,” Adam said. “Yeah,” I said, knowing we were both thinking about how much a big double stroller probably costs.

We trudged back inside and I found myself wondering why stuff like that happens. Sometimes it seems like the crises we walk through eventually have a deep impact on our faith in God. They can shape our character and even bring out the best in us. But little things like stubbed toes, fender benders, the flu, a wrecked stroller – they’re just plain annoying.

I guess life in a fallen world means putting up with aggravation. How we react in the unexpected hassles we face probably says a lot about the quality of our character. And if that’s the case, then I need to work more on how I handle minor annoyances. I tend to complain a lot and call it “venting,” which makes it seem like my whining is actually therapeutic and somehow beneficial. But when I stop and think about it, I have to admit that I don’t like to be around people who complain, especially about temporary, insignificant things. (The exception to that, of course, would be funny people – a category in which I do not place myself.) I figure that at the very least, I should try to be a person that I myself can tolerate. So maybe the next time I lose my keys, I’ll be careful with how I respond. Maybe. We’ll see. Losing your keys is really irritating.