Be Careful What You Wish For

We were about to leave for a wedding reception. Our best friends were over, as there was some time to kill between the wedding and reception, and they were in from out of town. We were trying to get out the door on time. What happened next was our typical out-the-door situation where I give Mike a five-minute warning, but as we leave he decides it's time to go to the bathroom. I get irritated, we bicker a little, but we still love each other two seconds later. The only thing different this time is our best friends were witness to this typical out-the-door situation.

She told me later that she and her husband think we're basically a sit-com family. I completely agree. I have said before that Mike is Ray from "Everybody Loves Raymond," Doug from "King of Queens," and Nick from "New Girl" all rolled into one. And I love that about him. Every day is both funny and frustrating in some way, which is both entertaining and sanctifying. I wouldn't change him.

And then it hit me: I got what I had always wanted.

Have you ever seen Return to Me? It's one of my favorite movies. I have always thought that the relationship between Bonnie Hunt and Jim Belushi was the best thing ever. If you haven't seen the movie, see it. If you have, you know what I'm talking about. When I was in college, I used to say that I wanted that. That bickering, flirtatious, outrageous, average, loving thing that they had. I got it. Mike is the Jim Belushi to my Bonnie Hunt. I live in a sit-com, and I love it.

So be careful what you wish for; you just might get it. ;-)

(This isn't the clip I wanted...the one I wanted had too much swearing, but is more accurately our life-- not that we swear! haha!)

xoxo, A

Dichotomy

Warning: this post gets real, fast. If you don't want to know about my body part image issues, read no farther! Disclaimer #2-- I actually wrote this before the Christmas season and only just now got around to publishing it. So a lot of what I had begun to do has fallen to the wayside. I consider this my much-needed reminder to get back on track!
***** I have this internal struggle. It's one of many, honestly, but it seems to be at the forefront of my mind a lot these days. Here's the dichotomy:

1. My post-baby body is beautiful because it grew, sustained, and birthed an amazing, delightful human being.

2. My post-baby body stinks because I don't have a waist and my closet full of really cute clothes don't fit.

Things like the Fourth-Trimester Bodies Project (check it out here) are amazing, but make me feel ashamed for even thinking any negative thoughts about my new body. I think it's okay for new moms to be a little upset about the changes. After all, I had lived 29 years in my body before Isabel inhabited it. I was used to how I looked and I had made an art of dressing it well. And when everything else in a new mom's life is upside-down, she'd like something comfortable and familiar. Even her own skin is unfamiliar. So I really do think it's okay to not like your new body... for a time. And for me, the time has come to stop frowning into the mirror and instead do something about it. I understand that my body will never be the same, and that's okay. But I would like to at least get out of my maternity pants before I get in them for baby #2 (whenever that is). Few of us start out in perfect bodies anyway, so getting back to normal is even harder. I am 30 and started at a size 12, so clearly my body wasn't going to bounce back like a rubber band. So here's my plan, and maybe it will help other new moms (or those who will soon be new moms):

Accept the things I cannot change:

1. The stretch marks don't bother me. Maybe it's because I never showed my stomach in public, so this doesn't change much. In the privacy of my home, when I see them, they almost evoke pride in what my body accomplished, and thankfulness for God's faithfulness.
2. I'm not upset over saggy-ness, either. When you develop in the 6th grade and could never pass the pencil test (Ladies, you know what I'm talking about, right?!), those things aren't really perky anymore at 30 anyway. 
3. What I need to accept is that my normal spare tire is now a spare tire for a semi truck. And it has sagged. So pants just fit weird in the belly now. I need to be okay with this. Maybe over time it will get better, but maybe it won't.
4. If it is even possible, my rear got even flatter. Oh come on. I grew another butt onto my front and lost what little I had to begin with? *shakes fist in the air* So I need to be okay with this too. No matter how many squats I do, I might always be "flat in da back," as a darling middle school boy once wrote on a note I about me that I had confiscated. He was mortified, by the way. In case you were wondering.

Understand what is and isn't true for me:

No, I don't mean this in a post-modern worldview kind of way. I mean this in an "everyone says this, but it didn't work for me" kind of way.
1. Breastfeeding DOES NOT melt the pounds off. I mean, for some it does. They're usually the very thin anyway, or have a personal trainer. I think all it really accomplishes is shrinking your uterus back down to size. It uses a lot of calories, but it doesn't shave off the fat like I had expected.
2. I don't need that many extra calories. You'll be tempted to eat more than when you were pregnant because you are ravenous all the time and you know you're burning more calories. And the truth is, you do need to eat more and shouldn't diet because your milk supply will really suffer if you don't. The thing is, those calories should be protein... not ice cream and hamburgers. 
3. The cravings don't stop when you're pregnant. Personally, I've had more cravings as a nursing mom than when pregnant. So I have to try to curb those cravings into something remotely healthy.

Be proactive:

1. I'm trying to take every opportunity to get some exercise in. I live in Florida, and it's basically the jungles of Cambodia outside for 9 months out of the year. So walking in the mall with the geriatric crowd is actually awesome. Except I need to wear blinders, because it can be less-than-awesome on the wallet. Have you seen the sales at Gymboree?!
2. I have seen lots of great pins on Pinterest about "How to dress your bump." Where are all the pins about "How to dress your postpartum blob?" Seriously. I'd like to see that. Because while some can fit into their regular clothes fairly soon, most of us find we are still wearing maternity pants 4+ months later because even our fat clothes that we held onto for some reason are too small. So I recognize now that I won't be fitting into my closetful of beautiful clothes. I know now to keep an eye out for what fits me now, because if I wear my maternity yoga pants and giant Bucs t-shirt one more time, I might scream. I have to build a whole wardrobe for my postpartum body. With that said, can I give one of the best pieces of advice I got from Isabel's pediatrician? Buy an enormous men's button down shirt (or two). They will by far be the most comfortable thing you'll wear (with leggings, for me), and easy to unbutton to nurse. I just can't wear those out and about, so I needed a new wardrobe. I don't have a lot of money, so I use $10 promotional mailers from Kohl's, as well as ThredUp (my new favorite thing ever! Use the link on my Facebook and I get free $ and you do too!) to build that wardrobe on the cheap. I can't look at sizes, because it depresses me. I look for what looks good and feels good. That means I'm in the XL-XXL category with tops. That's depressing to a girl who lost 30 pounds in the past and got down to a M. But I must dress the body I have now.
3. I'm also trying to be very aware of what I'm eating. I've already fallen off the wagon a few times because, let's be real, PIZZA. But apples, whole wheat anything, peanut butter, Greek yogurt, and carrot sticks have been some of my staples to try to keep me full and nourish my body, while shedding some pounds. 

I don't want to teach Isabel to have a negative body image. I want her to understand that she is fearfully and wonderfully made, and that as long as we are good stewards of our bodies, we should be content with who we are and look like, because it was lovingly designed by our Creator. Furthermore, our worth does not come from what we look like. God looks at the heart, and that is where our value lies. So as her mom, I'm trying really hard to remember those things and find a way to be content with this 4th trimester body of mine. I'll get there, but can we just recognize that it is not as easy as saying, "look-- my body made a life, so it's beautiful!" There is a real struggle for many new moms, and this is mine.

Fourth trimester body: learning to love it

xoxo, A

You're a Good Mom

I've been silent for a while because life has been out of control!! Just when I was in a comfortable routine with Isabel, life changed. We packed up and moved out of our little condo, where we had made a home for the last year; where we had brought our baby home. We moved into a house for which we'd been praying for three years. I started watching a 1.5 month old cutie for four hours a day... he is now 3 months old! Life has gotten busy. And then of course, there's the fact that being a stay-at-home mom is really hard- way harder than I'd expected, but equally rewarding.

Since my last post, my child is now almost 7 months old! She has two teeth, loves food, is sitting well, and is showing signs of wanting to crawl. Where did the time go?!

In my silence,  I've been able to ponder some issues that pertain to motherhood (and really life in general). One issue particularly twists my undies: the pseudo-expert, holier-than-thou mommies who shame other mommies. If there is one thing I've learned in seven months, it's what I've  already stated: motherhood is hard. You would think that would cause women to band together and encourage one another in this journey. Rather, it's quite the opposite. If you don't do things the way these moms feel is best, you're a bad mom. Here are some examples:

If you put anything with fragrance on your baby's skin, you are giving them cancer.
If you work instead of stay at home, you're neglecting your child.
If you feed your child any purees or, heaven forbid, rice cereal before six months  (even though most doctors say you can attempt at four), you will make your child obese/give them diabetes.
If you let your child cry in its crib, you will damage its brain (what do you do in the car when they cry? Just wondering...)
And my favorite: if your child isn't exclusively nursing from the breast, you are an inferior woman or mom.

I have heard or read every one of those listed.

I mean, there are some legitimate things that most would agree are best for baby. But most of what I listed have so many different factors involved that it is impossible to make blanket statements, and they are plain and simply none of our business anyway, and certainly not our responsibility  to "correct."

I'm a mom who exclusively pumps. Isabel latched great from day one, but because of her size, I was told she needed to stop nursing in order to not lose weight (from burning calories). Because of that, Isabel got choosy about nursing. Since I could make enough breast milk, I decided I'd push myself to provide that for her for as long as I could.

There are some women who really look down on those who bottle feed, even if what they are feeding is pumped milk. Ridiculous. Who do you think you are, some kind earth mother goddess woman? No, you're not. You're a woman whose baby happened to be able to latch and suck correctly and whose milk supply has no issues. You're fortunate, is all. Anything more than that gives yourself way too much credit. The truth is, no matter how many times some moms consult a lactation consultant and drink fenugreek tea, breast feeding might not work for them. You know what's worse than not nursing? Being completely stressed out and frustrated with your child. The best advice I got regarding nursing was that my daughter needed a happy mom more than she needed to nurse. So I decided to exclusively pump. It is not easy. At all. You know what made it harder? Things like a La Leche article that told me that I had caused Isabel's breast aversion. How dare they. I mean really. How dare they?! I didn't need to read that garbage. What I did need was people validating that nursing is hard and not as natural as you'd think, and encouraging me that making this decision was better for my baby than forcing her to nurse.

And how about the moms who only feed, clothe, and bathe their child with organic materials? That's great that they can afford to do that. If I could, I would. But when they shame other moms who can't afford it, that is not appropriate. What that really says is "Because you're poor, you're an inferior mom." My child wears normal cotton clothes, bathes in Johnson & Johnson, wears disposable diapers, eats regular, pureed veggies and fruit, and gasp-- even some jarred stuff! Why? Because that's what I can afford. And you know what sticking to a budget makes me? A good mom.

So can we just stop shaming each other? Can we stop looking down our noses at moms who can't manage the "perfect" Pinterest life, or the moms who don't make the same decisions we do? Can we look at each other with a knowing glance and say, "Good job. You're a good mom. Your child is happy, healthy, clean, and well-adjusted. You're a good mom."

So I don't nurse, I can't afford anything organic, I sleep-trained my baby, I let my child occasionally watch the TV when it's on, and I stay at home instead of being the do-it-all-supermom. But I'm a good mom because my child loves me and loves life. She is healthy and strong, growing stronger. And chances are, you're a good mom too.


xoxo, A

What Makes it Worth it

When she stretches and makes squeaky noises.

Her soft, cool fingers on my hands and arms when she sleeps or feeds.

The fast little breaths she takes.

How she smiles and her eyes roll back when she's falling asleep.

Her big, bright eyes when she's alert.

The sound she makes while sucking the pacifier.

How her long eyelashes curl.

How her lips tremble just before a new round of paci sucking.

How soundly she sleeps cuddled on my chest.

Her vice grip on my fingers when she cries.

How she still balls herself up into the fetal position.

When she goes totally limp after a feeding.

Her crazy kicking legs when she's excited.

Her growing rolls.

These are the things that make the lack of sleep, the ill-fitting clothes, the unproductive days, and the udder on my chest worth it. Motherhood is really hard. But don't think for a moment that I've ever taken it for granted. All it takes is one of these things to remind me that it's all worth it. 

Last week I did my first subbing stint since I was 23. It went well, especially because it was only half days. It did my heart a world of good, and not for the reason you might expect. Sure, it was nice to be teaching again, to be back in the world of humans who mostly don't poop their pants. But it made me more grateful than ever that I get to stay home with Isabel. Though our checkbook might scream for me to work more frequently, my heart whispers "Stay home. Spend the day with your daughter, even if all you accomplish is holding her in your arms." I missed her. I didn't want to miss one thing that happened to her those days. Coinciding with that reminder, I found these two things on Facebook last week, and both pulled at my heartstrings:

 I found the first on Etsy by thehandwrittenword. I feel that whether or not you are a parent, this is true. Maybe you work with children or youths at church. It's easy to see children as a distraction from what you've always done and feel needs to be done. But truthfully, they are the future; they are the most important work.

And this I found on Facebook, and it made Mike sad and made me bawl my eyes out. These last times are good, because ultimately we hope to raise Isabel to be independent, strong, and firmly rooted in the truth. But boy is that ever hard on a mommy's heart. Except the screaming when it's bedtime. Mike and I agree that we could have a "last time" for that and not miss it.

I've been pretty absent from blogging recently. I hope that will change, because I have a lot to say, and not all of it is baby-related. However, Isabel is worth my writing hiatus. So if I continue to be absent, that is why. She is my most important work, and this job is non-stop. And worth it.

xoxo, A

What They Don't Tell You

There are just some things they don't tell you about motherhood, and just some things I didn't anticipate.

For example: though I knew we'd be feeding Isabel every three hours or so, I didn't realize that my life would suddenly really be lived in three- hour increments. And somehow that makes the days go by quickly. You wouldn't think so, since I'm awake about twenty hours a day. But seriously, they fly by.

Everybody wants maternity and newborn photos. With the rise and reign of Pinterest, I think we've come to expect that our maternity and newborn photos will be Pinterest-worthy, and that not only will the photography be stunning (definitely possible), but we will look stunning (less possible than you might think). I was just really puffy in my maternity photos and lack the kind of winsome face and normally-sized body that is necessary if your maternity photos are to be Pinterest-worthy, like this one: 

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Stop it, smiling pregnant woman with an open Oxford shirt. Just stop. I know you have a lot to smile about because your ankles probably never swelled, but just stop. You make the rest of us look bad. 

But I can't even begin to scoff loud enough at these beautiful newborn photos:

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Ladies, ladies, ladies. Your luscious locks are flowing and beautiful. Your limbs are lithe and not even at all swollen. Do you even have a residual baby belly? I think not. You're supposed to look bad. You're not sleeping and your body just underwent something extreme. Come on.

To be fair, these women have it, so they can surely show it and enjoy it. I'm not hating on them because they're unusually beautiful despite their circumstances... just to be clear.

But let's just get real: WHO LOOKS LIKE THAT JUST DAYS AFTER YOU'VE GIVEN BIRTH?!!?! I am still slightly swollen (four weeks later), I still have a post-baby kangaroo pouch, I still have 30+ pounds to lose, and I have now added dark circles under my eyes and heavy and painful inflatable water floaties attached to my chest. I wear maternity pants still (that are now saggy) and often just over sized men's button-downs. My hair is usually piled on top of my head because it's probably three- day hair. I haven't shaved my legs in maybe a week and a half. I have plucked my eyebrows. So... you know, there's that, at least. 

Don't get me wrong; it's all worth it. But it's not Pinterest-worthy. Not even at all. And I so wanted it to be. 

They don't tell you that when you get home from the hospital, you will feel completely overwhelmed and not have a clue where to put all this new baby stuff so that can be used practically. I didn't think I'd be creating a baby bottle station on one of my counters and a baby bottle washing station on one side of my sink. You do figure it out, though.

They don't tell you HONESTLY how many diapers you'll go through!!! "Ten or eleven diapers a day is normal." THAT IS NOT TRUE. We feed Isabel eight times a day and she has at least two diapers in a three- hour period (told you live my life in three- hour increments), and that's not counting the wasted ones when I put a fresh one under her bum and suddenly things are being excreted. Ugh. In short, stock up on diapers during the full nine- month duration of your pregnancy.

Also, I knew that things like "pee-pee tepees" were necessary for boys, but my daughter has straight up had an arc to her surprise pees during diaper changes TWICE. Once, she hit me with it. What. The. Heck.

And while I knew I would be emotional after childbirth, I never imagined exactly what it would be like. Now I cry every time I see a sick baby or hear of parents who have to endure the death of a child. Now I cry even thinking of Isabel in pain. Weak sauce. You have a baby, and you morph into weak sauce.

On that note, as someone who has taught for eight years, I thought I'd have no problem being firm as a parent and letting my daughter cry when necessary for her sleep training. That's some hard stuff. They don't tell you that your child's cry will be the most heartbreaking thing you'll ever hear, and all you'll ever want to do is cuddle her forever and ever.

These are some of the things nobody can prepare you for. Reading this will not prepare you either, because you just have to live it. But it's the not being prepared part that might actually be the best thing. I'm the kind of person who makes the Boy Scouts proud: I'm always prepared. I'm a planner. But with this baby, I was not/am not prepared. That means I can't take any credit for any success. That means I have to fully rely on the Lord for energy, wisdom, etc. So this motherhood thing might be the thing that changes me the most. And that is a really great thing.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." -- Galatians 6:9

xoxo, A

Isabel's Birth Story

Every meaningful story deserves to be remembered, chronicled, and shared. Aside from my wedding day, the birth of my daughter is the most meaningful story of my life. The birth of every child is a miracle, and my child's was no exception. Nothing compares to the emotions I experienced that day, and I hope I can convey them in such a way that you will feel the miracle of her birth as well.

I have to say-- before she was born, I just wasn't sure I would have the kind of love I needed for my daughter. I loved her since I found out about her, but I never really felt intensely connected to her when I was pregnant. Don't think badly of me. I just felt more fat and uncomfortable than anything else. But I will never forget the moment they handed me my little girl, and everything changed. I felt myself fall in love with her, and I knew that I didn't have to worry about having a "mother's love." It was already there. My heart hurts just looking at her, knowing she will grow up, knowing she will experience physical and emotional pain, knowing she needs a Savior. Simultaneously, my heart bursts with joy, knowing that she has been entrusted to our care. Yet I have never before struggled so much with fear; and that's saying something, because I have had a lifetime struggle with fear. My head trusts my sovereign God, but my heart asks, "Will she live through the night?" "Is she breathing?" And I hear it just gets worse as they get older. But as every day passes, I love her more and more, and try to remember that she has never been ours -- not really. She has always been the Lord's, and we can trust in His promises.

That's why we chose the name Isabel for our daughter. Isabel means "God's promise," and the verse we chose for her is Psalm 18:30:

"As for God, his way is perfect:
    The Lord’s word is flawless;
    he shields all who take refuge in him."

We chose this verse because it reminds us that God's word is perfect, flawless, and can be trusted. What could possibly be more helpful to remember as we raise our daughter, than the fact that God's word is perfect and his promises are trustworthy?! We pray that Isabel would trust in God's promises as well. For those of you who know us, you know we hadn't decided on a name for our daughter until her second day! We just couldn't decide between two names (one of them was Isabel). In reality, neither Mike nor I wanted the other to have to give up the name they preferred. So we went to bed the night after she arrived, and our daughter was still "Baby Girl." 

And then that night, our teeny-tiny daughter had to have her heels pricked and her blood tested every two hours because her blood sugar was low. She had to have three passing scores in a row in order to be discharged. If she failed one test, they had to start all over again. Sometime in the middle of the night, as I watched them poke her again after several failed tests, tears streamed from my eyes. My little girl was totally helpless. I was totally helpless. Through my tears, I prayed, and it suddenly hit me-- the meaning of the name Isabel. And I knew that Isabel just had to be her name. What I needed most in that moment was to trust in God's many promises to us; not necessarily the promise that she would be okay-- that was never promised-- but the promise that God would never leave me, that God works all things together for good, that God has ordained all of her days...etc. So in the darkness of that hospital room, I took my hours-old daughter into my arms and whispered, "Hi, Isabel." 

So that's who our daughter is: Isabel Catherine. Here is how she got here (hope it's not too much information):

Thursday, May 29th, 2014: 2 a.m.
While I usually wake up around that time to go to the bathroom, this time I woke up because of discomfort. I got back into bed and laid on my left side, thinking that what I was feeling was probably more of the false labor I'd been feeling for the last couple of weeks, and it would soon go away. The pain was in my back, and as I scrolled through Pinterest on my phone, the discomfort made me thrash my legs around in bed, and I realized two things: 1. I wasn't going to be able to stay in bed without waking Mike up, and 2. I was probably in real labor. I felt both excited and nervous. If this was real, then finally what I've been waiting for had come! But if this was real, then I had to actually give birth at the end of all this! So I got up and started puttering around the house. I put together our bags for the hospital, took a shower, and tried to nap. Somewhere in there, I woke up Mike and told him I was probably in labor, but there was no need for him to wake up yet. I'd been tracking my contractions, and they were far apart and not extremely regular.

Sometime between 3:30 a.m. and 6:30 a.m.
The contractions hadn't waned, and were getting a bit more intense. I managed them with deep breathing and movement, and in between could still get things done or doze. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. At some point, I called Mom to let her know things were probably starting. They decided to get a flight out in a few hours. I also called my doctor, who thought the labor was probably real. Finally, I called my doula, Rachel, who decided to come over to help me labor. She was prepared with a Mary Poppins bag of labor and delivery assistance, and we were prepared for the long haul. I was excited to have her help, since I was planning on a natural birth. There were a lot of people who didn't believe I could do it, and a lot of people who just didn't think I should. And maybe there was a part of me that didn't think I could either. But the part of me that was determined to do it was bigger. So Rachel came over and we tracked contractions and I bounced on my labor ball. Mostly, it was just nice to have a friend there as things progressed. Then it was time to wake up Mike and inform him that he needed a sub for that day, because I was truly in labor. Mike was a little incredulous, but that quickly morphed into a really good mood. It was cute to see how excited he seemed to be. I called my mother-in-law as well, who unfortunately was at the airport, ready to head to NY for the first leg of their two-week Italian vacation. I couldn't believe the unfortunate timing, and neither could she!! Still, she was excited, and I was glad she was still in the States so we could communicate.

6:30-10:30 a.m. 
Mike had to drop off the dog and get a few things ready for his sub, so it was just Rachel and me for a few hours. We watched "The Today Show" and continued to track the contractions. Rachel was great at reminding me to keep my eyes open, focus, and try different positions. The simple act of tracking contractions helped an organized mind like mine not go crazy as I waited for the 5:1:1-- contractions 5 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute, for 1 hour. She was a great encouragement that even if the contractions weren't completely regular, they were getting closer and longer, and that was progress. I started to get a little antsy as the contractions got more difficult, so we turned on "SNL" for some giggles. I knew I was making progress when a sketch that used to make me giggle even through the deep breathing of my contractions no longer could make me giggle. Finally, Mike returned, and we decided to take a walk around the complex to get things moving.

11:00 a.m.-12:30 p.m.
We took a walk, and this is where things started to really progress, and quickly. When the contractions came, I no longer could walk and talk through them. I had to hang on Mike's shoulder, with my mouth buried in his shirt, breathing through the pain. Rachel massaged my lower back with these great massagers she had brought in her Mary Poppins bag. I can't even imagine what passers-by thought was happening. I would hope they kind of got the picture. By the end of the walk, about 45 minutes later, the contractions were really pretty intense and definitely closer together. Mike was a pillar of strength for me, and Rachel was a constant source of encouragement that we were making progress and that I was handling the pain well. We figured we'd head to the hospital fairly soon, as the contractions were pretty close to 5 minutes apart and 1 minute long.

I decided to take a shower, which provided some relief. I remember that the contractions were getting surprisingly close, and were so intense that I had to drop on all fours to handle the pain. Still, after the shower I felt it was important for Mike and Rachel to eat lunch (I'm apparently still such a Mama Bear, even when in labor). I remember just rocking on the floor of the living room, waiting to leave. I was in a lot of discomfort, but I figured this was just the beginning and I had many hours of this ahead of me. We gathered up the ridiculous amount of stuff we had packed for the hospital and headed out. I called my doctor to let them know I was on my way, and could barely talk to the operator. I started to feel a little panicked about the pain and getting to the hospital. We left, and I gripped Mike's hand as he drove. 

It was around this time, I think (though it was also around this time that things started to get fuzzy because of the discomfort), that I started to do something I always made fun of in the past: rhythmic sounds. Rachel had told me that a lot of women need to find a rhythm to ride out the contraction. She told me about a woman who would chant "Iiiiii can do it; Iiiiii can do it," and I giggled inwardly. Until I had to do it too. Except mine was just more of an exhaling sound, in a rhythm. I couldn't help it. I had to have some kind of outlet for the pain and rhythm to get me through. I remember that we were stuck behind an old couple on the road, and I yelled something about the driver's geriatric sun glasses. Hahaha! We finally made it to the hospital, and because of their ridiculous parking situation (they never prep you on where to park and how to get your stuff upstairs while simultaneously helping the laboring woman!), Rachel and Mike had to park, and I walked up to the desk alone. "Um, I'm in labor," I wheezed as I waddled up, fully aware of what a silly thing that was to say. I headed up the elevator, where I gripped the rail as another contraction seized my body. The strangers in the elevator asked if I was okay, and I, again fully aware of the awkwardness, informed them I was in labor. The man kind of freaked out and told me he'd stay with me until my husband got there, which was really sweet, but the hospital wasn't going to let him do that. Hahaha. 

12:30-1:30ish p.m.
Nothing has ever taken as long as waiting at the desk took. Nothing. I leaned against the counter and swayed as the pain got more and more intense. I found it impossible to stand still. Mike and Rachel made it upstairs, and finally they took me into the evaluation room and hooked me up to track the contractions and the baby's heartbeat. I couldn't believe how painful pressing the monitors to my belly was. This was the first time I had to lay in bed while in active labor, and I hated it. My legs thrashed and I kept "punching it out" while holding Mike's hand and making my rhythmic breathing noises. I just kept thinking, This hurts! This really, really hurts! They checked me at that point and found that I was already dilated to 6 cm. (I had been at 2 the day before). Sometime after that, before they moved me to delivery, the pain made tears come to my eyes and I looked at Rachel and told her that I didn't think I could do it. She looked back at me with tears of her own and told me that I was doing it. I was doing it and the baby would be here really soon. Rachel was exactly the kind of coach I was hoping she'd be. I was so thankful she was there, as my doula and friend. And Mike was a dream. He was so supportive and helpful, reminding me to breathe, and holing my hand tightly. I had been afraid he would try to break the tension with jokes, and that I would get angry at him; but never once was I angry with him. I was only thankful he was by my side. Finally, they wheeled me over to delivery. I waved to my friend Nicole in the waiting room, in between contractions. I think it gave the impression I was feeling okay, when in reality, that was just a moment of respite in a storm of pain! 

1:30-2:27 p.m.
This time is pretty blurry in my memory. It went really fast, and I've pieced together a lot of this from the accounts of others who were there. They wheeled my bed into delivery and promptly had me change into a gown (something I didn't want to do-- I wanted to wear my own pajamas, but I was in way too much pain to protest or think about anything besides survival). They tried a bunch of times to put in the line for an IV, trying to get it in between contractions. That pain was nothing compared to the contractions that got worse every moment. Blood trickled from the IV line. Didn't care. They hooked me up to the saline right away, which they didn't need to do because I had been and still was drinking lots of water. But again, I was in too much pain to protest, and it was happening too quickly for Mike to say anything. The most important thing was that I didn't want pain meds, and they honored that. I remember that Nicole was there, but I couldn't even talk to her because of the pain. I had Mike on my left and Rachel on my right, both coaching me and encouraging me as my legs thrashed and my rhythmic breathing noises became louder and louder. They started to get higher pitched and more panicked, and Rachel was great at reminding me that I had to breathe and calm down. They had to give me oxygen because at times the baby's heart beat slowed. I probably wasn't breathing as well as I should have been, because it was hard to focus on that when all I could focus on was the pain. At some point, my parents made it, but I couldn't really talk to them either. 

My dad said he heard me from outside the room, and thought I was in early labor and just being dramatic... until he saw me. He didn't stay long, because I think it was too disturbing to see me in that much pain. My mom was quick on her feet and took pictures. She wasn't going to be in the delivery room at first, because I was afraid I'd get short with her or something. But frankly, I didn't care who was there anymore. I didn't care who saw what was happening. I just wanted it to be over. The nurse went to cover my legs at one point, and I told her I needed my legs free. She said, "Do you want everyone to see?" Didn't care. Just didn't care anymore. I remember feeling like I was going to throw up, but didn't. They turned on the bright lights, and I told them I didn't want that. They brought in surgical tools, and that freaked me out. I remember saying again that I couldn't do it, but again, Rachel told me that I was doing it and really, we were so, so close. Her Mary Poppins bag was going unused (not for lack of need, but lack of time!), but her encouragement was exactly what I needed. 

Suddenly, it got really intense. Waaay more intense than ever before, and I felt the urge to push. More than just feeling the urge to push, my body just did it. The nurse was like, "You're not pushing, are you?!" But I had to!! My body was doing it, like it or not. I hated the out-of-control feeling of needing to push. Honestly, it felt just like having to go to the bathroom, and I thought I had both peed and pooped myself (didn't, though-- THANK GOD!). My doctor wasn't there yet (they had called him to see how close he was to the hospital, and at that point, I think I was at 8 cm.), so the house doctor had to come in and help. Rachel told me that at one point, a nurse came in, my head popped up, and I said, "I have got to be crowning!!" She didn't believe me... until she checked. Apparently I'd gone from 8 to 10 cm. in just minutes. They told me I'd be pushing at my next contraction, so I went on my side (which was a bit of a relief-- I wish they'd allowed me to labor and deliver in another position than flat on my back, in a gravity-defying position), and before my next contraction, I remember praying out loud that God would help me. I didn't think I could do it, and I needed his help. Then the contraction came.

It was go time. I pushed, and just like you're not supposed to do, I screamed. I was shaking uncontrollably, either from the adrenaline or pain-- I'm not sure which. The next time, I tried to contain it, so the energy would go into the push, but ohmygosh did it hurt. At one point, the staff probably thought I was swearing, but all I could do was scream God's name as a prayer! I remember the sweat beading around my eyes as I squeezed them shut and put all my effort into pushing my daughter into this world. At some point, my doctor showed up, just in time to catch her. I overheard him say, "I thought you said she was at 6!!!"

They told me she was almost here. 

And then, with one last push, she was out.

The relief was instantaneous. My eyes closed. Mike cut the cord, and they handed me this tiny bundle, bloody, covered in vernix, and all mine. All I could say was "My baby! My baby!" over and over again. They put her on my chest, and I cried and shook, staring at this human being that was suddenly here. She wasn't really crying, so they rubbed her down, and she made noise. She put her long fingers to her mouth and made her little grunting noises on my chest. My baby was here. 2:27 p.m., 5 lbs, 7 oz, 19 in.

 Breathing through the pain

 Nearing the finish line 

 My doctor, barely making it in time! 

 Just after Daddy cut the cord

"My baby!"

2:28- who knows p.m.
She stayed on me for a long time, and I remember Mike's misty eyes as he looked at her, his little girl. It was love. I could finally talk to my mom and my dad. The pain was gone. Delivering the placenta was like a walk in the park after what had just happened. I remember realizing I had done it without any medication, and feeling so thankful and accomplished (even if the strength came from the Lord, not me!). Our new little family was wheeled to a different room with a beautiful view, and as the thunderclouds rolled in, we stared at this new life, completely in awe. God's goodness was overwhelming. This new responsibility was overwhelming. My cup runneth over.

 Meeting the most important man in her life.

Our little family <3

I had a great birth experience, which, when it comes down to it, is what's important. Rachel helped me have that mentality (she helped me understand that childbirth is a mind game-- remembering that the pain was for a purpose and temporary, etc.-- all of which help to make a great birth experience). That means that for some women, an epidural is what will help them have a great birth experience. For me, as much as I hated the pain, I loved being able to feel the entire experience. I loved the natural rush that came when it was over. I loved the lack of intervention-related complications. Natural childbirth was by far the hardest, most painful thing I've ever done, but it yielded the most beautiful result. My mom asked me what I would have done differently, in hindsight. I can't really think of anything. We were prepared for a long, natural labor. I think I could have done it because of Mike's support and Rachel's expertise. Thankfully though, I didn't have to! Things progressed so quickly that we couldn't use any of the tools Rachel brought (though she did use her God-given tools: she massaged my head and held my hand the whole time), and I couldn't even think to ask for some of the things I wanted, like to labor and deliver in a position other than supine. I would have preferred to not get an IV, as it wasn't necessary, but the hospital staff worked so quickly and so automatically that it couldn't be helped. I did think on my feet enough to protest the postpartum pitocin they wanted to give me to stop bleeding. Turns out I didn't need that either. 

I think one of the things that helped me have a great birth experience was that I was informed enough to know what I wanted and did not want. I have Rachel to thank for that, mostly. I knew that I wanted to labor at home as long as possible (good thing we didn't wait until my contractions were 5:1 for a full hour... it may have been too late!), which helped significantly. I knew to not just lie down during labor, but to be active. I knew I didn't want medication or interventions. I knew the medications I could refuse for myself and my child, postpartum. I knew I wanted to deliver at a hospital, "just in case" (thankfully I did, because Isabel ended up needing some extra attention because of her size). Being informed and having a plan (though seldom will things go according to plan, and even more seldom will the hospital staff follow it) made all the difference, I think. 

In the end, I learned that childbirth is not suffering. Childbirth is pain with a purpose. Childbirth is extraordinarily painful, but that pain makes the pleasure exponentially greater. Childbirth is something you have a say in (to an extent, since God will ultimately call the shots), and you can choose to make it what you want it to be. I would recommend natural childbirth to any woman. It's possible and you can do it, if you're determined. I would suggest that you have support people who are completely on board (like my wonderful husband), and I would definitely suggest you hire a doula. I would have been uninformed and unprepared if not for her work. You can find Rachel's facebook page here. Whatever your birth story is, I hope it was wonderful for you, too. And if you haven't had a birth story or adoption story yet, I hope you'll make yours what you want it to be, too.

So there it is: Isabel's birth story, a.k.a. The Day Everything Changed!
xoxo, A

The Roller Coaster Ride

This is such a strange time. The waiting. The not knowing. The knowing it's going to happen, but when? But how? The only thing I can compare my feelings to right now, at 39.5 weeks pregnant, is my experiences with roller coasters.

I'm not a huge roller coaster fan in general. I have my favorites because I can trust them to not drop and leave my stomach feet above my head, or make me feel like I'm going to fall straight out of the car. I love Thunder Mountain Railroad at Disney. I trust it and it's a no-fail good time. I like Space Mountain, too, but that's a little scarier since it's in the dark.

But this is how I feel before getting on a new roller coaster that I haven't tried before: I have this nervousness, because I have no idea what's going to happen. As I sit in the car and it click-click-clicks up the hill towards the drop, I know that I can't make this ride stop. I have to follow through. The drop is inevitable-- imminent, even, and it will be both exhilarating and uncomfortable. I will survive this ride, I know in my head, and I may even get in line to get back on the ride once it's over. But while I approach the drop, my anxiety of the when, how, and how awful will it be is all I can actually feel.

And that's what it's like at 39.5 weeks pregnant. I can't get off the ride or make it stop. I have to follow through. But I don't know when or how "the drop" is going to happen, or how exhilarating or awful it will be. But I know I'll survive and I know I'll probaby do it again. Can you tap into the feeling you get waiting for the ride? Do you know what I mean?

It's very strange. I look for every clue that labor might begin. Acid Reflux? Here we go! Nausea? It's go time! And yet here I sit, typing, not in labor, just hoping in a nervous way that we'll get this party started.

Let's hope this is my last post before Little Miss Arbia arrives. And I'll let you know how the roller coaster went.
xoxo, A

How We Got Out of Debt

It’s been done—articles on getting out of debt. I’ve read lots of them. But sometimes, some of the principles didn’t work for me. For example, using cash-only didn’t work for us. We didn’t have military benefits, so that didn’t work. We had to buy a car after I got hit, so we had extra expenses. We don’t own a house, so our rent was much higher than most people’s mortgages. Many of the articles I read included variables that didn’t apply to me. So we did it our way. Perhaps our way will include variables that don’t apply to you, either, but maybe this will be helpful to you. We got married in January of 2012. We are now credit card debt free in May of 2014. In two and a half years, we got rid of a five-figure credit card debt. This was on two Christian school salaries and a part-time job, while still eating, traveling, and living a normal life.

It was important to us to not have debt, first so we could be better stewards of what God has given us, second so we could give more to others, and third because we wanted to start a family. 

So how did we do this? These principles aren’t new, as I said, but they work. I owe getting out of debt to my mom’s financial wisdom, my husband’s hard work and self-control, and God’s gracious provision.

1. BUDGET. Like seriously, don’t wait until the next paycheck. Sit down now and calculate your monthly take home pay after all deductions (taxes, insurance, 401k, etc.). Now subtract your monthly bills that stay the same each month (rent/mortgage, insurance, car payment, cable, etc.). Divide what’s left into categories of your choice. I would suggest you write down every possible category you can think of. Definitely include yearly expenses like car registration, newspaper subscription, Xbox Live account, etc. Those end up just costing a few dollars a month. Don’t forget things that are important to you. For us that was a category for giving (it doesn’t have to be 10%. It can be more or less, but if you’re a believer, you should be giving in proportion to how you’ve been blessed. We try to give first out of our paycheck rather than what’s left over, because we’re very thankful for God’s provision in our life. We believe he’s blessed that faithfulness.) and a category for travel. You can find a sample monthly budget spreadsheet like the one we use HERE (it's a Google Doc. I recommend this because you can use formulas and share the file with your spouse so it can always be accessed [even on-the-go] and edited).
2. Set up auto payment for all your bills that stay the same amount each month (that includes the set amount for the cards you’re paying off), and write into your calendar or phone the day each month that you will pay your other bills that fluctuate each month. Also enter into you calendar or phone reminders to update your checkbook/ledger every week.
3. Pay more than the minimum on your credit cards. Way more. Like as much as you can manage. We spent $700/month to pay down credit card debt. Every bit you pay now is less interest you pay later, so you’re saving money by spending it on paying off debt, if that makes sense. Pay off the card with the highest interest and lowest balance first, snowballing that payment into the next. That means if you have three cards with an outstanding balance, like so:
1. $10,000 with 7% interest
2. $2,000 with 14% interest
3. $6,000 with 9% interest

You would pay the minimum on cards a and c (unless you can do more), but pay much more to card b, to pay it off sooner. Once that’s paid, apply that payment to card c. When that is paid off, apply the payments you had been paying to cards b and c to card a. So all three payments would go towards the last card.

4. You only need to live a cash-only lifestyle if you can’t treat your credit card like debit. Granted, many people who get into credit card debt have trouble with this concept, so they may need to use only cash to break a bad habit. But we didn’t have a hard time treating the credit card like it was debit. We only spent what we had. I would subtract my receipts from my budget categories, and when the money in the categories was gone, it was gone. Consider every credit transaction as a debit transaction. The end. We also get great rewards from our VISA and AmEX (free flights!!), so it was worth it for us to use credit. However, note that we did not use the cards we were paying off. We used two different cards that did not have outstanding balances. You don’t want to fight an uphill battle.
5. Did you get a chunk of cash from somewhere, like your tax refund? Consider applying that to your debt. We didn’t do that in 2012. We used our tax refund for our honeymoon. The next year, we chose to use it for a new camera for me (a moneymaker investment); but this past year, we threw the bulk of it at our debt, and got rid of at least 2 months’ payments. That helped, since our goal was to be out of debt by the time the baby arrived… and she’s not here yet! Maybe you have a money-making hobby. You can designate those profits to go straight to debt elimination, perhaps. Mike’s second job’s income had to go towards paying off our car (which we pay extra on to speed up the process. We figured we’ll have the $17k car paid off in a total of four years), but maybe you have a second job or tutoring job, or something that you could use to pay off the debt sooner.
6. Think ahead. Think of what you’ll do with your credit card payment once your cards are paid off. If you pay $700 a month like we did, imagine what you’ll do with that money when you are free and clear!! If you save three months of payments, that’s over $2,000, and enough for a nice vacation! That’s assuming you don’t get pregnant and lose an income, like us… J You’ve learned to live on less, so look forward to when you can live on more again! Keeping the end goal in mind always helped me not feel like I was throwing money into a black hole.

So maybe you’ve heard or read these principles a thousand times already. So what are you waiting for? It is so freeing to get out of debt, and as a Christian, it allows you to have the financial freedom to help others, which is a real blessing. Don’t wait to get out of debt; it will only get worse. Make a plan today, and in a few years’ time, you’ll reap the benefits. When we started, we had a three-year plan, and it felt like it would take forever. It took a little less time than we thought, and it was less painful than we imagined (especially when we worked on not being covetous or envious and avoided the “must be nice” phrase). We are still working on Mike’s student loans, but those are easier to stomach (by a little) because they were an investment in Mike’s education and spiritual growth. Those things are valuable, so I can’t complain. But those are also a fixed interest rate and have an end date. It makes me sick that they take all the interest before applying our money to the principal (especially because we’ll be paying off his loans early and wouldn’t need to pay all that interest), but that’s just the way they do things. Anyway… just do it!

xoxo, A

The Final Countdown

Partially because it’s in my nature, and partially because of the influence of my friend Kelly, I enjoy creating count-downs to big events. Before my wedding, I knew exactly how many days until the Big Day. I know there are seventeen days left until my due date. And I know that there are seven school days left before I leave my job.

But this time, this countdown isn't necessarily one I’m looking forward to with joy. I’m joyful for the reason—I’m going to be a mom, which has always been my dream job. But I’m fundamentally sad, because I’m leaving the job that has had a major hand in shaping me into the woman I am today.

I’ve devoted seven years of my life to Lakeside Christian School. I taught third grade (!), middle school English, 9^th-10^th grade English, and middle school and high school girls’ Bible. I grew in my teaching style, my classroom management, and my rapport with students. I was challenged, angered, proud, excited, exhausted, entertained, surprised, annoyed, and delighted, in no particular order.

I’m leaving a job that was different every day. I’m leaving a job where students cared enough to tell me about their lives, share their stories, deliver their jokes, cop their attitudes, and change their minds. I’m leaving a job where co-workers are friends and administration can be trusted. I’m leaving a job where I’ve seen students have “aha” moments and grow academically, spiritually, socially, and physically.

Essentially, I’m leaving all I’ve known for the last seven years. What used to be so unfamiliar and prickly has become home—yes, even here in the swampy Florida heat that I detest so much. It was never Florida that kept me here. It was always God impressing upon my heart that I needed to stay at LCS. LCS has kept me here. LCS was why I got involved in the youth group and met my husband. LCS employed my husband. LCS and my life will always be intertwined in a deeply personal way.

I’ll never forget when I told my students (via a game of hangman) that I was engaged, and a student ran into the hallway, shouting, “SHE GOT BLING!!!” I’ll never forget that some of my students attended my wedding, and their faces will forever be a part of my wedding photos. I’ll never forget their excitement, care, and concern through my pregnancy. How do I extract myself from something that has embedded itself so deeply into me?

I don’t know what this transition will be like. It’s a wonderful blessing that Little Miss Arbia will be born at the beginning of summer break, where it would feel natural to take a break from school anyway. But when school starts back up and I send Mike off to LCS in the morning… how will it feel? I have a feeling my daughter will take up so much of my heart and life that it will be easier than I anticipate. But as of right now, after everything, leaving just kind of makes my heart hurt.

So to all my students, know that it has been a privilege and joy. To my coworkers, it has been an honor. To my administrators, thank you for trusting me and caring for me. To my Lord, thank you for changing me through the lives of these precious people, and thank you for this little person who is forcing me to move on. LCS, you haven’t seen the last of me (I hope)!

xoxo, A

The Journey Thus Far

Week 8 - week 33... hopefully only about 5 or 6 more pictures left to take!!
xoxo, A

Opinions Are Like Armpits

I've always been very opinionated. Just ask my mom. Or ask my husband. He definitely knows. Somehow he married me, even though he knew that.

It’s easy to be opinionated about things with which one has experience. For example. I know by experience that Dannon Oikos is clearly the superior Greek yogurt, and Chobani isn’t even in the running. I mean, Oikos's key lime pie flavor or lemon meringue flavor can be little tubs of creamy heaven in the middle of a mediocre day, while Chobani just makes me twist my mouth into a sour, disappointed pucker.

But childbirth? How do I have opinions about childbirth before I've ever experienced it? It’s such an awkward place in which to find myself: I am supposed to develop a birth plan (naturally with the wisdom of others as my guide) when in reality I have no frame of reference for the kind of pain I will be experiencing. I don’t know what will come out of my mouth. Heck, I don’t even know everything that will come out of my body (please God, please not poop)!

For some first-time moms it’s easy, because they have long-standing opinions about medicine and organic everything. I don’t, really. I mean, I believe in being healthy and being good stewards of everything with which we’ve been entrusted, but I also can’t afford to live like Adam and Eve in a blissful garden of organic fruits and vegetables, so sometimes I buy canned food (*gasp*).

I did my own research and I talked with women I trust. I searched my own conscience and talked with my husband, and I think I’ve become opinionated about childbirth. Well, at least I have developed an opinion.

But I must admit my fear of all of that going out the window when push comes to shove, quite literally.

For the sake of accountability, I’m telling the world: I’m attempting natural childbirth. You may snort and say, “Doesn’t every woman attempt it?” And you’d probably be right. I did register for an epidural, so it’s quite possible I’ll crumble. I’m not anti-medicine in any way, and I do believe medicine was developed for a good reason and can be put to good use. But here is how I came to my opinion that attempting natural childbirth is the safest and most beneficial way for me to go: I figured that though childbirth is now painful as a result of sin, my body was still created to go through this process, and God has graciously made me strong and healthy. Secondly, countless women across generations and all terrains have given birth naturally and survived… and then have done it again… and again… Sometimes the medication can interfere with the process and complicate the delivery. Sometimes. Natural hormones are released when they aren’t covered by medication, and those hormones both bond mom to baby and help aid in the recovery process for both mind and body. 

So my plan is to labor and deliver naturally unless I am laboring for an excessive amount of time and need to rest in order to continue, or if there are unforeseen complications that would require medical intervention. Women who have medicated childbirths are not in any way failures. But if my body is doing what it’s supposed to be doing, I feel like I won't have an excuse for needing medication. Would it provide comfort? Definitely. But there’s this macabre part of me that thinks that feeling the full force of labor and delivery might help me better understand the weight of the curse of sin, and is it totally weird that I kind of want to understand that better in order to appreciate God's grace more?

So I've become opinionated (for myself, for the record. I don’t care what anybody else does in labor and delivery. Your “business” is your business) about something for which I have zero frame of reference. Let’s see if about a month from now I write a post that goes a little something like this:

“So about natural childbirth… it works in theory, like Communism...”

But I’m hoping that by the time I actually experience childbirth, I can look back and say “I took a leap of faith. I made a choice. I followed through. And now you’re here.”

And I wanted to end it there, poignantly, but I just have to take a minute to address how opinion everyone else gets when women are pregnant. The last thing a first-time pregnant mom needs is a bunch of women telling her what she must or must not do based on their own personal experiences. Every woman is different. Every pregnancy is different. Just because one woman gave birth naturally doesn't mean I will be able to handle it. Just because another woman sings the praises of medication doesn't mean I will need it. Opinions are fine, and even helpful, but when they become dogmatic "YOU HAVE TO HAVE AN EPIDURAL BECAUSE IF YOU DON'T YOUR BUSINESS WILL RIP OPEN IN A VIOLENT EXPLOSION OF GORE!!!!" statements, that's simply not helpful. 

What is most helpful is informed support. Tell a pregnant woman what labor is like, let her make her own decision, and then choose to believe in her and support her, even if it's not what you would choose. Because this is her, not you, and you had your chance to do it the way you wanted. Now it's her chance, and she needs to know that other people think she can do it. Chances are if she would listen to your opinion, she would also like you to be her cheerleader.

xoxo, A