God is in Control

I cried almost everyday this week over something that I have been struggling with for two months. Apparently my body isn't down with the whole breastfeeding jazz. We had the whole first year of Madeline's life planned out.We would raise a wise and kind young woman and save some ducketts along the way. A few well-intentioned strategies for our little trio.

The hospital asks you if you have a birthing plan which is just plain confusing for a first time mom because you have no idea what you want or how to articulate the little you do know. Lights on, lights off, visitors or no, PKU shots or wait. Shaken or stirred...I mean, huh?

Then EVERYONE wants to know how you are going to diaper your child. James and I discovered that this was just dangling bait for a long opinionated convo...We soon started to play dumb...(Uhhh babies need diapers? We'll get right on that)

Even more folks want the lowdown on breastfeeding.

These days I am unnaturally fascinated with my chest and its ability (or lack thereof).
I am consumed with finding the perfect cloth diapering techniques.
I'm making plans left and right and I can't be stopped.

Every plan seems to demand precise execution.
Every decision feels like it has eternal consequences. (Let me tell you the freedom I experienced when I realized that she won't be in diapers or on the nip for the rest of her life...deep relief, ya'll)

Here we are in the (almost) third month of my daughter's life and already some of my plans are faltering, augmenting, disappearing because life is happening and I had not planned on that. I'm back at work and being a working mom is challenging.
I came home early crying to James like their was a death in the family because I can't provide enough breast-milk for my daughter. Despite my very best efforts, good diet, water, "rest", herbs and lactation cookies (yes, that's a thing) this milk cow may have to be put out to pasture. My plan needs some tweaking and its an unexpected blow to my self-worth as a mom.

I can't control my what happens on my block or kitchen or nursery or marriage or in my own body, apparently.

But I am encouraged and blown away by a G-d who can and does. Ok, that is an understatement. I am more than encouraged My hope is renewed and my faith is under inspection because I serve the one true G-d who sets things in motion and sees them to fulfillment just the way He's planned it. No power on earth or in hell can shake it. My personal inability, lack of faith in His sovereignty nor my disobedience can stop the Lord's plans. What a great and awesome G-d I serve. How does He do it?! What might and wisdom! What dominion and control He has. The best part is that He calls me his own and has written the course of my life in His great narrative of love. I am learning to abide with Him daily-to say, "I've decide to follow Jesus. No turning back" because I need His grace when my plans fall through.

I feel like I have been skyrocketed to a whole 'nutha level of knowing my God. My head exploded from the realization of His greatness and brought me down to a moment with Him to contemplate the simplest of truths...Chaos my feel constant but GOD IS FEARLESSLY IN CONTROL. This mom understands that in a brand new way now. I guess that was His plan all along.

I Birthed a Bloodhound

The first 19 hours of Madeline's life ex-utero were deceivingly quiet. She greeted visitors with curious attentive eyes. She faced heel pricks with barely an whimper and never seemed phased by strange beeps, noises or laughter. "She's sooooo peaceful and quiet," was the common refrain. Then everyone left and it was just Madeline, her mom and her dad. And she cried and she snorted. Yes, snorted and it was the cutest thing we'd ever heard. She did it more and more when we got home.  I'd come running when she started snorting. She even lifted her head up and looked around while doing it. So then we praised, "What a strong little girl she is!".

I looked forward to hearing her snort until I realized that this was actually the sound of the dinner bell going off every 2 hours, sun up and sun down.

My child was sniffing me out with perfect precision like a bloodhound. Hunger and instinct are a deadly combo. They move my daughter to migrate her way through sleep and darkness to the source of her food...me. After 2 weeks, that little snort isn't quite as cute.  I fold my arms to cover my chest so she won't catch my scent when I check in on her. If the fan is on in the room I avoid sitting downwind. I feel like I have committed a crime and K9 is out to get me...and I'm guaranteed to get got.

No one told me that her sense of smell was THAT strong.
or that you don't get to mentally recover/take a deep breath/just one last moment of peace after giving birth.
or that I would miss being pregnant (especially when she hiccups).
or that my front tooth would fall out for no reason...3 days after giving birth...because life isn't hard enough.
or that I would feel like I am about to break at least twice a day.
or that I would be so consumed with the color, amount and consistency of another person's poop.
or that each day would bleed into the next and the next day would be another never-ending cycle of shift-changes where you always have the next shift (but seriously, what day is it?).
or that I would so easily stop saying, "Good Morning" to my husband (sorry James) because I am sleep deprived and feeding again.
or that I would never eat a warm meal again.
or that I would now have to meticulously place things like my phone, drink or snack on my left or right  depending on what side I am holding her.
or that I would pace the house if she isn't in my arms like a dog does when someone else is holding her puppies (and that I might actually growl a little).
or that I could fall so deeply in love with a little human who sharts in her diaper while I hold her as I eat my dinner that took entirely to long to microwave because she insists on being held...she smiled at me after she pooped (not even mad).

So she snorts...and I am the only one she is searching for. When she sniffs me out her needs will be met as she finds her way to my heart and warmth, all that she has known for the past 9 months.  I gotta wrap things up because she is napping therefore I should be doing the same...With every sniff, grunt and snort I reminded how much I need to seek God out with this intense amount of trust, determination and assurance. He will never run from me when I need Him. He is my all and all.

During a nap together

All I do is open my arms and she sniffs and scoots her way over...eyes closed the whole time. 

This face in the wee hours of the morning. She is just sweet perfection. 

Nesting and Resting

"I am a bit concerned with your lack of urgency in preparing your nursery."~Mattie Criddell, my mama. This was my mom's calm diplomatic approach in communicating her frustration to me. At month 6 of my pregnancy James and I had yet to even empty out the nursery which was serving as our guest room/office-type-area. I just chuckled when she said this and replied,  "Calm down, Mattie B. I promise we will start working on it soon." Can I say how proud I am of my mom for quieting the Nana-zilla that resides within - cuz I am. I could tell that she was (and continues) to do her best to not take over. For a mother of 3 and grandmother of 4 who is all about glue sticks and DIY I know how difficult this can be. So much to do. So few people on board to get it done.

James and I had planned it out. It's just that, well, I am plumb tired and in no rush to come home from a ten hour work day to prepare a place for my little one. I mean all she really needs is breastmilk and a bassinet. Mom-of-the-year award, here I come. But it was time to start nesting.

Nesting: preparing your nursery/home/life/mind for the arrival of the bun in the oven. ~Think a bird and twigs and you got the concept. (cute, sweet little concept) Really it's a euphemism for an activity that is completely overwhelming and challenging. Every conversation we have, every decision  James and I make become less and less us-centered and more and more baby-centered. Don't get me wrong - it's wonderful and we love this time but the transition is gradual and sneaky...because everything transitions. Just like we when we first got married and grasped for straws trying to maintain a sense of self and personal past and future tradition it happens all over again but this time it's much more important. Its the stuff no one tells you. It's the part of the picture in the Mama Monthly Magazine that is cropped out.  Simply moving furniture around is not just an exercise in efficient feng shui. It's really the talk of diminishing spaces, family visits, budgeting and changing dynamics. The bird and her twigs are cute but I am sure that Mama Tweet is freaking out a little making sure that those eggs are safe and sound.

I am proud to say that as of a month ago we started gathering twigs. I visited thrift stores, Walmart, JoAnn's and the like. I made a mental checklist of three sweet "wittle" projects that I wanted to start/finish over the weekend - wall art, a bookshelf turned armoire and re-purposing James' childhood dresser into a changing table. Check me out...

 Pow!

 Zazzle!!!

BOOM...This baby just got nested!

Are you happy now, mom?

The dresser took a long time and I discovered that I am not the sanding, painting, refinishing type. Sanders are heavy, BTW. But I was so very proud at the finished product. A lovely dresser that I am sure will eventually travel with my daughter off to college some day. A sweet hand-me-down from her selfless dada. 

I sat on the kitchen floor with paint in my hair and on belly (of course), sweating, sore and uncomfortable and so anxious. I want little Madeline to enjoy this nest, every corner. I want her to love this dresser because I loved preparing it for her because she is my babygirl. I can't wait to see her eyes exploring her space and watch her tiny hands dirty up her nest. I sat back and rested and thought of nothing but her....and this verse

"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work." Genesis 2:2

I never understood why a God who never tires would need rest but I imagine that maybe this was what it was like. A sweet rest of simple delight...I wonder. God didn't need a nap maybe he just wanted to stop, sit back  and admire all that He made that was good and perfect and for us? Did He imagine our eyes discovering and our tiny hands exploring? I mean He loves us like a hen with her chicks. Was the Father nesting? Perhaps. 

Baby Madeline your nest is coming together and I must say...it's so good. I hope you enjoy it. Until you get here I am just going to rest a little longer. I ain't the Lord. I need a long nap.

Saturday Morning Pearls

The logic most parents of toddlers use is this: if it is valuable, dangerous or both keep it high and out of reach. Not my mom.  She kept the valuables low and and enticing. What small person can resist the siren call of all things shiny? Every now and then when my mom stops in to visit she quizzically admires the few pieces that I have "borrowed"...and I have been borrowing for a long time. She can't blame me because she decided to live on the edge and keep her brilliant collection down low. Right in my reach. She failed to yell at me when I adorned myself in our ancient family jewels.

Both sides of my family boast of educated, cultured, bougie women who wore the finest imported furs (no offense to my PETA friends), ate choice vittles and wore the most unique, authentic jewelry that you will ever see this side of the Atlantic. We are talking real diamonds, time-approved gold and genuine stones that I am still too simple to pronounce. And pearls, real heavy pearls. A strand of white and a strand of grey, in fact, in its own navy blue velvet case.

I began every Saturday morning the same, catching up on the latest toons so that I could contribute to the playground water-cooler convos in the upcoming week. Then I made my way into my parents room where they were likely having breakfast in bed before the family fun took off. Good morning kisses and hugs were freely given and received and then I plopped down  in front of THE jewelry drawer. A small chest of drawers with a petite french double door guarding it. I never asked for permission. I just dove in. Bracelet on top of bracelet slid up my inadequate arms. My diminutive neck sank under the weight of every necklace mom owned and whatever pieces I couldn't figure out just ended up in my hair or on my shirt. I strut my toddler tail at the end of the bed and told made up stories...for...hours. And they just laughed and listening sometimes they joined in and asked questions. When I was done I carefully put every pretty piece back in its place. This was my favorite toy box. 

Thanks to James, the collection continues. A week ago I found myself quietly wondering how I was supposed to celebrate Mother's Day. Feeling every bit a mother but with nothing to show for besides an awkward belly I consigned myself to waiting until it was "real". Until my baby was really here. I guessed that was appropriate. But when Mother's Day finally arrived I didn't want to be left out. I am a mom to a child who is very dependent on me, who has changed my body and my heart and mind already and darn-it I wanted some recognition. Cue sweet James who knows me so well. He remembered stories of my Saturday mornings playing in my favorite toy box. Stories I cannot recall telling him. He gave me my own pearl bracelet for me and for my little girl. I wear my pearl bracelet all the time now because it is just such a perfect lovely gift. When I take it off I know just where I will put. In a drawer, down low of course. Just in her reach. I can't wait to see her tiny wrists glisten and I can't wait to her what stories she has to tell.