When things aren't "just right. . ."

Wow, it’s been over ten months since our awesome son came into our lives, and it has been the most enriching, rewarding, and joyful experience.

But, on top of all of the usual blessings of parenthood, I think the biggest blessing has been the way that God has worked in my heart during these last ten months. . .

"it was then that I carried you"

You see, I am a perfectionist at heart.  You may not know it to look at me, because my house if often messy, and my clothing and makeup not always done, but deep down I have an awful desire for everything to be just right.  I can’t stand conflict.  If I find something wrong on my phone bill on a Saturday night and I can’t fix it until Monday morning, watch out, because I can’t stand to have something out of place for two whole days.  Before I can begin writing I feel I need to have a space to write that is just right.  Of course, I don’t have time to remodel and design a space like this, so I put off writing.  Before I can buy new clothes my body has to be just right.  Before I can have people over I want my house to be just right.  It never is.  I have people over and buy new clothes (rarely, but it does happen) anyway, but sometimes this gnawing thing inside me says the experience would be so much better if I could just have everything the way I want it: Perfect. . .or at least, what I think is perfect.

Where am I heading?  Well, as all new parents know, when you have a baby sleep pretty much goes out the window.  You expect this, at least for a few months, but as most experts say, by 6 months most babies are only getting up once a night.  Not mine.  No sir.  Our little lovebug slept pretty well from about 1-3 months, then, around Thanksgiving, he decided that he wanted to wake up at 9, then at 12, then at 2, then at 5.  I’m not kidding.  I was just starting to get over the initial newborn sleep deprivation, and then it happened all over again.  I needed sleep.  I started to worry about what the lack of it would do to my brain.  Would I go crazy?  Don’t they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture?

Needless to say, when you’re physically and mentally exhausted all day, things do not feel just right.  But this was my lesson, and I needed to learn it.  I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God wanted to teach me to rely on Him for strength, and above all, to be able to find joy when things were not just right.  How do you find joy, how do you become content despite your physical and emotional state?  A hard lesson for someone like me, but He knew the way to teach me.

Even on the few nights when our son would sleep well, something would wake me up.  The dog would want to go out.  It would thunder and I would wake.  On top of that, it took me at least an hour to fall asleep at bedtime and after I’d wake to feed Sam or let the dog out or whatever.  For nearly six months I lived on 1-2 (3 if I was lucky) hour chunks of sleep at a time.  There were days when I was angry. . . “Okay God, I get it.  I need you.  I need you for energy. . .now help me sleep!”  It became the proverbial thorn in my side.  As Beth Moore says, sometimes God wants to show us his sovereignty, and we pray, and God yanks out whatever thorn is in our side to show us His power; but, sometimes His goal is different.  Sometimes He just wants to teach us that His grace is enough.  “My grace is sufficient for you.”  He whispers it to me every day.  “You can do all things through me.  I will strengthen you.”

 After a while, I let go.  Granted, there were still moments of anger.  Moments when, like a stubborn child, I would cross my arms and furrow my brow and whine for my way.  There were moments that I would cry because all I wanted was to sleep.  But I learned.  I learned that He would help.  I began to trust that He wouldn’t let my mind unravel.  He would sustain me.  He would give me energy, He would give me JOY.  He would help me to be a good mother and give me what I needed to make it through each day. . .not as a zombie but as a person who was finding out that life could be beautiful even when everything is not just the way I want it to be.

Paul wrote in Philippians that he’d learned the secret to being content in every situation.  He suffered beatings, imprisonment, shipwrecks, sleepless nights.  He was near death countless times.  His circumstances were FAR from being just right.  But he’d learned. . .God had taught Him through these hardships, through thorns, through lessons that would be impossible to forget, that the goal of this life isn’t to live as comfortably as we can.  The goal isn’t to amass wealth and sleep well and have the “perfect” house, car, body.  The goal is to know Him who sacrificed everything out of love.  The goal is to be like Him, to realize how He loves us and to let Him teach us.  Even when it hurts.  Even when things aren’t just right.  He is there, working it all out for our good when we truly love Him.  When we let go.

And wouldn’t you know, He finally took the thorn out. . .for now.  My son and I are finally sleeping, and it’s not because of anything I did.  Believe me, I tried every method of getting my baby to sleep, and I tried tons of ways to get myself to be able to fall asleep.  Nothing worked but God. . .He knew just when I’d learned, truly, that His grace was enough.  He knew when it was written on my heart so that I wouldn’t forget it. . .so that when the next trial comes, I can look back and see His work and know that He will sustain me through it all!

(notso) Great Expectations...part 1: Labor

Life is full of expectations, large and small.  We expect certain things from ourselves, from others.  I think that a lot of our heartache and conflict can be a result of these expectations.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying that we should lower our expectations.  Not at all.  I'm simply pointing out a fact.  Even when our expectations are just what they should be, when they're not met, it is disappointing.  It hurts.

And then there are times when our expectations are WAY off.  And that is where I begin the story of my beautiful son's entrance into the world.

There was a time when I was afraid of labor. . .the first, oh, maybe four months of my pregnancy to be exact.  I'd watched a video on natural childbirth.  You could just see the pain on the woman's face.  It scared me.  I'd also watched a video of a woman giving birth with medication, an epidural, and though her labor seemed much less painful, I wasn't going to do that.  Oh no.  I was going the all natural route. I would just grit my teeth and bear it (though I was thinking this through tears of fear)!

Well, I switched from an OB to a midwife (since I figured midwives were more supportive of my drug-free labor decision), and the midwife suggested a water birth.  I liked water.  I was a swimmer in high school, and water has always had a calming effect on me.  That said, I agreed to the extra lab tests necessary to be able to do the water birth and went home and watched this video.  Watch it, or you won't know why I was suddenly unafraid of childbirth!  Seriously, my fears were "washed" away (sorry I couldn't resist the play on words), as I watched this woman, so calm and relaxed, deliver her child naturally in a tub.  From that day on, I imagined my labor and delivery was going to be the same.  I figured that all of the stories about excruciating pain were just exaggerations.  I had a high pain tolerance, and I envisioned myself as some kind of amazon woman who could handle anything.  When people would exclaim things like "Wow, it looks like you might have an 8 pound baby," I was not worried.  My body was meant to do this.  My baby was just going to slip out (okay, maybe with a little pushing, but nothing too exhausting).  I remained in this blissful state until July 7th, 2012, and so begins my labor story.  I'll keep it as short and as sweet as possible:

I went to see a midwife on my due date, July 6th.  I was soooo ready to meet my son!  I did not want to go past my due date.  I'd been seriously nesting (including laying laminate floor by myself in our upstairs bedroom the week before), and I had to be ready to go any day!  I was seriously disappointed when she told me I was only about a centimeter dilated; however, she offered to "strip my membranes" (sounds harsh...it was), and since I was so anxious to meet baby, I said "OK!"  She said it might not work but that it was possible I could go into labor that evening.  Well, I started having contractions about an hour later at 4 pm.  They hurt, but they weren't so bad that I became nervous or anything. They just felt like period cramps, times 10!  They were only coming about 7-8 minutes apart, and I was in denial that I was actually in labor.  We decided to go out to dinner with friends, during which I kept having to close my eyes and breath through these "mild" contractions.  I felt bad that I couldn't pay attention to the conversation, but I remember telling everyone that "if this really is labor then I don't think it will be so bad!"

Fast forward about six hours.  I'm in bed, trying to sleep, but these contractions keep coming every seven minutes on the dot!  They were starting to get more painful.  I couldn't sleep.  AT ALL.  I was awake all night timing these things, still telling myself that this wasn't labor.  When my hubby woke up the next morning, we decided to kill time and go get some coffee at Barnes and Noble.  I don't know why, but I was still in denial.  I still didn't think that I was in labor, even though now they were coming every five minutes.  I had no idea that this would be my last child-free latte.  If I'd known I might have savored it a bit longer ;-)  When we got home they were hurting pretty bad.  We called our friends to borrow an exercise ball, hoping it would help with the pain.  It didn't really.

Finally, we decided to call the hospital, though I was sure they would tell me to wait.  Surprisingly, they said to come in.  "Really?"  I thought.  I almost didn't pack a bag.  I figured they'd send us home once we got there.  We walked in and they asked if I still wanted to do the water birth.  I enthusiastically said that I did so they ushered us into the room with the big tub.  Sadly though, I was still only 1-2 centimeters dilated.  Now I was really convinced I'd be sent home, but since my contractions were so close together, they decided I should stay for a couple of hours to see if any progress would be made.  Those two hours were an eye opener.

For some reason, during those two hours, my "period cramp" contractions turned into something else altogether. . .something more along the lines of knives shredding the inside of my body to pieces.  Loud, moaning sounds were emanating from me even though I swore to myself I wouldn't cry, scream, or moan.  I think I eventually probably screamed, I'm not sure.  After two hours the midwife checked again...only two centimeters!  What!?  At this point a nurse suggested I get in the tub to see if it would help to relax me.  She was so nice, not like the other nurse who told me to "stop fighting it" and "all women have to do this."  That nurse left me with an enormous bruise on my arm that lasted three weeks (from the IV), and thankfully she was only there for a few minutes.  They must have sensed that I wasn't in the mood to be told to "stop fighting it."  Anyway, poor Bri, the nice nurse.  By the time I got in the tub I was asking for pain meds.  Now, you can't do a water birth if you have an epidural, so after about an hour they came back with some IV meds.  Sure they relaxed me...in between contractions.  They really did nothing during them.  Not too long after that I was in so much pain that, in my delirium, I was asking to be "put to sleep."  My dear husband, who knows me so well, understood that I meant "put me to sleep" in the what-they-do-to-sick-pets way and not the what-they-do-in-surgery way.  Sure I laugh at it now. . .

I needed the epidural.  I wasn't going to make it and after being at the hospital for seven hours and in labor for 29 hours, they finally stuck the needle in my back and boy did it feel good!  Despite the fact that part of me felt like I was failing for not doing it the "natural" way and whatever, I was so relieved to get some relief.  To make a long story short, things progressed pretty quickly after that and I needed another "boost" of medicine because after two more hours I was at 8 centimeters and the drugs were wearing off!  By the time they came back to give me another jolt, I was at 10 and ready to start pushing.  They said I might not be able to feel the contractions if they gave me more juice, but I said "give it to me!"  They did.  I could still feel the contractions and 45 minutes later, at 1 a.m on July 8th, 2012 after somewhere around 33 hours total, Samuel was born (on dry land)!

Things didn't go the way I had planned.  Labor was definitely not what I'd expected.  I hadn't met my own expectations.  But the love and joy and amazement that I felt when I saw my son for the first time exceeded anything I could have ever imagined or expected!  That moment is indescribable, so I'm not going to even attempt to convey its awesomeness!  I knew then that it didn't matter how Sam got here.  It didn't matter if it was all natural, if I'd had all the drugs they could offer, or if I'd had to have a C-section.  All that mattered was that he was here.  He was perfect, and, like everyone tells you, you forget all about the pain the moment your baby is finally in your arms.

stay tuned for part 2:  I'm thinking of calling it "new mom or walking zombie."