I'll Be Watching You

Every breath you take and every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take, I'll be watching you
Every single day and every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay, I'll be watching you

This song by the police has always creeped me out. I mean no one wants a stalker, right? And yet curiously, I find myself these days with my very own stalker, so to speak. Granted, he is far less creepy, but no less scary. He is my 6 month old son and he's entered the staring stage. He holds my gaze indefinitely and watches my every move. Literally, every breath I take, every move I make, he IS watching me. Hence the scary part. His formidable young mind and heart is witness to how I spend my time, how I talk to people in the grocery store, how I talk about people when they're not present, how I interact with my husband and my friends, and just about everything else I do with my time and energy. He hears and sees it all and while it may not all be registering yet in that 6 month old brain, he is taking it all in somehow. I've never had someone who watches my every move before. It's a daunting responsibility. I expect I will have to admit some mistakes and make some apologies to him. But for now, what better accountability to challenge me to live true to who I am and what I claim to believe, than a curious, attentive to every detail, cute-as-can-be, lil stalker?!!

Same Season, New Meaning

The holiday season has almost come and gone already and I've been meaning to write this post for the last 4 weeks! Regardless of what holiday you celebrated or how you celebrated it, you probably couldn't help but notice the carols streaming, homes lit up with lights, and car after car (or here in CO, SUV after SUV) passing by with some type of evergreen strapped to it's roof. In our house, we celebrated Christmas and the birth of Jesus, and thus we find ourselves during the last month, in the season of Advent. It is a season of anticipation, one of waiting and one of hope. In English, those are two separate verbs, but in Spanish, one verb, Esperar, means both to wait and to hope. And it makes sense, because what is waiting without hope and hoping without waiting is not really hope at all. And as we prepared for this season, I couldn't help but be reminded of this time last year, when I was waiting with much hope for my sweet son to arrive. And now he his here and he is more wonderful than I could have ever hoped for, definitely worth the wait!


Ben experienced his first look at giraffes and elephants on our recent stroll through the zoo lights. While he was totally fascinated by all of the bright lights, he gave the real animals mixed reviews. Well, actually he cried at the sight of them. We're thinking he was a bit overstimulated. I mean, who wouldn't be...large crowds, christmas music playing, bright lights everywhere, giant moving animals, and one very loud screeching bird. He also made his first venture up onto Santa's lap, again perhaps a little stunned by the big old dude in the red suit, but it made for a great picture.
More important to us than the lights and santa and cookie baking however, are the traditions of receiving a new ornament to capture the year, the reading of the Christmas story, the practice of choosing someone special to serve in some way and give of our resources to, and the small actions that bring us together as a family.


I'm a big fan of traditions for 3 reasons. Traditions are meaningful, flushing out the values most important to us. They are intentional, calling us to pause, focus, and reflect, lending new meaning to everyday moments. And traditions are a great vehicle to pass down those things that are of value to a family. My family had countless Christmas traditions growing up and we are looking forward to incorporating many of those into our family's Christmas. For the first year ever, we celebrated Christmas where we live, in our own home, allowing us to introduce Ben to our Christmas traditions. I'm sure he won't remember them from this year, but as time goes on, hopefully he will grow to love these traditions along with new ones that will probably develop over the years.



The presence of Ben in our lives introduces new layers of meaning to words often associated with this season, like joy, love, peace and hope. The way he laughs without inhibition at the simplest of things, like when I lift my coffee mug up in the air, gives new meaning to the word 'joy' for me.
The sense of comfort and rest I feel while rocking him to sleep lends new meaning to the word 'peace.' I can't explain the love I feel for him and the gratitude that fills me when I look at him asleep in my arms. And I have great hope for the boy and man he will grow up to be. I believe that the characteristics of the Creator are reflected in the created and because of Ben, my whole perception of God and what it means to hope in him, has been expanded and deepened this season. And all of this has made for a very Merry Christmas!

The Giving of the Thanks

A week ago today, Ben enjoyed his first thanksgiving meal, sort of... As we, big people, devoured the gravy-laden turkey, marshmallow-covered yams, and pumpkin pie, Ben was eyeing our every bite, attempting to grab our arms and forks. So, we decided it was time for him to have his own thanksgiving feast, something other than the usual 'mommy milk.' In the land of Baby, this is known as the introduction of solids, if you can even call them that. We started with whole grain rice cereal, but I added so much mommy milk that that sloppy brown mess could have been sucked up a straw. But for B, it was a whole new world and a welcomed diversion from straight up mommy milk! He devoured it and kept grabbing the spoon, attempting to feed himself. I wonder where he gets that fierce independence from? Hmmm. He shoved the spoon so far in his mouth that he almost gagged, whining between bites, as he impatiently awaited the next mouthful of that brown goodness. One thing's for sure, B gave his first thanksgiving meal an emphatic thumbs up.

As we went around the table, sharing what we were thankful for this year, it was hard to limit it to just a few things. With so many people around us going through difficult circumstances, we are trying hard to walk each day in a spirit of gratitude, as we have so much to be thankful for. And I'm reminded of that every time I look at my little guy with his face covered in rice cereal, smiling away. Ben, you get my emphatic thumbs up and I am so blessed to have you in my life!

What are you thankful for today??

Best Buy Local - My Shopping Conundrum

Seeing as today is considered the biggest shopping day of the year, I thought this would be the most apperpo day to write about my shopping conundrum, also known as my philosophical see-saw. For those of you that know me, you know that when I was pregnant, I posed a challenge to myself...not to buy a single thing in preparation for B's coming at full price. And I did it! I scoured the internet for sales, special deals, and coupons. I timed my purchases just so I could use 20% off coupons on our biggest items that I bought at that well-known Baby Super Store. I stalked Craigslist for some items and purchased others at our local Kiddy consignment store. Yes, I am a self-admitted bargain shopper. And at the same time, I have some strong (and unwavering, as my husband would say) feelings about quality, safety, ecological consciousness, and supporting local businesses.

Philosophically, I would prefer to buy from mom and pop shops, supporting local people and businesses. When it comes to food, I desire to buy locally grown, organic, unprocessed foods. Hence our plan to join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) in the coming Spring. I not only feel better about eating those foods and feeding healthy and whole foods to my family, but I also believe in supporting our local economy. I hate that when I look at the tag on just about every baby item, or any item for that matter, it reads, "made in China." Having read one too many articles on human trafficking and modern day slavery (to learn more, check out http://www.freetheslaves.net/), and thus developing an awareness of the hideous working conditions and obscenely low wages paid in most foreign manufacturing plants, it pains me to buy things that are made in those countries. And not to mention the safety concerns that I have with buying toys that are made in China, lead paint and all.

So, herein lies my conundrum, I'm trying to be a value shopper while at the same time, living out my values. This proves to be no easy task. Take the purchase of my stroller, for example. This was probably the biggest baby purchase we made, as all my mom friends had advised me saying, if you're going to splurge on one item, make it your stroller, it'll be your lifeline as a mom. So, that is exactly what I did, I bought myself a B.O.B. stroller and I LOVE, with a capital L-O-V-E it, no regrets. However, when it came to that purchase, on one hand, I really wanted to support my favorite local baby store, Real Baby (http://realbabyinc.com/), with this purchase. On the other hand, there was a 20% off sale on all B.O.B. strollers at the outdoor behemoth, whose name I won't mention, but whose initials rhyme with 'bar see pie!' So, therein lay my dilemma...at "Bar See Pie," I could get 20% off, plus add a hefty amount to my dividend of 10% back on all purchases, that you get for being a member of "Bar See Pie." And at Real Baby, I would have had to pay full price, no bonuses or dividends. What's a mom on a budget to do? With some shame, I must tell you, I bought the stroller at "Bar See Pie." And every so often, I stop in at Real Baby to pick up a baby gift for someone or a toy for Ben, one that is not made in China.

When Ben arrived, I quit my full-time job, so that I could stay at home with him, a decision that I have absolutely no regrets about. I love being home with Ben. And even though I am still working part-time as a therapist with my own counseling practice, it is very part-time, so we basically went from 2 salaries down to one, and that has lead to a severe tightening of the purse strings, if you will. So now, I find myself challenged to stick to an even tighter budget while still trying to hold true to my consumption values. So far, I have to take things on a case by case basis. When it comes to some things, I assuage my thrifty side, and for other things, usually food items or baby toys, I splurge on items that are locally grown or made and that uphold a quality that I can feel good about. I think I found my Utopia in cloth diapers! By using cloth diapers and wipes, I am saving bucket-loads of money, while providing B's bum with quality assurance, and in washing them myself, limiting my contribution to the landfills. But when it comes to most other products, it seems you pay more for the eco-friendly, locally grown, locally made items.

Please know that this post isn't an attempt to mount some kind of moral high horse, but rather my attempt to share with you an authentic struggle that comes in to play nearly every day. So, how do I balance different values and do what's best for my family when it comes to buying. In a nutshell, it's the battle of financial values vs. philosophical ones. And as it turns out, today, on this Black Friday, what's best for my family is to stay home with them and not spend a dime!

For all you moms (and dads) out there that can relate to my conundrum and my Best Buy Local struggle, I'd be curious to hear your thoughts, opinions, and ideas, particularly those related to how you balance your buying philosophies and balance getting the best buy with buying local.

Land of the Free and Home of the Brave

Don't fear, this isn't a political post because this isn't a political blog. But on that note, I am beyond glad that the mid-term election is finally over, and with it a welcomed end to the phone calls, door-to-door solicitations, and the altogether awful attack ads. Can I get an amen? Ok, I've said my piece, on to what this post is really about...

So, I used to be brave, pretty fearless really. In fact, growing up, I probably could have used a much bigger dose of healthy fear. It would have spared me multiple trips to the ER, and my parents, a handsome sum in medical bills. Just to put things into perspective for you, I wouldn't have been allowed to play professional football, ya know, if I were a male and weighed about a 100 more pounds and well, had the talent to play pro-ball. Why? Because I've had 6 concussions. It's true. I have bad dreams about waking up one day, and not being able to remember who I am. So, like I said, in my early years, I could have used a little more fear and a little less "determination!"

But somewhere in my early 30s (that's right, I can't claim the "early" part anymore and not afraid to admit it!), I lost my edge, so to speak. It's almost like I woke up one morning and became a worrier. It was bizzare, seeing as I used to guide backpacking trips, ice-climb, run 24 hour races on dark mountain trails, all without a second thought of the risks I was incurring. And then suddenly, activities like playing ultimate frisbee or flying on an airplane suddenly became infused with fear and a tentativeness that I had never known. Where did this come from, I wondered. Somewhat in jest, I answered myself with, 'maybe from all of those concussions, you fool.' Interestingly enough, this significant change in my worry level correlated with getting married. I suppose it hit home that upon meeting the love of my life, my life didn't just include me anymore, rather I was building a life with another person, a life I need to show up for. I feared both something happening to my husband and something happening to me that would prevent me from getting to live out this life with him. And now, with a baby in the picture, you can only imagine the spike my worry-o-meter has taken.

Growing up, we used to drive to Florida every year to visit my grandparents. When it came to water, my parents referred to me as a fish. I loved to swim, whether it be in a pool, a lake or an ocean, I could spend hours splashing around. On those trips to Florida, I especially loved playing in the waves and sun out at Bathtub Beach on Hutchinson Island. Looking back now, I realize how free I was then. Yes, I was free and brave and uninhibited. And it was awesome. Even as an adult in my 20s, I surfed all the time without fear while living in Costa Rica. But like I said, something changed when I got married and my fear seemed to overtake my freedom. As my hubby can attest, on our honeymoon in Hawaii, I practically made him hold my hand the entire time we were snorkelling.

Recently, we took Ben on his first trip to Florida and we ventured out to that same beach of my childhood where I spent so many hours body-surfing and doing flips in the water. Standing on the beach, looking out at the waves, I found myself in a much different state of mind than when I visited there as a kid. I was wondering about what creatures might be lurking beneath the surface and at the same time, I was annoyed with myself for wondering, wishing I could just dive in. We took Ben down by the water and Tom slowly dipped just his feet into the salty blue water. His lower lip bunched up into that fat little ball that's indicative of an impending cry. And then he let it out, informing us that he didn't so much like the feel of that water. But Tom tried a couple of more times and each time, B seemed to feel a little more at ease, almost reaching the point of smiling.

Then it dawned on me that with Ben being so little, Tom and I would have to take turns going into the water. One of us had to watch Ben while the other one of us traipsed out into the big blue. Umm, that meant that if I was to go into the water, I was going to have to go it alone. I honestly, couldn't believe the fear welling up inside me. I felt like such a wuss. I tip-toed in, glimpsing back over my shoulder at my two favorite guys every 5 seconds. Ankles...knees...waist...deep breath...run back to the shore. "Ok, you can do this, Melissa, go back out there," I said, trying to muster up my courage. And then it hit me, I do not want my son to grow up with a mom who is afraid. I don't want to pass that on to him. Yes, I do hope that he has a little more of the healthy fear than I did growing up, but it's the self-limiting, joy-robbing fear that I'm talking about. Yeah, I definitely don't want him to have that.

I want to teach my son what it means to be brave, to try new things, to live free in the moment. So, I have to model that, right? Which meant, I thought to myself, I have to dive into this ocean right now. So, for the sake of my son, I did it, I dove into the ocean and I played out there for a while, like I used to as a kid. And the fear dissipated, replaced by a feeling of freedom. And I liked it...a lot. So now, I wonder what it looks like to model bravery on a daily basis? I know it means trusting God, his presence and his provision on a moment by moment basis, but how does that flush out? Because I want to model for my son what it means to be brave, not the fake 'I'm such a hero' kind of brave and not the stupid, make life-threatening choices kind of brave of my past, but true bravery. Yes, I want my son to grow up in the land of the free and the home of the brave and I don't just mean the US of A.

The Spa Day Trifecta

That's right, Ben completed his first Spa Day Trifecta today. It all began with a little mani/pedi, aka he got his fingernails and toe nails clipped. I declared this first event a success, seeing as it was completed in less than 30 minutes, with minimal squirmage, and sans blood. I tell you, it takes the precision of a surgeon to trim those little suckers! So, once all the little scratch-makers were trimmed, it was on to the hair removal event. No, it was not of the laser or wax method, just the "mommy on the prowl" method. This method can best be explained as mommy scanning B's hands and feet, with the determination of a search and rescue crew, to locate any of mommy's or Sami's (the dog) hairs gone rogue, both of which pose serious threat of another hair tourniquet (see previous post entitled, "The Hair Tourniquet - Love Deeply, Hold Loosely"). Four little culprits and a mess of toe jam later, all unwanted hairs had been successfully removed from the premises of Ben. On to the next and final event of the trifecta, skin/body treatment, including a soak, wrap, and massage. In case I lost you, we're talking about a bath and snuggle in a warm towel, followed by a little infant massage.

Why take on the trifecta in one day? Maybe I just wanted my little man to be clean and groomed. Or maybe I'm secretly craving a good dose of pampering myself, but since that's not in the budget right now, I sought the next best thing, to pamper my little one. Overall, I dare say Ben enjoyed himself, especially since I didn't clip any skin this time during the "mani/pedi." And B definitely took the gold in this trifecta, seeing as I haven't even showered yet today!

Fragility of the Moment

Moments, they come and they go and with my son, they seem to come and go quite frequently. Some moments go like this, we're playing on the floor, singing songs, shaking colorful rattles, smiling, and laughing away. Between all of the natural love I feel for my son and large amounts of oxytocin (aka the love hormone) pumping through my body, the bonding is beautiful and we're "having a moment." And then "it" happens. I'm really not sure what "it" is, except that in a split second, our "moment" is invaded by a storm of unhappiness. Ben will be in mid-laugh and then suddenly, it turns to a whine, then drifts into an all-out cry. And I find myself internally saying, "whoah, whoah, no, no, no crying, no ruining this moment, this was such a good moment we were having...too late, the moment's over." I don't know what causes Ben's mood to flip so quickly, but it happens nearly every day.

Then of course, there are those moments, albeit rare, when I feel on top of things as a mom. The moment likely occurs late morning, when I've been able to accomplish a number of things, like eating breakfast before 9am, getting us out of the house for a walk or run, then back home for some play time, and managed to get a shower and actually...whoahhhh...b-l-o-w d-r-y my hair, all before noon. I'm feeling good, found my rhythm, on top of it, oh yeah! Then, in a flash, before I can do anything to avoid it, Ben's lil tummy decides to give back his last meal, all over my shirt and just blow-dried hair! Sweet moment of feeling "put together," GONE, just like that!

Recently, I went for a walk with a friend and her baby at a nearby park. It was a beautiful colorado fall day, blue skies, bright sun, crisp air. We had a fantastic walk around the lake and when we got back to the parking lot, I was thinking about how much I was enjoying the day and how I just wanted to be outside all afternoon. That's when I noticed it, dark glass all over the parking lot. I thought to myself, "that stinks for someone," then I look up and realize that that someone was yours truly. Someone had busted the window of my car and stolen my purse (yes it was in the car, but yes it was hidden). The "this is such a beautiful, wonderful day" sentiment quickly left and was replaced with "oh my goodness, I'm here by myself with a hungry 4 month old, there's glass all over his carseat, and I have no idea what to do" thoughts.

The feelings of violation and frustration at having to replace everything in my purse aside, I was struck again by how quickly a mood or a moment can change. And I find that I could spend each beautiful moment imagining what awful or frustrating thing might happen to ruin the moment, but then I'd miss all of those beautiful moments. Moments are fragile. I want to be present in and soak in all of the sweetness of each beautiful moment that comes my way. It may flip on a dime, but if I soak them up right, even the worst things that come my way can't steal the beauty of those moments. So, here's to the small, wonderful moments of each day. May we drink them in while they're in front of us!

Wonder-Full

If I had to pick one adjective to describe Ben right now, it would be wonder-full, as in full of wonder. The wonder is found in his beautiful big blue eyes, in the way he gazes at the people around him, locking his eyes with theirs, drinking in the details of each face, emanating unsatiable curiosity. B recently ventured on his first airplane ride. Yes, we went too. As we walked onto the plane, he was wide-eyed, looking at everyone. And of course, everyone was looking at him too, most likely thinking to themselves, "oh, great, a baby. Please oh please don't let him be sitting by me!" Much to our chagrin, he fed and slept at all of the right times. But what surprised us the most, was the fascination and wonder that filled his eyes while he was awake. He swung his little head back and forth, up and down, to catch a glimpse, rather a stare, at each of the people around him. I wonder what he saw when he looked at them. I wonder what he sees when he looks up at me, eyes fixed on my face.

I can't help but think that all too often, I go through my days checking off one to-do item at a time, failing to truly "see" the strangers all around me, or right in front of me, for that matter. And often times, in the check-out lines or at doc appointments, the interaction is "courteous," a formality really. What am I missing when I fail to truly see people, when I don't take the time to really wonder about a person's day, a person's life, what it's like to walk a day in his or her shoes? Sure, I do that with my friends, my family, and my clients. But even then, I can allow silly tasks or thoughts about what to make for dinner, to take precedence and miss really seeing into the heart and soul of the person sitting right in front of me.

People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass themselves without wondering. ~ Augustine

And I ask myself, when did I stop being wonder-full, when it comes to people? Ben, thanks for teaching me yet another lesson. You are truly wonder-full and wonderful all at once! May I be more mindful and full of wonder when it comes to the people right in front of me!

Benjaminese - Finding His Voice

Many of you know that I'm passionate about helping women and kiddos find their voice. Not that I'm not interested in helping men find their voice, it's just not where my experience has been. So, naturally, one of my favorite parts thus far of being a SAHM (stay at home mom...yes, I'm trying to become a little more "with it" when it comes to cyber-mom lingo), is the privilege of helping B discover his personality and his voice. Lately he's been trying out new sounds, much like I try on clothes. Some sounds scare him and he tosses them aside like a an ill-fitting shirt. Other sounds seem to fascinate him and he practices them repeatedly, much like I don my favorite pair of jeans, over and over again. And I listen and repeat those sounds back to him, letting him know I heard him and encouraging him to keep 'talking.' I never thought I could love something so simple, but I do. I always seem to feel the need to throw in the caveat, 'for now, at least,' but not this time. This time I'll just say, I delight in hearing my lil B test out his voice!

His personality seems to be unfolding a little more each day and it's my hope to help him discover the fullness of who God created him to be. I hope to help him discover the curiosity and wonder that his mind is capable of, the strength, flexibility, and adventure that his body is capable of, and the deep, brave love that his heart is capable of. I look forward to witnessing him begin to express more and more who he is, what he's thinking, and what he's feeling. I want to empower him to use his voice to express himself. Now, I know what some of you veteran moms and dads might be thinking, 'just you wait, Melissa, oh he will express himself alright!' I know, I know I will face those moments when he 'uses his voice' to throw a tantrum in the middle of a store and to proclaim, 'but mommy, i weally weally weeeeeeally want dat new Thomas da Twain toy. yew gotta get it fer me'...and when I say no, 'but mommy pweeeeeeease...it's not fair, yew'r so mean mommy, (and possibly the dreaded words...) I hate yew mommy.' And I anticipate the mortifying moments when he asks someone if she has a baby in her tummy when she doesn't or spouts out the word, 'breast' in the middle of a restaurant! I never said I will always like what comes out of his mouth!

I'm confident that there will be countless times where I'll find myself less than thrilled with how he chooses to use his voice or what he expresses (but I'm sure they will make for good blogging material!). But hopefully along the way, we'll teach him not only to use his voice, but also to honor his parents and to respect and love other people. We'll do our best. We'll make mistakes. And so will he. But I dare to say that I'd rather have a child that knows who he is and has the courage to express what he thinks, feels, and believes, than one who lives in fear of doing so.

So for now, Ben, have at it. In the words of the renowned philosopher...Madonna, express yourself!

Spit Happens

...it sure does. And in this house, spit happens perhaps more frequently and with a bit more gusto than is common! Though, I'm now convinced that all the spit up is harder for me to handle than it is for Ben. ***If you are eating or just ate, you may want to read this another time, just a suggestion! The other day, I had recently fed Ben and we were getting ready to take Sami, our sweet and needy retriever, for a walk. I was getting Ben all cozy in the Ergo, in preparation for said walk, when all of the sudden IT happened. IT being a giant spit storm. IT was copious, IT was chunky, IT was EVERYWHERE. IT was all over the front of Ben, all down the front of me, on my arm, on my chin, in B's hair, and coating the Ergo. Sick, I know. Sorry for such a graphic description, but how else could I convey to you the paralyzing panic that I felt in that moment! :-) So, truthfully I felt paralyzed, I couldn't move. I didn't know what to do next or where to begin the process of cleaning IT up. I just stood there, frozen, covered in IT. That's when I looked down at Ben, who was also covered in IT, only to discover that he was looking up at me with the biggest, sweetest smile on his face, as if to say, 'it's ok mommy, I actually feel better now.' I couldn't help but smile too, and well, reach for my camera, of course! Though, I decided that the actual pic of when IT happened, while good for documenting purposes, was a little much to post!

It's incredible to me how much I learn, each and every day, from this little being who is so dependent on me. It seems that as adults, we tend to bottle things up inside, wanting to keep all of our weaknesses, all of our messiness to ourselves. It's all too easy to don a facade of perfection, like we've got it all together, when really there's a whole lotta gurgling goin' on inside. And even if we try to stuff it down, try to hide it, try to keep it all inside, it's eventually going to make it's way out and it sure isn't gonna be pretty when it does! I mean, who wants to vomit one's stuff all over someone else, or worse yet, be the one vomited all over! It's a lot less messy if we let it out a little bit at a time, not to mention that it's freeing to do so. So, on that one spitty day in September, my son reminded me how much it does me good, to let some things out on a regular basis and to let people see some of my not-so-perfect sides (of which there are plenty). After all, that's real life, and in real life, spit happens.

The Hair Tourniquet - Love Deeply, Hold Loosely

Murphy's Law - when the husband is away, crazy things will happen. This past week, Tom was in Costa Rica for a work trip. At one point, there was a possibility that Ben and I might tag along and make a vacation out of it, that is until we realized we need a new furnace and a.c. Ahh the fun of responsibility and the tough choices it brings. I digress. So, it was just a typical Monday morning and I was feeding Ben. I should first tell you that I often use feeding times as an opportunity to do a little grooming for Benny Boo, things like the cleaning of the eye buggars (sp?), aspirating of the nose, trimming of the nails, and cleaning of the hands and feet. I really have to stay on top of the hands and feet because I've got a little clencher on my hands. Ben clenches his hands and feet so much that a bit of sweat jam tends to build up in there. Sorry for the graphic description, but it is what it is, and it needs to be cleaned.

So, picture it with me if you will...I am sitting there, cleaning out lil B's feet, when I notice what appears to be a cut around the end joint of his middle toe. It looks like a deep cut and the end of the toe is redder than the other toes. I take a closer look at the underside of the toe and my best guess is that a hair somehow wrapped itself around B's toe, perhaps weeks ago, and has been tightening around it ever since. I am at my parents' house at the time and I show my dad. He gets out his magnifying glass (who just happens to have a magnifying glass?! My dad, I guess.) and takes a peek. "Yup," he says, "it looks like a hair is wrapped around his toe joint and it's in there deep." My dad holds Ben, while I attempt to get at it with my finger nail. No luck and it only launches lil B into a scream fest. Poor little guy.


So, what do I do? I call the pediatrician and I feel slightly silly doing it. But, I quickly feel normalized when the nurse says, "oh, a hair tourniquet." And I say, "Oh you have a name for this? It must mean he's not the first kid to have this happen." She assures me that he isn't, but seems very concerned about the possibility that the hair is cutting off B's circulation and due to the cut, possibly causing an infection in his toe. She wants me to bring him in that afternoon. I ask if I can bring him the next morning, but she is pretty adamant that he needs to come in today. Of course, the only afternoon of the entire week that I had something scheduled was this afternoon. I have two clients scheduled, one at 3:30 and one at 5:45. My dad had been planning to watch B at his house (40 min from the doc's office) while I would go to see my clients. And I am looking forward to reading my book in peace, which I never get to do, at my office during the hour between my two clients. No, such luck. The doc can see us at 4:40, so I decide to "mom up" and take Ben and my dad to my office with me. My dad, being the champ that he is, watches Ben in my office waiting room while I see my first client. Then we hop in the car, and zip over to the pediatrician's office. Fortunately, the doc has the where-with-all to have me stand up by B's head, while my dad holds his little foot. The doc puts B under an operating lamp and takes out the tiniest little instrument I've ever seen. Poor lil Ben is yelling at the top of his lungs and I'm doing my best not to burst into tears, seeing him in so much pain.

Thankfully, I do not see what the doc is doing to remove the miniscule hair that was causing so much pain. My dad said she had to cut his skin even more to remove it. Once she's done removing the hair, she shows it to me and says, "Just be glad it wasn't wrapped around another little appendage in his mid-section, we get those too." I gasp and think to myself, 'you better believe I'll be on the lookout for that!' I can't even imagine the pain it would inflict to remove a hair from THERE. So, my dad, Ben and I hop back in the car and zip back to my office where dad watches Ben again, while I see my second client. Needless to say we're all quite exhausted when we got home that night.

And there you have the story of the Hair Tourniquet!

For those of you that have known me for any length of time, you know that my life's motto or mantra or whatever you want to call it, the phrase which I desire to live out in my daily life, is Love Deeply, Hold Loosely. At different times in my life, one part of the phrase has been more challenging to live out than the other. But generally speaking, I struggle more often with the 'Hold loosely' part. And now that I have a child, I find it more challenging than ever to hold loosely. But I got to witness firsthand what happens when something wraps itself around something too tightly. It cuts off the circulation, it stops the life from flowing, and it causes pain.

Right now, it's incredibly easy to love my son deeply, of course he can't yet talk back to me in a sassy tone! But it just feels natural to love him. Ah, but the holding loosely part, not so easy. I just love him so much, I want the best for him, and I want to protect him. Yet, I know that I don't want to be a helicopter mom who controls my son's every move, something I will evermore refer to as a 'mom tourniquet!' I don't want to hold my grasp on him so tightly that he doesn't feel the freedom to be himself, to live fully. I want him to be who he was created to be and I desire to let him try new things, succeed, fail, make mistakes, and be there for him when he falls down. I want to help him navigate life, rather than plan his life. I realize that loving him deeply will often mean letting him go...whether that's 2 feet away or 2000 miles away to college. I've got a lot of growing to do though, I already tear up every time I see a commercial where a mom is sending her baby off to kindergarten for the first time. I'm so not ready to go there. So, for now, I will practice holding loosely, empowering my son to live fully into who he was created to be, whatever that is and wherever that takes him...and I'll just hope that it won't be back to the doc's office anytime soon! Easier said than done, right?!

For The Love...

You know that saying, 'oh, for the love...'? It's often directed at another person and used to express frustration, perhaps with a dash of impatience. In my mind, it could be equated with other phrases like, 'C'MON, seriously?' or 'Are you for real?' It seems like it's usually used in conjunction with trying to get someone to do something, 'oh for the love of all that's good, would you just do xyz already!' So, for those of you that know me, you know that up in that crazy brain of mine resides a fascination with semantics. I often find myself hearing a word or a phrase and thinking, sometimes to myself and sometimes, (unfortunately) outloud, 'what does that really mean?'. So, I hear that phrase, 'for the love,' and I think, for the love of what? and what might you do for the love of that thing or that person? If you don't think I'm making sense right now, it's ok, hang tight, it's a stormy place up in that brain of mine.

In the time known as B.B. (Before Ben), I couldn't have imagined how much I would love this tiny being who's 100% dependent on me for his every need. Think about it, what other relationship do we engage in, other than the love of a child, in which we'd pour ourselves out in love without ever expecting anything in return? I mean, I've let friendships go because I reached a point where I felt like I was doing all of the initiating and the effort wasn't being reciprocated. But with a child, it feels so different. I feel like I would do just about anything over and over again, unreciprocated, 'for the love of Ben.' Now, I'm positive that that will be tested many a time when he starts talking back to me or able to run in the opposite direction of where I'm asking him to go, but for now, it's how I feel.

People say that babies do nothing but eat, sleep, and poop, yet my husband and I agree that that they do so much more. It turns out that they actually DO give so much in return for our love that I didn't expect. I experience so much joy in the way he nuzzles his face into my neck. And I love when he rests his head on my shoulder and for just a moment, releases his tiny clenched hands, as if to say, 'I feel safe here.' There is so much beauty in the sweet smell of his hair and the softness of his skin. And it melts me every time I witness his wide, toothless smile that exudes abundant joy in response to the simplest of things, like me waving a pen in front of him or a zerbert from his daddy. I admire the silent curiosity that reaches out from his big, bright blue eyes, as he takes in every corner, shape, and color that his new world presents. And as I watch him drift off into a peaceful sleep, I can't help but feel peace myself (and not just because it means the crying has stopped, but I'm not gonna lie, that's pretty wonderful too!). And I didn't ask for or expect any of that, it's just a total gift!

The Bible encourages people to have faith like a child, and I've spent a good deal of time wondering about what that might actually look like in day to day life. I think I understand it a little better now that I have a child, but I'm confident that I still have a great deal to learn about that from my son in the coming years. When I look into those big, bright blue eyes of his with their gaze fixed upon me, I wonder what he sees when he looks back at me. I can only hope that he sees a mom who is learning, and learning a lot from him, to be filled with faith like a child, pure and unconditional love, deeper trust in people and God, and uninhibited joy, like that which my son exudes.

Yeah, my baby definitely gives back much more than I ever could have imagined he would. But that's just a big, fat, huge added bonus, a total gift. It's not why I do what I do for him. I will change stinky diapers, wash those stinky diapers, fold his little clothes, read him books, sing silly songs, talk in a strangely high and sing-songy voice, rock him to sleep, make funny faces, continuously wipe his spit off of my arm and neck and leg and hair, eat nothing but turkey, squash, and rice for 3 weeks trying to determine what he's allergic to, perform the high risk, surgery-like task of clipping his tiny fingernails, and walk and walk and walk until the crying stops and my arms feel like they're going to fall off. It's a no brainer. Yes, I will do all of these things in a heartbeat...for the love, the love of Ben. And at this point, I'm just thankful for the little ways he communicates love back to me, but I'm not asking for anything in return. That being said, if he did want to start sleeping through the night, I certainly wouldn't be opposed!!!

Single Track Vernacular

In my life B.B. (Before Benjamin), I had no idea the expansion my vocabulary would undergo once a pregnancy commenced. Who knew that along with baby comes an entirely new language. And like it is with learning a new language, it could be a full-time job studying all of the words and their meanings that can be found in Baby Land. There are the words, phrases, and acronyms that you want and hope to hear, like 'BFP (big fat positive),' 'doubling HCG levels,' 'fully effaced,' and 'great APGAR score.' And then there are the dreaded words that you hear, but wish you hadn't, like 'small for gestational age,' 'induction,' 'non-stress test,' and 'posterior position.'

And then of course, there are the words which represent the slew of items that accompany baby, most of which conveniently seem to start with B. There's the Bassinet, the Boppy (pictured at left with the binky!),the Bottles, the Bumbo (pictured above right), the Bibs, the Binky (ok, so it's a pacifier, but that's what we call it in our house), the Blankets, and my favorite, the Bargains (they don't so much accompany baby, but they do make my day!).

Oh and how could I forget, the most famous Baby B word of all, the Breast (not pictured for obvious reasons!). I don't know about your house, but in my house, this word opened the door to a whole new world of puns, mostly courtesy of my hubs. We're driving on a trip and Baby Ben (yes, we thought we'd stick to the B theme when we named him!) is growing hungry. Hubs says, 'oh we better pull over at the Breast Area!' And Hubs also refers to 'them' as Ben's Breast Friends. My addition to our new found vernacular includes the 'Dine n Dash.' This occurs when I pack everything up I need for an outing, then feed the lil bambino, and then proceed to dash out the door, attempting to maximize the time we have before my good lil eater gets hungry again! But my favorite one of them all has to be the term my hubs coined and likes to announce just about every time it's time for Ben to eat..."Benny-Boo, the Breastaurant is now open, today's dinner specials include..."

It's kind of funny how once you give birth, all inhibitions, in writing and life in general, go out the window! And yes, since Baby Ben has arrived, we've learned a lot of new words and made some up too. You might say we've developed a single track vernacular, all falling under the general category of that one, all-encompassing addition to our lives...Baby.

Confessions of a Mountain Mama

This past weekend we took Ben, who is now 2 months old, camping for the first time and much to our enjoyment, he seemed to love it. Thus, we did too. And while I feel like I could write about how cute he looked all bundled up at night or how well and long he slept, or how he seemed to thoroughly enjoy hanging out in his mini tent during the day, there is something entirely different on my heart today. It has everything to do with what was awakened in me this weekend. It's the same thing that's awakened in me every time I find myself in the mountains or in nature in general, perhaps just a little more this time. The mountains and the water are the two places where I feel most alive and most connected to my Creator. You see, I'm a mountain girl at heart, trapped in a suburban world. And while there is of course, absolutely nothing wrong with the city or the burbs, living there for me is like taking a fish and expecting it to live on a playground. It feels like I'm not being toally authentic to who I am.

Though,I do have to acknowledge that I love sampling food dished up from around the world at hip local restaurants, and I enjoy encountering different cultures and languages, and I definitely appreciate the arts and sporting events that come with living in a big city. And I'm not gonna lie, I have come to love the convenience that comes with living in the burbs. I have 3 grocery stores and a target within 5 minutes, all of which I can and have walked to on occasion. And there is every chain store imaginable within 10 minutes of my home, including 2 Home Depots, 2 Lowes, 2 Costcos, Babies R Us, Bed, Bath & Beyond, Michaels, and not to mention, 5 Starbucks. I really do appreciate the convenience that comes with this life, especially now that I have an infant, who seems to have identified his ideal timing for a cryfest as about half way through the shopping excursion, when the cart is half full and there's no turning back. And I do have bike paths and 3 lakes within walking distance of my house, as well as a view of the mountains, so what is it that I'm longing for? Is this just a case of me wanting more, wanting what I don't have? Because I readily admit that I've been guilty of that from time to time. But I think this is different. There is something different about this pull to the mountains. And I'm still asking myself questions about my longing, while at the same time working hard to remain grateful for what I do have, to enjoy where I am and the life I am living in the here and now.

But one thing I do know is that I most come alive while hiking through a field of wildflowers, biking up a mountain pass, running through the woods on an undulating mountain trail with my sweet dog, working in a garden, or writing beside a gentle stream. Yes, I love the opportunity to have an active, outdoor lifestyle that mountain living affords. Yet that can also be had while living in the city, it just looks different. So, it's more than just the active lifestyle I'm after. It seems there is a certain type of simplicity that comes with mountain living, a simplicity I long for, perhaps because I have difficulty achieving it here in the city. There is also a connection with creation and my Creator that is, for me, more easily nurtured the deeper into nature I live. This explains why I loved my summers spent as a mountaineering guide in the Medicine Bow Range of Wyoming and in the San Juans here in Colorado. While I certainly don't wish to be doing that now, there are elements of that life that I sorely miss. I know that I'm my most creative, most calm, most at rest, and I feel most beautiful and most alive when I'm in the nature.
In the 3 years that Tom and I have been married, we've been fortunate enough to travel to some incredible places, mostly thanks to Tom having business in those locales. We've visited Seattle, Vancouver, New Orleans, and Australia. But my favorite vacation, other than our honeymoon, the one where we backpacked along the beach in Olympia National Park and then proceeded to drive down the coast of Washington and Oregon, camping wherever we felt like stopping along the way. We caught fish and enjoyed it for dinner, accompanied by mussels that we had traipsed into the water to retrieve ourselves. We dined on fresh oysters that we let perch over the fire to crack open. We met a couple who lends their land out to campers and who allowed us to pick fresh veggies and berries from their garden to eat with the fish we had caught. We spent an entire day sitting out on a dock, casting our crab nets and reading books. We later gnoshed on the crabs we caught by the light of the moon.
I know, I know, it was vacation and real life isn't like vacation. But it's a vacation that I can't wait to repeat with our kids some day. And I also know that when I think about my favorite memories, from childhood to the present, the majority of them are of sweet times spent with people I love, outdoors in some capacity.

So, what keeps us from mountain living then? For starters, we tried to sell our place last year and it didn't sell. I trust it wasn't the right time, but I believe the time will come. And for now, Tom's job keeps us here, as well as our desire to be near my parents, our friends, and our church. So, for now we stay put, trying to enjoy what we have, taking walks along the lakes and trails nearby, and taking excursions to the mountains to play in all the ways we love.

And while I still can't put my finger on exactly why I want to move to the mountains and what it is about mountain living that is an ever-magnetic pull for me, I know that I do. And I expect that one day we will. It's in both of our hearts, it's who we are in our core. So, we keep listenting to that, keep dreaming, keep working to live congruent to who we are and what we believe. And in the meantime, we give much thanks for what we have and for the fact that the newest addition to Team Meuzelaar seems just at home in the mountains as we are.

I Spy A Newbie Mom

Yup, that newbie mom would be me. Today you could have spotted me from a mile away as my "newbieness" was screaming! It all started this morning with our goal of the day: attend Stroller Strides class (a workout class for moms with their strollers and of course, their babies) for the first time. Class starts at 9:30 with a desired arrival time of 9:15, and it's 20 minutes from home. Problem #1: Ben and I wake up at 8:30, mind you we were up at 6 am and just happened to fall back asleep around 7. So we wake up and are supposed to be out of the house in 25 minutes...right! Maybe a veteran mom could pull this off, but not me. There I was flying around the house trying to pack the diaper bag, get myself breakfast, brush my teeth, change Ben's diaper, and get him dressed. And then finally, "The Dine n Dash," where I feed him and we dash out the door, in hopes that he makes it through the class before he gets hungry again and starts screaming. Well, we managed all of that but the problem was, we walked out the door at 9:10 am...oops. The whole way there I was thinking, 'why bother, we're not going to make it there,' yet I kept driving. And then I realized that I had forgotten 3 things, my phone, the directions to where I was supposed to go afterwards to pick something up, and probably the most crucial, I forgot to pump which I always do first thing in the morning after I feed him. Moms, you know the conundrum I created for myself with this one. But, as we were almost to the park, I figured there was no turning back at that point.

As we pulled into the parking lot at the park, I see a line full of moms and their strollers starting to walk away from the parking lot. I frantically pull the stroller out of the car, put Ben and the carseat in it, grab my water, a blanket, and a pacifier (I declare the remembrance of these items as my success of the day!) and we start running over in "wait wait, don't leave without us" fashion, trying to catch up with the stroller parade. Huffing and puffing, I fall into line and introduce myself and Ben to the instructor. I quickly find myself doing all kinds of hopping, kicking, plyometric-ky type stuff, things that kicked this post-partum mama's booty! Then came the dance steps, oh no. We're talkin jazzercise type stuff, folks. Mind you, I was tomboy as a child, a soccer and softball player, never setting foot in a dance studio. Picture it, I'm stumbling over my feet, totally out of sync from the other moms, clapping at all the wrong times. To put it into perspective for you, I was far worse than Kate Gosselin on Dancing With the Stars! Then it was on to the exercises with the stretchy band thingy. 'Phew,' I thought to myself, 'we're done with the dance moves.' Little did I know that we were going to incorporate songs into the stretchy band exercise portion, so as to keep the kiddos entertained. Turns out I don't quite remember the words to "I'm a little teapot" or "I've been workin' on the railroad!" I found myself wanting to fake it by doing the ole "watermelon watermelon watermelon" trick, but you can't really do that when the moms next to you can actually hear what you're singing. So, there I was singing every other word or so and tipping my spout at all the wrong times. Oh well, I suppose I will learn those too!

Oh and about half-way through the class, I realized that the buckle that secures the carseat into the stroller was unbuckled. I gasped when I realized it, mortified the other moms might have noticed the red straps hanging down from either side of the stroller. But what could I do at that point, other than non-chalantly secure the strap and be very grateful we hadn't gone down any hills in which the carseat could have fallen out. Yup, I am a newbie mom. I'm provided with daily opportunities to laugh at myself. I make mistakes and I learn from them. I am still figuring out my routines and developing my "don't leave the house without it" checklist. And in the meantime, I take the words of Amelia Earhart to heart, "And here, by the grace of God, go I."

The Beauty of Adaptation

Recently, I was reflecting on my first weeks of pregnancy, and remembering the thoughts and fears that flooded my mind when I realized that I was actually going to have a baby. They went something like this: How will I know what I need for a baby? How will I know how to use all that stuff that comes with a baby? What do I do with said baby after we bring him home from the hospital? How will I know what to dress him in? How will I survive on such little sleep? So many questions, so many unknowns, as we set out toward a foreign new land...parenthood.

And here we are, Benjamin is now 2 months old as of this week. And though we are still learning so much about him, given that he changes so quickly, the heaping pile of questions seemed to have answered themselves. We figured things out. By talking to other parents, by reading books, by googling the heck out of every question we had, we learned and we adapted. With the help of friends, we figured out what to register for. We quickly then figured out what to return, what we needed, and what we didn't need. We learned which pacifiers Ben does and does not like, which outfits he's too hot in, and which swaddle blankets he can bust out of in under 10 seconds! We learned by trying, by doing, and by making mistakes.

I am continually amazed that God gave us minds, bodies, and hearts that can encounter a new and foreign situation and turn it into a familiar one. Now, I feel like I could change a diaper with my eyes closed. Two months ago, I was fumbling around trying to remember which end goes in front and trying to figure out how to prevent the little fountain from spraying all over, if you know what I mean. Though I expect the learning to be life-long, it is rewarding to reflect on how much I've already learned about the mommyhood, some things the easy way and some the hard way. And with each foreign territory that becomes familiar, I find my courage growing along with my desire to take on the next challenge! And the next challenge is...camping with a 2 month old and it starts tomorrow! Here goes nothing...and everything!

You Know You've Been In Labor Too Long When...

...You know all the Labor and Delivery nurses by name.
...You've watched the clock strike midnight TWICE during you're labor and you're still only 7 cm.
...Another Father-to-be says to your husband in the hallway, "You're still here? Oh man."
...You've consumed approximately 28 popsicles and you've changed your mind multiple times as to which is your favorite flavor, rootbeer or banana.
...All other patients' names on the whiteboard have been erased and replaced by new patients' names TWICE and your name is still up there!
...You've seen 6 out of the 7 doctors in your practice (and to think we were so happy to think that the first one was going to deliver our son).
...Your husband asks you what you want to do regarding a medical decision and you respond by saying, "I just want to go home. Seriously, Ben can be born another day, let's just go home."

Benjamin William

If I were to write a book right now, besides the fact that it would most likely be chock full of incoherent sentences from a sleep-deprived mom, I would probably want to title, "What to Expect When You're Expecting...The Unexpected." Yep, there were a lot of unexpecteds with the birth of my son, yet I'm discovering that in every unexpected moment and circumstance, one can find some element of sheer beauty...somewhere.

A little over a week ago on Wednesday, June 30, 2010 at 4:50am, I gave birth to my first son, Benjamin William, weighing in at a mere 5 lbs, 8 ozs and 18.5 inches. Though, he is small in stature, he has already proven that he is mighty in heart. After all, he endured a 45 hour labor. Yup, that was one of the "unexpecteds," and not one that I would wish on anyone else. Another unexpected, was that he made a last minute decision to make his debut in the posterior position (face-up), much to our surprise, which likely contributed to the length of the labor. But wow, I really have no words to describe the sheer beauty of that moment when they placed Ben on my chest. Even though he was covered in blood and goo, greenish and blue in color, and sporting a cone head that was seriously a good 6 inches long, He was absolutely perfect in my eyes. And I have never known a more tender, beautiful moment in my life, with my newborn baby on my chest and my husband by my side. It's fascinating to me that things which might be judged to be disgusting or imperfect by the world's standards, when seen through a lens of love, are found to be absolutely perfect.

While I wondered what it might be like and how I might feel post-delivery, the sheer beauty of holding my son is unexpectedly beyond description.

When Average Is Perfect

I find it fascinating that as pregnant women, at least in this culture, we hope for nothing more than our growing babies to be average. Abnormalities on ultrasounds are not good things and when we're 28 weeks along, we hope to be measuring 28 cm, not 27 and not 29. We hope for our baby to be wigglin around in there enough, but not too much and not too frantically. We hope for a heart rate between 125-160, because that's average and doctors grow concerned if the heart rate is to low or too high. The reality is that when we are growing these little beings in our bellies, average is just perfect.

And then, what happens? From the moment those babies are ushered out into this world, at least this Western, achievement-based world, average suddenly isn't good enough anymore. Moms and dads secretly hope for their child to be the first one smiling and talking and walking. They have dreams about their kids being all-star athletes, world leaders, the one responsible for discovering a cure to a deadly disease. I'm not going to lie, Tom and I have had conversations, mostly in jest about, but conversations none the less about our little guy playing in the world cup someday. And who can blame parents for wanting their kids to be above average, 'heads above the rest?' Parents want the best for their kiddos, they desire to see them reach their full potential, whatever that is and whatever that looks like, right?

And here I sit, sleepless once again at 4:30 am, wishing for my baby boy to be average right now. You see, we had an ultrasound on Tuesday because the doctor was cncerned that I was measuring small. I'm 37.5 weeks and as it turns out, baby's head is measuring 36 weeks, but his belly and femur are measuring 33 weeks. The leg measurement isn't of so much concern to the docs, but the belly one is because it could ('could' being the key word) indicate that mini meuz is not receiving the nutrition he needs in the womb and they might want to get him out sooner than later so he can grow more easily. They are sending us to a Perinatalogist tomorrow (which is technically today since it's 4:30) or Monday to get another ultrasound, a more high-tech ultrasound by a specialist. It could just be that we make small babies, ones with big heads! After all, I was only 5lbs and a few ounces and was born on my due date. And well, Tom, self-admittedly has a big head, literally in circumferance, it's big, extremely good-looking, but big!

And so I sit and wonder about this little being in my belly. I wish I could talk to him and check in to see if he's getting enough to eat. I just want him to be average, in the sense that I just wish for him tobe healthy, to get what he needs. I know that the One who created him knows AND cares, and I trust that. I know that he was knitted with care in my womb and that every little hair on his body is numbered. Yes, I know. And yet I still find myself wanting to make deals with God, like if you just keep him healthy now, I'll never wish for anything more. Right! Number one, I don't believe that's how God works and number 2, it's a complete lie because I know myself and I know that I will be wanting the best for my little guy all the more after he enters this world.

I suppose the key is to let this story unfold, to continue to trust in the one who made this little guy inside me, and to let him unfold as a unique and beautiful person, however average or below average or above average he may be. Easier said than done. I sense another life-long lesson about to begin...

Update on My Sister

So, some of you have been asking about my sister. Thank you. To update you, her son, Connor Michael Brumelle was born at 1:30 am, 6 lbs 13oz, 21 inches. Kacey is recovering well though completely exhausted, as you can imagine. Connor was taken to the NICU initially due to some dropping oxygen and glucose levels as well as something to do with his lungs. Last I talked to her this morning, oxygen and glucose were stabilized and they were still looking into the lung thing, but thought he might be able to spend the night in the room with Kacey and Sean. Sean was able to hold Connor immediately following the c-section, but Kacey has yet to be able to hold him, so I know she is very much looking forward to that moment.

Again, thank you for your thoughts and prayers. Definitely a lesson in BOTH loving deeply and holding loosely!

Holding Loosely...

I should warn you that it's 2:20 am, so if anything in here doesn't make sense, chalk it up to a sleep deprived pregnant woman. Many people who know me well are familiar with my life 'motto,' for lack of a better word, "love deeply, hold loosely." Ever since someone very dear to me passed away, I have attempted to live my life in this way, attempted being the key word. And it seems to be the holding loosely part that often bites me in the you know where. You'd think I'd have gotten it by now with all the practice I've had, but no, there always seem to be more opportunities for growth in this area.

So, why am I writing this at 2 something in the morning? Because I can't sleep. Because my little sister is in the middle of an emergency c-section after one of the most difficult labors I've ever heard of in my life. She's been having relatively strong contractions every 5-10 min apart since last Wednesday at 4:30 a.m. That's right, she hadn't slept for more than 2 hours in 6 days. She finally was admitted to the hospital this morning, but her son just did not want to come out. So, now we await the news of the c-section. And I can't sleep.

People say not to listen to other peoples' birth stories when you're pregnant, especially because some people try to tell you their nightmarish stories, which you just really don't need to hear. But this is my sister, it's in my face, I've been in it for 6 days. And it's left me with a fairly loud reminder that I can hope for things to be a certain way and I should hope for things, but in the end I really must hold loosely to my expectations, not to say that I won't still feel disappointed or confused or sad if things go differently than I had hoped. But it's the difference between holding loosely, recognizing that ultimately, I'm not in control of a lot of things and living under the illusion that I have total control, only to find myself trainwrecked when things don't go as I had hoped. In the former, there is room for the pain and disappointment to be accompanied by joy and new meaning in the alternate outcome, and in the latter, not so much.

The birth of my son is quickly approaching and of course I'm getting lots of practice in holding loosely to the "when" part of that. But let's be honest, I have hopes for the birth, what woman doesn't? I have hopes that I will have an unmedicated, vaginal birth, where I will get to experience just how amazing the human female body is and the beauty of its design in bringing new life into this world. I'm not giving up on that hope, that desire that I have. But as I sit here and wait for the news of my nephew, I'm trying to practice holding loosely to my expectations, convinced that no matter how my little guy enters this world, I will love him deeply.

Today's Top 10

Overall, I can honestly say that I've enjoyed being pregnant. I mean, people are really nice to you, picking things up for you, smiling at you, and "strongly encouraging" you to rest. Women who have never talked to me at church or at Tom's soccer games, have struck up conversations with me, related to the pregnancy of course. At no other time in my life have I felt it to be so legitimate to take a nap and go to bed early. And really, I cannot complain in the least bit, because thus far, I've had a viable, healthy, and relatively easy pregnancy with no complications. So, this list is not meant to be a list of backhanded complaints about pregnancy.

Rather, it's in response to something else. It seems that people have taken it upon themselves to provide me with a good dose of reality as to what's coming next, read 'attempt to scare and depress me out of my mind' with their stories of how difficult and challenging having a kid is. While I don't doubt those things to be true and we are trying to brace as best we can for the upcoming storm, we trust that there are beautiful and wonderful things about having a kiddo too, right? I mean after all, people intentionally have more than one! I think I'm needing to focus on some of the positives too, so that I don't start regretting this decision to have a baby, which would be, umm 9 months too late!

So, in addition to the gift of the babe himself, I thought I'd make a little top 10 list of things I'm looking forward to about NOT being pregnant anymore. Perhaps a little something to hold on to when mini meuz is screaming at the top of his lungs at 3am and nothing seems to soothe him!

10. goodbye heartburn
9. being able to sleep on my back and stomach again
8. not going through a roll of toilet paper a day due to unbelievably frequent urination
7. seeing the bones in my feet again
6. being able to see my feet, reach them, and tie my own shoes again
5. the removal of the constant heater attached to my abdomen
4. being able to run again (eventually) without having to pee my pants 5 minutes into the run
3. not having to awkwardly crawl through the passenger's side of my car to get to the driver's seat because someone parked too close to the driver's side of the car for me and the belly to both get in!
2. the end to random strangers staring at and rubbing my belly while they are attempting to have a conversation with me.

and I'm not going to lie, the #1 thing I'm looking forward to in not being pregnant anymore:

1. the buffet of previously forbidden foods and beverages that I will partake in, including but perhaps not limited to, sushi, red wine (or maybe I should say, more than one glass a week), bleu cheese, very rare filet mignon, every soft cheese imaginable, cookie dough, a mojito, a caesar salad with homemade dressing, a turkey sandwhich, and a cold beer. And my stomach might actually be able to contain most of that when it's not smooshed up against my ribs anymore...woo hoo!

Somewhere In The Middle

So, I woke up this morning and as it turns out, I'm a year older. Yup, it's my birthday. With all of the other impending big events in my life, I almost forgot quite honestly, that is until people started asking me if I had any plans for my birthday. When I think about my birthday this year compared to my birthday last year, it's like night and day. So very much has happened in a year.

At this time last year, we were trying to get pregnant, and on my birthday I got the lovely indicator that a woman gets to inform her that she is indeed NOT pregnant...awesome, what a great birthday gift. I did, however, treat myself to a massage and facial with some birthday money I had received. It was the 2nd facial I've ever had in my life. (I was really pretty much a spa virgin until I got married at which point I was introduced to a whole new world of self-care). So, there I was laying in the chair, perhaps hoping for a little 'your not pregnant but here's a consolation prize' style pampering, when the lady asks me with that 'I'm trying not to judge you but I'm totally judging you' tone to her voice, "when's the last time you plucked your eyebrows?" My response, "uh, well, I've never plucked my eyebrows." Lady Judgment, "oh, yeah, I can tell." And then she launches an all out pain inducing campaign against my face, pokeing and prodding at my face for the next 30 minutes. Seriously lady, it's my freaking birthday. As if I wasn't already feeling like an old, silly, bloated, container of yuck, could she not just humor me with some kind words and some gentle pampering?

I know, boo hoo, right?! And to 'Lady Judgment's' defense, she didn't know all that I was carrying with me that day. But last year's birthday was definitely clouded by unmet desire and this year's birthday, a stark contrast, has been colored by desires met. My sister and I had the privilege of journeying through pregnancy (both healthy pregnancies) together, her due to give birth to her son in a week and me, due to give birth to my son in 4 weeks. My mom moved out here to Colorado last August as the first step in my parents' plan to move to Colorado permanently. They are set to close on their house out here in 2.5 weeks! I am leaving my full-time job in a little over a week, to be a stay at home mom to our son and Tom finished all of his classwork towards his PhD this year. So very much has happened and changed in one year. It's no wonder that my birthday flew under my radar this year.

Not only has so much changed this year, but I feel like there is SO much to be grateful for. But isn't there always so much to be grateful for? Even when our path goes awry from how we imagined it to go, even when circumstances are hard, really hard, and even when desires go unmet, aren't there still things to be grateful for? I'm not at all, suggesting we put on a fake perma-grin and pretend like all is great when it's not. Just the opposite, actually, I'm wishing that in the moment, I could feel what I feel, be it joy, pain, sadness, anger, laughter, excitement, and still acknowledge the giver of gifts. I wish that I could recognize the beautiful things, the provisions, the relationships, in each moment, not to counter or drown out the sadness or the ache of unmet desire, but rather just to sit along side those things.

Looking back, I hate that I allowed my birthday last year to be so clouded by the unmet desires I had and this year, I hope that my birthday is not colorful solely because those desires have been met. I hope that I can learn to live somewhere in the middle, where gratitude colors my life so abundantly, like wildflowers covering a Colorado mountainside in July.

It's hard to say what my attitude would be or what I'd be writing about if, a year later, we still were not pregnant on this birthday. I'd like to think that I would have grown in the process, but who knows. As I sit and reflect on this past year, what I do know is that I feel incredibly grateful for the journey I've been on this year and I look forward to where it will take me in the upcoming year.

So, here's to hoping, here's to practicing the art of gratitude, and here's to another year of life.

Every New Beginning is Some Other Beginning's End

Yes, just like the song says, it's closing time. It's time to pack things up and say my goodbyes in one place as I prepare to say hello to a whole new world. A couple of months ago, I made the decision to leave my job of 3 years working as a School-Based Therapist in Adams County Schools, to become a stay-at-home mom to our son, due to arrive July 4. While I thought that that decision would be an easy one, it proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated. Quite honestly, I had anticipated feeling nothing but sheer excitement to have the opportunity to stay at home with my son. That to say, I did not anticipate the sadness I would feel saying goodbye to the kiddos and their families whom I've worked with over the last 3 years, my teammates and fellow School-Based Therapists at Community Reach Center, the schools I've walked into everyday, and my daily life as I know it.

While I can't say that I will miss having fire drills because one of my clients started a fire in the boys' bathroom, or having to go on lock down because there's a man outside the school with a gun, or having to call Social Services because a kid has told me that his parents are making meth in their home, I can say that there's a whole lot that I am sad to say goodbye to. I will miss entering into and being a small part of kids' lives. While it has often been a struggle for me to know that I can't "fix" their lives or even feel like I can even effect change on the systems of poverty, oppression, and abuse in which many of them exist, it was always a small comfort to know that I had the privilege of providing a safe and encouraging space for these kids in the midst of their chaotic and turbulent worlds. I held on to the idea that I could at least be a place where their voices could be heard, where they could tell their stories, and have someone be a witness to their lives. Yesterday was the last day of school. It was the last time I would have students come and sit in my office and let me into their lives, their pain, their fears, and their hopes. It was the last time I would sit with a kid in that school and listen as she re-counted the horrific events of her life, but also the last time I would get to hear her resilience, a resilience that could light up a room and defeat an army.

As I was packing up my things at one of my schools this week, the student talent show was taking place in the gym right outside of my office. For those of you who have never experienced a K-6 talent show before, it can be a bit painful...painful and extremely sweet at the same time. You see, as these kids are screeching out Mary J. Blige lyrics in a way that makes you want to cover your ears, you also can't help but noteice and appreciate their innocence and inhibition, things that all too often seem to get lost on the journey to adulthood. And so there I was, packing up my art supplies and feelings charts, a tear running down my face and laughter bubbling up from my belly as I wanted to cover my ears. It was quite a moment, a very sweet moment that I will remember for a long time.

And I am fully aware that I spent a good amount of time over the last 3 years complaining about the incessant paperwork, the constant changes, the frustration of teachers or parents who wanted and expected me to "fix" their kid and his behavior problems, and the struggle to balance all of the things expected of me in this job. It has been a tiring and emotionally draining 3 years, which is why I thought it would be so easy to leave when the time came. But the time is here and it's not so easy. Sadly, sometimes it takes actually having to say goodbye to something or someone, to realize all the things you value and love about what you had. I wish it weren't so and I actually don't think it has to be this way, but this is my experience right now. And all too often, it seems like our culture promotes this idea that if we're moving on to something exciting and wonderful, we shouldn't feel any sadness about that which we're leaving behind. I get it nearly every day when people ask me, "are you so excited to have your baby?" or "You are so lucky to stay at home with your son, I bet you can't wait!"

The truth is, I AM excited to have my baby...AND I'm terrified. I AM fortunate to be able to stay home with my son, but I'm also sad about what I'm leaving behind in order to do it. I think there's room for all of the feelings. There should be room for grief AND joy all at the same time, it's just a matter of allowing it and holding it. C.S. Lewis once said, "the grief now is because of the joy then." Those words have always left me feeling like there's actually a reason to celebrate when we feel sad about a loss, because our sadness points to the reality that there was something of value, something really good that we're saying goodbye to.

My decision to stay at home came down to feeling like I know my job, I know what it's like and what it requires of me. What I don't know is this "mommyhood" thing and I would like some time to see what this unknown is all about. I've been pouring my heart and energy into other peoples' kids for the last 14 years and now it feels like it's time to pour my energy into my own child and get a sense for what it entails and requires of me. And then I'd like to gradually incorporate work back into that picture, rather than trying to fit mommyhood into my existing life as I now know it. And for now, it's something we are able to make work, for which I feel very grateful. Everyone is different, has different wiring, different desires and dreams. This is just my journey. And while I feel like it's improtant to acknowledge the new beginning that's coming, I would be remiss not to give myself space to acknowledge and even grieve that another beginning that started 3 years ago, is coming to an end.

Spring...New Life is a Comin'

I LOVE spring in Colorado. I mean, I REALLY LOVE it. Yes, the weather is highly unpredictable, one minute it's snowing, the next minute it's 80. Ok, so maybe not minutes apart, but truly, one day it could be snowing and the next day, not only will there be no trace of the snow, but I will likely find myself sporting a tank top. Layers is definitely the key in Colorado, especially in the Spring. But not only is Spring here accompanied by moody weather, it brings with it a whole lotta green, a whole lotta LIFE! Being the arid west, brown and white tend to be the prominent colors of winter. And then you start to see signs, signs of the life that is to come. There's the return of the birds and their delightful singing, the first sight of tiny buds on the trees, the warm(er) afternoons, and the later sunsets, all promises of the life that is to come...Spring! And then, it's as as though one day you wake up and everything is green, new life has arrived. The leaves have reclaimed their homes on the branches, the grass is green and growing again, and the brilliant pink, yellow, and purple flowers are everywhere, splashing color onto what was days ago, just a dull landscape. Yes, Spring is here, new life is here...the weather is a bit tumultuous and unpredictable, but there is no denying the beauty of this season.

It seems no coincidence to me that it's Spring and I've got new life on my mind. Afterall, I'm carrying a precious little bit of new life in my belly and he's about to make his way into this world in 7 weeks from now or so. And there are plenty of signs that new life is a comin', an ever-growing belly and kicks and punches from within that are so strong, they sometimes seem like they are going to knock-out my other organs. And then there's the house that was once very "adult-looking," yet now finds itself being infiltrated by things like onesies, rattles, books like 'The Little Engine That Could,' and a whole lot of things that start with B, like a boppy, a bumbo, and a bassinet. Suddenly, there's the appearance of things like a crib and a rocker and there's the frenzy of transforming one particular room in the house to accommodate our very own Spring of new life that's coming. And as we anticipate the coming of our little 'Spring,' we're also preparing ourselves for some stormy weather that he might bring with him, like sleepless nights, endless crying, clothes covered in spit up, dirty diapers, and unpredictability in general. Yet, just like Spring in Colorado, though we are anticipating the coming of this new life to be a bit tumultous and unpredictable, we are attempting to arm ourselves with flexibility and a sense of humor. And we are expecting it to be nothing short of absolutely beautiful!

Another Byproduct of the Burgeoning Belly

Hmmm, it's not so easy for me to reach the dishes in the sink anymore. Clearly this is due to one of three reasons:

a. The foundation of our home has shifted and the sink somehow is now tilted away from me.
b. My arms suddenly got shorter.
c. There is now a large round barrier that stands between the counter and what I formerly had known as my body.

Here's how a kid at my school recently addressed the appearance of the burgeoning belly: "Miss, you got a baby in there?" Me: "Well, yes, yes, I do." Kid: "Yeah, I could tell it was either a baby or a basketball under your shirt." ...because we all go walking around with basketballs under our shirts, right?!!!