Advent 2017: The Waiting Place

I interrupt my “regular” baby adventure for the yearly Advent Blog. I have been writing these Advent blogs for a few years now and the entire season of Advent is my absolute favorite time of year. Since the girls were small, I have made a point to teach them about Advent and the true meaning of Christmas, so much that I never did the whole “Santa Claus” gig with them. We have a really nice Advent calendar and behind each door are little pieces of chocolate that they get to eat after we read the daily verse. Seriously, we have been doing this for years. But this year, I decided not to put the calendar out. The girls asked why and I told them it’s clear that they are not at all interested in Advent. They are only interested in getting the chocolate candies behind each door during Advent. Then Rachel asks, “What’s Advent anyway?” 

 

Really? I’d typically call that a Mom Fail, but I refuse to accept responsibility for that bullshit. Where has she been all these years?

I’m back at square one of putting out the Advent calendar and watching Charlie Brown Christmas twice a week for the duration of the season.  “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.” See, kids?!?! 

It’s the candles of Hope, Peace, Joy,and Love, respectively. But I can’t think about Advent without thinking about Waiting. That’s what Advent is. It’s a time of waiting and preparation. The discipline of waiting is almost completely lost in our society. We are almost incapable of waiting anymore. Everything needs to happen NOW and, if it doesn’t, we quickly switch gears and move on to the next.  But what if we looked at Waiting differently? The transitions that occur during our times of waiting are where all the beauty lies in our changes. I believe that Waiting is an entity and life of its own, and can be beautiful, like the moments just before the sunrise. 

There are a couple of things to consider when it comes to Waiting. One thing is the perspective waiting can give us. It takes our faulty and egotistical sense of control and puts us back to where we belong in the universe. Being in control and in charge of everything sounds good on paper, however that kind of power is something we are not equipped to handle.  It’s stressful and we inevitably fail. When the reset button is hit during times of waiting, we are reminded--oftentimes very unceremoniously--that we are not in charge. We can’t dictate the future, and thank goodness for that. As we wait, it helps to remember that when we are in charge of everything, that’s when we tend to screw up the most. 

Another thing about waiting is that it has a partner which cannot be forgotten or ignored. This partner also helps to give waiting its purpose. This partner brings a level of sanity as we experience The Waiting Place. This partner is Preparation. 

Waiting without preparation can contribute to feelings of hopelessness, lack of purpose, and loss.  Deliberate preparation is a sanity saver.  When we are preparing during times of transition, that’s when we can see and develop the true content of our character. That’s when our power and our strength get to shine. I don’t see your strength while you are standing on top of a mountain. I see your strength as you climb that mountain. As we climb our mountains and we encounter storms and foul weather, and we are forced to wait out these storms, we have options. We can sit there and do nothing except focus on the storm or we can prepare for what we are going to do when the sun rises again. Even resting is preparation. Rest, watch, wait, plan. Or, alternatively, work, progress, build the self, and be ready. Both approaches are preparation during times of waiting. I believe we are given the wisdom to know how to effectively wait, whether it be a restful wait or an active wait. 

Then, in addition to perspective and preparation, there is Faith. Faith is such a crucial element in sustaining us as we move through transition. One thing I have always resented hearing is the trite phrase, “Everything happens for a reason.” It seems like this is almost always said when life has turned into absolute hell;  when the pain is almost too much to carry and we are experiencing such profound heartache that it’s hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel. Then, you get some “well-meaning” mouth-breather who offers those comforting and insightful words. I’ve always wanted to respond with my own comfort and insight during moments like those... but my words consist of an even shorter, more poignant phrase which leaves no room for interpretation. And those two words are not “Happy birthday.” I digress...

That sentiment is so horribly communicated, however, during Advent we are reminded of the events surrounding the birth of Christ. How scared must Mary and Joseph have been? And Elizabeth, elderly and pregnant with John the Baptist? All they had at the time was Faith. Faith that what they believed to be true was actually the Truth.  Even after the birth of Christ, Joseph and Mary would wait around 30 years to see that what the angel told them about their son was the truth. 

We can’t just hope that things will get better. We have to have faith. We have to believe that there is a purpose for our lives and our moments--all  our moments. We have to have faith that the purpose is good, regardless of the events that transpire. This faith, this belief, is what helps us to prepare for the next part in our story. 

Advent: prepare with faith in your hearts that your Waiting Place has a purpose. Your Waiting Place has meaning. Your Waiting Place carries your soul from where you are to where you belong. Your job is to be ready for whatever lies in store for you, whatever it may be. 

Holding onto Hope

See what I did there?

This blog was a little harder for me to write because capturing, in writing, all that Hope is required me to dig deeper than I usually do. I feel compelled to write her story because, not only will she read it one day, but her story is one that everyone should read. 

Between 2011 and 2016, I had a recurring violent nightmare that I was on the ground in the midst of the wreckage of a plane crash. I was the only one there and I was surrounded by body parts and dead people. I was frantically trying to find survivors, while at the same time picking up the broken pieces of people's bodies and attempting to put them back together. It didn’t matter that they were already dead. I had to help them and I had to clean this horrific and tragic mess. I would awake sweating and panicked and the images I saw never left my mind. Each time I had this dream, it was more gory and violent and terrifying. 

There was never a doubt that this nightmare was my subconscious metaphor for what was happening to my life. 

A lot of people can say, “That’s the time my life fell apart,” and I am one of them. The timeline is easy for me to recall, and it remains so raw that each memory still brings tears to my eyes. When my sweet cousin took her life at the end of 2010, my universe turned on its side. The violent ending to her beautiful and kind Self called All Things Good into question. She was only 18, and I’d spent her entire life loving her. The whole family had. Everyone who knew her had. She was wonderful. But if Anita had lived in such darkness for so long, which we later learned when we found her journal, then the truth of the universe was clearly not Truth at all. Her death predicated a series of events that left the world I had spent my adult life building completely decimated. By the end of 2011, the pillars of my soul-house had crashed and my landscape burned. Each loss took reality and morphed it into something unrecognizable. By December of that year, there was nothing left of the world as I had known it. I had been reduced to believing that if I could just make my bed in the morning, that might be the best accomplishment I would have that day. 

While my faith was so shaken that only a sliver of it remained, I still prayed the most simple prayer of, “Help me.” I knew of only one, steadfast purpose, and that was my role as Mom. During those years, the girls and I experienced huge changes. In addition to the tragic losses I was somewhat able to protect them from, our family was going through a divorce and my new career required us to move across the country. Although my world was obliterated, I knew I was responsible for maintaining the weather in theirs.

Children are powerful and it’s no wonder Christ likes them the most. My role as a mother would turn out to be the force that sustained me through the next several years. That reality was one which hadn’t changed at all. Our bond was the truest beauty I had ever seen and it was one that I  was determined to focus on. Being a mother was the anchor that kept me from floating away into oblivion. They were light, life, and purpose. We did everything together as we experienced a new life in a strange place. While I had gone out on dates here and there, I would ultimately end up sitting there thinking, “Yeah, I’d rather be at home with Naomi and Rachel. You suck.” So, I stopped wasting my time dating. I wasn’t fit for it anyway, and I knew that. My focus was still on picking up that wreckage and putting things back together. Apart from the corners of my heart that were devoted to my job and my calling as a mother, there was nothing left of it to give to anyone. Its tenderness and sorrow regulated me to accepting that putting one foot in front of the other was all I could really do. 

I somehow knew this wasn’t the end of the line for me. Mostly because I believed that if Anita had held on a little longer, it wouldn’t have been the end of the line for her. So I had this belief that, one day, I’d come up for air and feel the sun again. 

It turns out that as soon as I felt glimmers of warmth, like the storm had finally begun to pass, and my heart was finally on the mend, Dan walked into my life. Just a month before we started dating, I had told a dear friend that I felt like I had something to offer and I was ready to give my newly repaired heart to someone. 

That was less than three years ago.  

Because Naomi and Rachel were everything that was perfect, I knew beyond any doubt that I was finished having children. I never second-guessed that decision. They were the Be All, End All and our relationship was a beauty that was its own amazing universe. 

However, there was one thing that those years of hell had taught me, and that was the reality that Reality can change in an instant. 

I don’t recall exactly when my heart softened to the idea of having another child, but I do know that as my love for Dan grew, I was more and more receptive to doing anything that would make him happy. Anything. 

When we found out we were having a little girl, her name was a no-brainer. She is a miracle. She is "You never know what can happen" personified.  She is the sunrise after the hurricane. Through the years, I had written about and explored the concepts and practices of hoping. I had hoped that when I  said, “If God isn’t the God of second, third, millionth chances, then the entire Bible is a lie,” that I was right about the God I had come to doubt. Naomi and Rachel were my redemption. Then there was more.  Then there was Dan....and after that, there was the family we created... and then there was this perfect baby girl. 

She is evidence that when it feels like the end of the line, we never really know what tomorrow will bring.  She is a life that never entered my mind. She is Divine Plans that were bigger and better than mine could ever be. She is a bright landscape after the controlled burn. She is steady breaths, one foot in front of the other; waiting, waiting, waiting; praying, praying, praying; perseverance through plane wreckage and swimming upstream; determination,  grace, joy, and redemption. She is....

Hope.  

Back to Work

We all know that being a mom is not for the weak or faint of heart. The only thing easy about being a mom is loving your children (note that I did not use the word "liking"). A mother's love is so natural and immediate. With that easy love, however, comes more struggle and uncertainty than any mom is prepared to experience. So many decisions to be made. 

There has never been a true consensus amongst women about what is better: working or staying home. There are a few enlightened mamas who say that whatever is good for mom is good for baby. That makes up about five percent of women, in my experience. The other 95% are condescending, passive aggressive know-it-alls who are certain that their choice in the matter is the universally right choice. These are the women who shame anyone who makes a different choice, perpetuating a cycle of women against women that continues for generations and generations. 

The truth is that this incredibly personal decision is an absolute struggle for all moms. I think it presents more tears, concerns, and internal struggle than almost any other parental decision we make. Even if mom is sure of her decision to go into work or stay home, the domino effects on the baby and her family weigh on her day and night. It's not just one decision; it's a million decisions which are reevaluated constantly, and for years. 

I am in the "I want to work" camp, and, trust me, I've heard just about every nasty remark there could be over the last 13 years. Everything from "We can't all pay someone else to raise our kids" to "Awww, when do you get time with your children" and, my personal favorite, "Oh, I just don't know how you leave her each day! You're stronger than me" (imagine the most condescending tone you can for that one). I've known enough stay-at-home counterparts to know that they also put up with the same nastiness. "I just have to have adult interaction," or "Don't you miss getting a paycheck?" and, "Oh, you don't work? Don't you get bored?" Ahem, really?  

She can't sleep at night,
but she can sleep during hockey.
We need to get this figured out soon.

I spent the last 13 years growing accustomed to juggling a job outside the home and after school care and daycare for my girls. It became like second nature to me. While I am used to giving an agonizing amount of thought to who helps with my daughters and where they go after school, I forgot that these choices are a completely different ballgame than considering care for an infant. With an infant, the mom who works outside the home has to anguish over a whole different set of issues. An infant can't defend herself or tell mom when something is wrong. Even a toddler can display definite signs of "this situation needs to change." The cries of an infant can mean anything. So, now I have been thrust back into that special layer of hell. Who can be trusted with my little Hope? 

My job is my calling and I have never hesitated to answer that call. Now, after having taken time off, I am eager to get back and do what I do. But my baby.... She's so small. It's crazy that I had forgotten these feelings. I know I felt them before and I remember how it all turned out. The perfect women came at the perfect times and my daughters were always loved and adored by my various villages while I worked outside my house. This time will be no different. 

Next Up: "The Third Time's a Charm" 

Who Needs Sleep?

Sleep is overrated. She tricked me for about three days and made me think she might actually have turned that wonderful "sleep" corner. Not so much. It was more like two steps forward and 20 steps backward. But being awake in the middle of the night certainly has its advantages. The house is quiet and I can sit there and think... And also continue to master the fine art of falling asleep in a seated position. It's remarkable how having a baby changes a mother's mindset and goals (probably dads, too, but I can't speak for them). It's not that the bar is lowered exactly, but babies are the great Equalizers and reality can be a real bitch. New goals include world-conquering achievements like brushing my teeth sometime before dinner and showering on gym days. I've gone out in public in my pajamas more times in the last six weeks than I did in the last six years. The best part about it is that I don't even give it a second thought. It's sort of liberating, actually. Plus, I live in a town where the men shamelessly wear Uggs, so it's not like I need to impress anyone. 

The middle of the night is sacred. No, I do not enjoy "bonding" with my daughter while we should both be sleeping. However, there is definitely something special about 5am to me. It's morning, but still quiet. She's pretty tuckered out from being up all night and eats peacefully. These are the moments that I truly enjoy. It's just the two of us and we are simply there. No distractions and nowhere to be for some time. Just peace and love. I reset my goals again and they are all centered around her and her sisters. It's like hitting the same button we hit every New Years Eve and on birthdays,except I have the luxury of thoughtfully hitting it each morning: today I will be more patient; today I will take better care of myself so that I can take better care of them; today I enjoy the little things and I won't rush; and on and on the list goes. 

The great Equalizer comes in this little 10 pound package of pink beauty and innocence, and she reminds me that life is full of miracles and second chances.  She brings me to a sleep-deprived state of delirium and somehow still has the ability to bring me to a level of overwhelming love and desire to do right by her. It's pretty incredible. 

Next Up: Back to Work- How can anticipation and dread coexist so equally? 

Rebuilding the Empire

Pregnancy and childbirth are so unique.  My experience with them has been extremely humbling and empowering at the same time. I can't think of anything else that requires women to be so attuned to their bodies. There is no room for stubborn goals or unrealistic expectations. My workouts had to be adjusted weekly, sometimes daily, to accommodate how I felt. And there is nothing more real than postpartum weakness in my back, legs, joints, abs, and brain. I think postpartum life, at least temporarily, is anything but beautiful (speaking about ME and not the baby, of course). 

If you can workout during pregnancy, there are numerous benefits, including a distant sense of normalcy, an equally distant connection with your previous non-pregnant self, and the false notion that it will somehow make labor,delivery, and recovery easier. Not so much. There is no "easy" or "easier" for mothers of infants. There is only hard work and constantly shifting expectations. 

I worked out the entire time, completing my final sweat sesh the day before I went in to have Hope. So naturally, I imagined that when I returned to the gym I would pickup where I left off. About Day Three after having her, I was ready to start walking again. This is when I realized that my body had been completely hijacked by some postpartum alien which apparently spent the last three days eating any of my remaining muscle tone; and had also taken a tire iron and repeatedly beaten my legs and back until they were nothing more than a collection of cellulite and weakness. As we walked that first mile, I felt like I had not walked anywhere in a year. The glacial pace was too fast for me and everything hurt. Naturally, I cried. 

Around Day 10, I felt ready to get back in the gym. I was now walking two to three miles at a time and the pace was just slightly faster than what I imagine my dead grandmother walks now. So, I get to the gym and about five minutes into my workout I realize that, once again, I am nowhere near where I left off. In a year, I went from level 10 workouts, to levels 9,8,7,6,5... You get it. 

What the hell happened when I went in to have this baby? I gave birth not only to her, but to my muscle tone, my stamina, my cardio health, and every last bit of my pride and self respect while I was at it. No one tells you that, even though you may stay in shape and eat right while you are pregnant, you still emerge from that delivery room weak, exhausted, and with the muscle tone of a wet sponge. The work of reclaiming your physical self is going to be like rebuilding Rome one brick at a time. I assume the rebuilding takes a shorter time because you have muscle memory going for you, but whatever. I know that when I finally made it back to the gym, I felt like I didn't even belong there anymore. My muscles went from "yo, we are so bad ass" to "wtf are you doing" in a matter of days. In fact, I don't like to workout with my contacts in because I'd rather not see what I look like in those gym mirrors. For some reason, I remember them making me look way more hardcore a year ago. 

For just over two weeks, I went into the gym and did the equivalent of geriatric workouts which I would have designed for actual dead people. Then, one day after I had an incredible night rest involving almost three straight hours of sleep, I had enough energy to do a little run. Uh... How do nursing mothers accomplish this? Are nursing sports bras required? Because I can tell you right now that a regular sports bra ain't gonna cut it. I mean, I was kinda nervous for the guy on the treadmill in front of me. Maybe nursing sports bras are equipped with enough underwire to build a prison wall, which might be ALMOST sufficient enough to support all that nursing moms have going on with their overweighted, working, painfully sensitive breasts. 

I digress....

My note that day in my workout notebook read, "running: WAIT." Although getting a little cardio felt nice, I did get the feeling that my insides might fall out. Weird feeling. 

But I need someone to tell me if nursing sports bras are worth the investment. 

Rebuilding Rome one slow, painful, muscle-depleted brick at a time. The comparison is fair and I am amazed at what the human body can do. Honestly...

I joke about being weak and defenseless, but when I consider what just happened, I am in awe of it all. 

Now, at five weeks PP, I can finally see what MIGHT be a muscle in my arms and legs, but my midsection still hasn't gotten the memo that HELLO! There is no longer a baby in there!! 

Stupid midsection... 

Next up: the baby wants to hang out in the middle of the night and, as a result of these shenanigans, I'm pretty sure I saw the Grateful Dead dancing bears at the foot of my bed the other night. Sleep deprivation truly is an effective form of torture. 

The Newborn Life

I guess my blog may shift gears for a while. I have all these saved posts on different topics, but writing about the Here and Now is going to be a lot more fun. I think writing while being completely sleep deprived and experiencing extreme mood swings is definitely the smartest way to go. It's more genuine and all that. 

How is life with a newborn? This time around, I can only describe it as Surreal. Well, actually, I can describe it better than that. Why else would I write an entire blog about it?

I have to laugh at my prideful foolishness over the years where I swore I was finished
having children. Now, I look at this little person and wonder how my life seemed complete without her. She's so sweet! Along with all the quiet moments of motherly bliss, I have also noticed a few things I totally forgot about since I haven't done this whole New Baby gig in a while. 

This is the first time in my life as an adult that I have essentially hit the STOP button. I'm not rushing anywhere, and haven't for weeks. I love it! This is the closest I will ever be to being an OC Housewife. All I do is eat, sleep, nurse, take care of the kids, and workout. The end. And repeat. It's awesome. However, the flip side of ignoring my work phone and staring longingly and lovingly into my newborn's eyes is the loneliness that comes with being the mother of an infant. I think all moms can relate: having an infant can be isolating AF. 

I struggled a bit with some postpartum blues- they come and go. But I expected that. The reality of the Newborn Life is that there is no one else who the baby really wants; people are typically hesitant to check in or stop over for a visit because they want you to sleep; sleep deprivation makes you sensitive; oh yeah, and none of your clothes fit. You walk around smelling like breast milk and spit-up the majority of the time and for a solid month your entire body hurts. And then there are the fun surprises like gigantic painful breasts, muscle loss, extreme hunger, and more isolation. The baby wants to eat ALL THE TIME (hence, porn-sized boobs), so you ultimately experience this weird "host/parasite" situation... Only you actually love the parasite even when she projectile spits up all over you while she's eating, hence perpetuating the looming musty smell that covers your clothing, shoulders, and chest. My adventures went from flying a surveillance mission in a helicopter or arresting bad guys to strategically planning a trip to the grocery store that doesn't include my child needing to breastfeed as I walk through the store like some primal lady in secluded Africa. It's an adjustment!! 

Those are the downsides, but they are so fleeting. That's what I love most about Baby #3: I am not overwhelmed by the negatives because I already know that within a few months they will all pass. 

The girls are super helpful and they are so in love with Hope. It's incredible to watch all the love that has come into is house because of her. 

Next up: when you workout your entire pregnancy only to realize that the first few weeks back in the gym are more similar to that fat kid from Super Bad attempting to run the Boston Marathon than the Return of the the Great Warrior a Goddess you dreamed about.