So, here are a few things I've been thinking about lately.
When I was pregnant with Leah, it really took a long time for the reality of it to set in. I mean, here was this precious, amazing miracle growing inside of me, something we had longed for, prayed for, cried over. And now that it was an almost-tangible thing, I couldn't quite get my mind around it.
And somewhere, deep in the recesses of my soul, I pulled back. I didn't want to get to close, too attached, didn't want to love too deeply. Not yet. Because, after all, nothing is promised, right? What if something happened? The very thought of loving and being crushed seemed overwhelming to me.
Isn't it so very silly how we fret and worry, borrowing trouble for tomorrow that might never appear?
But a mother's heart is a strange, wonderful thing, and no matter the fear, you cannot help but love. And so I did - I cautiously loved that little being inside of me. And when she was born, healthy and plump and pink, there was no going back.
So in love.
I think I had a little bout with hormones/depression/what have you right afterward, which I know is not terribly unusual, but still, I hated not feeling like myself. Right around her two week checkup, I had just started leveling off and feeling somewhat normal.
At that checkup, I watched as the doctor passed his stethoscope slowly across her chest, listening, moving it again, listening. For waaaay too long. My eyes were glued to his face, and I knew something was not right.
She had a heart murmur, which he was quick to tell me was not in and of itself a horrible diagnosis - he figured it to be a hole in her heart which would possibly close up on its own. But to be on the safe side, he wanted us to see a pediatric cardiologist.
We went the next day, and found out that she had pulmonary valve stenosis - her little valve had not formed correctly, and the extra work it had to do to pump blood through was causing the heart murmur. He ran through the different scenarios, which ran the gamut of her leading a perfectly normal life to her needing heart surgery.
My world kinda came crashing down on me. It was one of those weird things - you never expect to hear something like that about one of your own kids. I had a whole myriad of feelings to process - a bit of numbness over the situation, sadness that my little girl had to go through anything like this at all, and then some good old fashioned guilt that said I had no business feeling anything like that when so many other little ones had it worse.
And then of course, fear.
I was afraid of the unknown. Afraid that she would be taken from me in the middle of the night. I was afraid that her life would somehow be terribly altered by this diagnosis, and there was nothing I could do about it. I hated that even though you couldn't tell from the outside, something was wrong on the inside.
But here is what I have slowly found out - love is way, way bigger than that fear. Than any fear. Even if some dark little place inside of me says that the worst might happen, and then tries to protect itself by pulling back and saying that loving is not worth it - oh, it SO is.
And that whole thing about perfect love casting out fear - well, that's true too. I guess I would like it if it was a one time thing - bam! - I love, and so the fear is gone. HE loves me - loves us - and so the fear is gone.
But it's more like a daily thing. I get up and look at her sweet face, and start to worry. Sometimes when I lie awake in bed, those what-ifs hit me so hard. And because my own heart only knows how to love imperfectly, the fear is always there, waiting to pounce on my every weakness.
But the love always rises up to overcome it. He reminds me that no matter what, He is perfect love. No matter the outcome, He loves my Leah far more than I ever could.
And because I have no other option, and because I don't WANT any other option, I choose to rest in that.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Sunday, January 09, 2011
The best gift
One year ago, give or take a few days, we were taking down our Christmas decorations. My job is to take down the tree, the lights, the stockings, the village. My long-suffering husband has the delightful job of hauling out the ladder and hefting huge boxes and bins into the attic.
In the midst of all the holiday dismantling, I stopped in the doorway of Savannah's room, and forced myself to take a look around.
This is what I had to admit; it still looked like a nursery.
Sure, we had moved her to a big bed, and given her a dresser, a beautiful old antique thing that used to be mine when I was her age. And big girl toys were scattered everywhere - dolls, a tea set, an explosion of pony tail holders and barrettes.
But right inside the doorway, the changing table still stood. Across the room, the crib took up half the wall. And inside the drawers, baby things galore awaited. There were piles of bibs and blankets and boppy pillows.
It was still a nursery, still waiting for a precious new bundle of joy, one for which we had been praying and waiting for almost three years now.
But since my husband only hauls out that ladder once or twice a year, I knew it was time. And so, along with the Christmas decorations, those baby things finally made their way out of the drawers, into big plastic bins, and up into the attic.
My heart sighed, but truly, I wasn't really sad. My heart still longed with everything in me for another little one, but somehow during the past year, I had come to a place of surrender. I wasn't fighting any more. It wasn't an act of giving up, but rather a way of saying, It's in Your hands.
Which, of course, it had been all along. But sometimes in my struggle I failed to see it.
Three weeks later, on February 2, I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. For some reason, my groggy mind remembered that I had one last pregnancy test still stashed under the cabinet. I have no idea what made me think of it; I had no symptoms, didn't feel extra tired, nothing. But for some reason I reached for that test. I put it on the floor for 2 minutes like I had 50 other times in the past 3 years, and expected to see one lonely line.
There were two.
There were two.
I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I actually started to hyperventilate a little bit, I think, and in the midst of my little meltdown, I grabbed the phone and called my husband.
I was sobbing by that point. I blurted, "I just took a test and it was p-p-positive!" Sniff. Sob. Blubber.
And my poor husband, shocked and understandably concerned at this news, said, "Hon, what do you mean? What kind of test?"
Well. Not the best way to make this kind of earth-shattering announcement, I suppose, since he probably thought for a second I had some incurable disease.
But I explained, and oh, did we ever rejoice.
And eight and half months later, we rejoiced again, when this precious little one came into our lives at 2:30 in the morning.
(Those cheeks!)
I have no words to describe the joy we feel when we look at her. For the first few weeks, I held her, and thought, She's mine. And I still couldn't quite believe it.
She is amazing, and delightful, and smells so good - that heavenly baby scent. And she had the loudest, maddest sounding cry you've ever heard, which frankly just makes me laugh. She is a good sleeper, and an excellent eater, and is already wearing clothes that Savannah didn't even dream of wearing until she was about nine months old.
She is an answer to prayer, and that answer went exceedingly, abundantly above what we could have ever asked or thought.
In the midst of all the holiday dismantling, I stopped in the doorway of Savannah's room, and forced myself to take a look around.
This is what I had to admit; it still looked like a nursery.
Sure, we had moved her to a big bed, and given her a dresser, a beautiful old antique thing that used to be mine when I was her age. And big girl toys were scattered everywhere - dolls, a tea set, an explosion of pony tail holders and barrettes.
But right inside the doorway, the changing table still stood. Across the room, the crib took up half the wall. And inside the drawers, baby things galore awaited. There were piles of bibs and blankets and boppy pillows.
It was still a nursery, still waiting for a precious new bundle of joy, one for which we had been praying and waiting for almost three years now.
But since my husband only hauls out that ladder once or twice a year, I knew it was time. And so, along with the Christmas decorations, those baby things finally made their way out of the drawers, into big plastic bins, and up into the attic.
My heart sighed, but truly, I wasn't really sad. My heart still longed with everything in me for another little one, but somehow during the past year, I had come to a place of surrender. I wasn't fighting any more. It wasn't an act of giving up, but rather a way of saying, It's in Your hands.
Which, of course, it had been all along. But sometimes in my struggle I failed to see it.
Three weeks later, on February 2, I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. For some reason, my groggy mind remembered that I had one last pregnancy test still stashed under the cabinet. I have no idea what made me think of it; I had no symptoms, didn't feel extra tired, nothing. But for some reason I reached for that test. I put it on the floor for 2 minutes like I had 50 other times in the past 3 years, and expected to see one lonely line.
There were two.
There were two.
I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I actually started to hyperventilate a little bit, I think, and in the midst of my little meltdown, I grabbed the phone and called my husband.
I was sobbing by that point. I blurted, "I just took a test and it was p-p-positive!" Sniff. Sob. Blubber.
And my poor husband, shocked and understandably concerned at this news, said, "Hon, what do you mean? What kind of test?"
Well. Not the best way to make this kind of earth-shattering announcement, I suppose, since he probably thought for a second I had some incurable disease.
But I explained, and oh, did we ever rejoice.
And eight and half months later, we rejoiced again, when this precious little one came into our lives at 2:30 in the morning.
(Those cheeks!)
I have no words to describe the joy we feel when we look at her. For the first few weeks, I held her, and thought, She's mine. And I still couldn't quite believe it.
She is amazing, and delightful, and smells so good - that heavenly baby scent. And she had the loudest, maddest sounding cry you've ever heard, which frankly just makes me laugh. She is a good sleeper, and an excellent eater, and is already wearing clothes that Savannah didn't even dream of wearing until she was about nine months old.
She is an answer to prayer, and that answer went exceedingly, abundantly above what we could have ever asked or thought.
Welcome, sweet Leah Caroline.
To Him be the glory.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Four
When we brought her home from the hospital, we sat and stared at her for hours.
I didn't sleep at all that first night, but instead reached my hand out every 10 minutes to the bassinet at the side of my bed and touched her chest to make sure it was still rising and falling, an even cadence that let me know that she was real.
I remember sitting in the rocking chair as she wailed that piercing newborn cry, and nothing I did stopped it. So I did the only logical thing for a sleep-deprived new mama, I sobbed along with her.
We haven't sat in that chair much lately, but the other day, she was sick and she said, "Mama, let's rock."
I gathered her up, all arms and legs, and she snuggled up and closed her eyes. "Sing, Mama", she whispered. And I tried, but I wasn't on tune because suddenly out of nowhere there were tears that came and fought for space with my voice in my throat.
I sang Silent Night, and we rocked. I thought that there wasn't much difference between the first time I rocked her and now....the same overwhelming feeling, the same soft little hands, the same song.
Funny how she can't wait to grow up, while I'm sitting here wishing she could stay little.
Her world is all pink and princessy right now, so that's what we did for her birthday.
One thing will never change - I can't imagine life without her.
I didn't sleep at all that first night, but instead reached my hand out every 10 minutes to the bassinet at the side of my bed and touched her chest to make sure it was still rising and falling, an even cadence that let me know that she was real.
I remember sitting in the rocking chair as she wailed that piercing newborn cry, and nothing I did stopped it. So I did the only logical thing for a sleep-deprived new mama, I sobbed along with her.
We haven't sat in that chair much lately, but the other day, she was sick and she said, "Mama, let's rock."
I gathered her up, all arms and legs, and she snuggled up and closed her eyes. "Sing, Mama", she whispered. And I tried, but I wasn't on tune because suddenly out of nowhere there were tears that came and fought for space with my voice in my throat.
I sang Silent Night, and we rocked. I thought that there wasn't much difference between the first time I rocked her and now....the same overwhelming feeling, the same soft little hands, the same song.
Funny how she can't wait to grow up, while I'm sitting here wishing she could stay little.
Her world is all pink and princessy right now, so that's what we did for her birthday.
One thing will never change - I can't imagine life without her.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Songs for my soul
I am really behind the times, technologically speaking. I do not have an ipod, or a blackberry, or any other fancy thing. I barely have a cell phone, and it's only one of those Go Phones, where you add minutes as you need them. It's fancy.
I am not even sure if the CD player in my car works.
But still, I am joining in with Missy at It's Almost Naptime to tell you what kind of music I've been listening to in my car lately. Or, in my house, as the case may be.
On Wednesday when I decided I couldn't wait any longer to tackle the many, huge, overflowing baskets of laundry, I popped in a mixed CD, a compilation of various songs from iTunes, and hoped that it would give me some kind of laundry-folding inspiration.
Here's a sampling of the songs that speak to me, in one way or another:
Can't help falling in love - Elvis
One Fine Day - Natalie Merchant
How He Loves - David Crowder Band (for the record, Savannah is IN. LOVE. with David Crowder. I think the attraction is the crazy hair and glasses, not sure. But she is like a little mini-stalker of his - she talks about meeting him, and knows he lives in Texas. Watch out, David).
When God Ran - Phillips Craig and Dean
Making Memories of us - Keith Urban
Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus) - Chris Rice
The Way you look Tonight - Frank Sinatra
The Way I am - Ingrid Michaelson
I could go on...and on....and on....but that's enough for now.
And if you pinned me down under extreme duress and forced me to name my favorite song of all time (which, really, how can you pick just one?)....well, I would have to say it is this - His Eye is on the Sparrow. I can barely listen to this song with crying. I know He truly is watching over me.
Missy, thanks so much for hosting!
Oh! One other thing - I have a new bloggy friend, Mirinda, and she owns a fabulous store called October Belle Designs. She is an uber-talented artist, and she does custom canvas paintings - and she's giving one away at her site. Because Savannah's room is very sad-looking, and basically still has the baby-ish nursery theme going, I so want one of these to help dress it up. Go visit October Belle Designs and leave her a comment!
I am not even sure if the CD player in my car works.
But still, I am joining in with Missy at It's Almost Naptime to tell you what kind of music I've been listening to in my car lately. Or, in my house, as the case may be.
On Wednesday when I decided I couldn't wait any longer to tackle the many, huge, overflowing baskets of laundry, I popped in a mixed CD, a compilation of various songs from iTunes, and hoped that it would give me some kind of laundry-folding inspiration.
Here's a sampling of the songs that speak to me, in one way or another:
Can't help falling in love - Elvis
One Fine Day - Natalie Merchant
How He Loves - David Crowder Band (for the record, Savannah is IN. LOVE. with David Crowder. I think the attraction is the crazy hair and glasses, not sure. But she is like a little mini-stalker of his - she talks about meeting him, and knows he lives in Texas. Watch out, David).
When God Ran - Phillips Craig and Dean
Making Memories of us - Keith Urban
Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus) - Chris Rice
The Way you look Tonight - Frank Sinatra
The Way I am - Ingrid Michaelson
I could go on...and on....and on....but that's enough for now.
And if you pinned me down under extreme duress and forced me to name my favorite song of all time (which, really, how can you pick just one?)....well, I would have to say it is this - His Eye is on the Sparrow. I can barely listen to this song with crying. I know He truly is watching over me.
Missy, thanks so much for hosting!
Oh! One other thing - I have a new bloggy friend, Mirinda, and she owns a fabulous store called October Belle Designs. She is an uber-talented artist, and she does custom canvas paintings - and she's giving one away at her site. Because Savannah's room is very sad-looking, and basically still has the baby-ish nursery theme going, I so want one of these to help dress it up. Go visit October Belle Designs and leave her a comment!
Sunday, August 16, 2009
This is how Picasso started out, too...
Ricardo turned forty-two at the beginning of August, and I've been a slacking blogger and didn't even mention it.
If you do the math, you will realize that he totally robbed the cradle. He's almost 9 1/2 years older than me. No complaints, though. In fact, that was one of the things on my list of what I wanted in a man. An older guy, and also one that spoke a different language. I scored on both counts.
We won't mention the fact that the older the guy, the more set in his ways....that's just how it goes.
Savannah heard the word "birthday" and immediately her mind went to cake. I can only handle making one fancy cake a year, so Ricardo got a plain Jane cake with a strawberry filling. Savannah tried offering him a choice of a Batman cake or a Dora cake, but mama said no.
I didn't even make him fresh buttercream frosting; instead, I remembered that I had a good bit of the BRIGHT pink and green frosting leftover from Savannah's birthday in the freezer. Mixed them together, added a little blue, and voila. I hoped that nobody noticed the slightly freezer burned taste, and at the rate they devoured the cake, I guess it wasn't an issue.
I found Savannah letting all of the cold air out of the fridge more than once that day as she sat and stared at the cake.
If you do the math, you will realize that he totally robbed the cradle. He's almost 9 1/2 years older than me. No complaints, though. In fact, that was one of the things on my list of what I wanted in a man. An older guy, and also one that spoke a different language. I scored on both counts.
We won't mention the fact that the older the guy, the more set in his ways....that's just how it goes.
Savannah heard the word "birthday" and immediately her mind went to cake. I can only handle making one fancy cake a year, so Ricardo got a plain Jane cake with a strawberry filling. Savannah tried offering him a choice of a Batman cake or a Dora cake, but mama said no.
I didn't even make him fresh buttercream frosting; instead, I remembered that I had a good bit of the BRIGHT pink and green frosting leftover from Savannah's birthday in the freezer. Mixed them together, added a little blue, and voila. I hoped that nobody noticed the slightly freezer burned taste, and at the rate they devoured the cake, I guess it wasn't an issue.
I found Savannah letting all of the cold air out of the fridge more than once that day as she sat and stared at the cake.
These pictures crack me up. Savannah has recently left off scribbling and realized that she could draw actual, um...people. (What, they don't look like people to you??) Right now you can look anywhere in our house and find it littered with papers sporting fine specimens like these:
Of course, she has to tell us which is Mommy and which is Daddy, since it's a little hard to tell. The only difference is the mile-long eyelashes that she puts on my drawing, which, by the way is NOT true to life. My favorite things are the freakishly long teeth, the arms coming out of the head, and the humongous nostrils.
So, I know I've been terribly absent from blogland - lately the blog design business has been taking ALL of my free time. Which is great from a business standpoint, but not so terrific when it comes to anything else. Still trying to find balance, because I really do miss blogging.
Thanks to Sara for hosting Project 365!
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