Category: Motherhood

Mommy I Need You

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  “Mommy I need you.”

I am a hummingbird.
Floating, deceptively still
Brain vibrating and fingers whirring
Over the keyboard.
“I’m right here honey.”

“Mommy I need you.”
I am an ant.
Tracing figure eights about the house.
Resolutely hauling
laundry baskets and brooms back and forth.
“I’m right here honey.”

“Mommy I need you.”
I am a tiger.
Crouching, staring at my phone screen.
Eyes tracking and fingers pouncing
On colored icons and buttons.
“I’m right here honey.”

“Mommy I need you.”
I am a butterfly.
Flapping wildly.
Entrapped
In a net of tangled thoughts.
“I’m right here honey.”

“Mommy, I really need you.”
I am eyes, looking in her face.
I am arms, holding her tightly.
I am the wet kiss that stamps her forehead.
“I’m right here honey.”
“Yes, here you are”

She’s A One-der: My Second Chance Baby

Happy Birthday Elyse!

In a movie called “About Time,” the character has the amazing ability to time travel back to his past. At first he tries to memorize and control every aspect of his future to get it right, but then his Dad (also a time traveler) gives him great advice. He says instead of trying to change his life, to repeat it twice in exactly the same way, “The first time with all the tensions and worries that stop us noticing how sweet the world can be, but the second time noticing.” This gives the character the amazing ability to overcome fear and uncertainty, and to simply live moment to moment, soaking them up with all of his senses.
I see Elyse as my second chance at motherhood. As she grows, I don’t worry about well meaning advice, or following a book, or ticking off the milestones. I get to soak her up one day at a time and relish her living out who God created her to be, on her own timetable.

Bree is my first, and its exhilarating, and challenging and exciting. Just like my Bree. But Elyse is my take an extra moment to cuddle, nurse her in bed, cleaning can wait, take your time to grow up baby, and I’m loving every second with her.
But even though I get to have a repeat on motherhood, I love to experience how absolutely different God makes each of my girls. Where Bree is bold, my Elyse is tender; Bree is brave, and Elyse is more tentative, Bree is moody, Elyse is mellow, and yet they are both mine, full of Daddy’s mischief, and my sensitive heart.
Elyse stretched my belly beyond capacity. Now she is stretching our lives, to a point where it sometimes feels beyond capacity. But I laugh at the question I asked, just days before her birth, “Will I be able to love this one as much as I love Bree?”
God stretches us and in the process He grows us.

And the best part is He grows our hearts, so that we have the ability to love more and more.

Happy Birthday to my attached to my hip, cuddle all morning, slobbery kisses, cling to my leg, second chance baby, that makes life even richer and fuller than I ever thought possible

Are You Listening?

are you listeningOn average women speak 20,000 words a day. That’s 13,000 more daily words than our male counterparts! But I would argue that as mothers, we earn every. single. one. of those extra words.

Yet, how often does it feel like our words fall on deaf ears? Especially when we’re asking our kids to put on their shoes, or our husbands to put their laundry in the hamper (not that I’m speaking from personal experience).

We all WANT TO FEEL HEARD.

One of the biggest fights I pick with my husband is when I feel like he’s not listening to me.
(DISCLAIMER: I’m totally guilty of doing the same thing!)

“But hun, I can watch Netflix, type up an email, and listen to every word you say.”

And the amazing thing is, he actually can. The man is actually able to repeat back to me every word I just spoke. And yet. And yet- I don’t feel heard. And maybe thats because I don’t just want my words to be absorbed, but I want my words to accomplish something. I think we all do.

In the past couple weeks I’ve been feeling fearful. With lots of change in our lives I’m letting doubt and fear creep into my thoughts. But I’ve had a song that I sing at the top of my lungs (when I’m home, or driving in the car, not in public-that’s just weird).

“I’M NO LONGER A SLAVE TO FEAR, FOR I AM A CHILD OF GOD”

My three year old daughter looks at me like I’m crazy. But then she looks at me like I’m crazy a lot, so I just shrug and take it as a compliment.

But then, last week my little girl was struggling with fears of her own. One day as I stirred the crackling ground beef on the stove, down the hall, I heard a sweet little voice, singing a tune I knew well. It went a little something like this:

“I’M NO LONGER A SLAVE TO FEAR, FOR I .AM A CHILD OF GOD.”

I realized, that my words really do stick. Yes ladies, our words stick

As moms we are the encouragers of our homes.

Our words shape and mold our children into the people God has destined them to become.
Our words embolden our husbands to make brave decisions, and to do the right thing.
As daughters, and sisters, and friends, our words inspire each other to keep going, even when life feels too heavy, or our bodies feel to weak.

But at the end of the day, after we’ve pushed and scraped, and given all we have to give, and still feel like we’re coming up short. When we lay our heads on our pillows with our thoughts reeling and accusing and questioning our efforts, our worth, our words– I want us to grab hold of 6 words.

“My grace is sufficient for you.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

Because God has the last word.
And He looks at us and says- “My child, in my grace…You Are Enough.

Prenatal Depression: How I Survived My Pregnancy

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My Journey in Overcoming

Prenatal Depression

Dear Daughter,
All I could think of was becoming pregnant. Every month as I waited to see if my test would be positive,  I’d become like a helium balloon, puffed up with excitement and hope, and in the days following my period, become deflated and weighed down with another missed opportunity. When I finally saw the faint pink line I was in such a state of disbelief that I made an appointment with my OBGYN right away to confirm the result. They did an ultrasound and spotted the embryo–the miracle–that was you. I saw the mass on the screen that looked like scrambled eggs, and tears of joy streaked down my face, because no matter what it looked like, God knew, and I knew what it meant.

The beautiful gift I’d hoped and prayed for, began to feel more like a burden.
The weeks and months following the happy news became an obstacle course of sickness, confused emotions, and irritability. The joy I first felt eluded me. It became an effort to get out of bed, to get dressed, and to even eat. As friends and family began to worry, I began to wonder if I would ever feel the same again, and the beautiful gift I’d hoped and prayed for, began to feel more like a burden. What I didn’t realize at the time is that I was suffering from depression during pregnancy, or what professionals call “prenatal depression.”

We announced your expected arrival in December as the days grew grayer and colder, and my tummy began to swell with you. Members of our church in Sedona learned of our news with a picture of us we put up on the front screen along with our church announcements. The photo showed a happy couple in front of the Christmas tree, with a ribbon tied in a bow around my waist and  your daddy kneeling to kiss my bump. That Sunday morning, Barbara, a friend and mentor came up and wordlessly gave me a hug and a squeeze as tears quickly sprang to my eyes. Since we couldn’t find the care I needed in Sedona, I had been gone for the last few weeks staying with your Cece in San Diego as we tried to find a psychiatrist who would help give me the extra treatment I needed. I had spent my days as a kid would on Christmas break making gingerbread houses and ornaments, reading books, sleeping long hours, and watching mind numbing TV, as I grasped for the hope and excitement that I couldn’t seem to find. My prenatal depression left me listless.

Barbara held my shoulders and looked searchingly into my eyes. “I knew you were pregnant, but I wanted to wait until you shared the news before I said anything.” “You did?” I asked, “but how?” “Remember my best friend that I lost? I’ve told you about her before,” I nodded. Barbara had shared with me that in her 30’s her friend Candace and her were inseparable. They both had kids the same age and were involved in church together. After she lost Candace tragically to an untreated infection of strep throat, her friend had been appearing to her in dreams. She explained, “Candace told me to pray for you and your baby.” As she said this, a warmth filled my belly while a chill crept from my neck and down my arms and legs creating goosebumps. In all the grey clouds, sadness, and apathy, I had forgotten that you weren’t just something growing inside me, but a baby; you were my baby, and a child that God cared for enough to send an angel to my friend to seek her prayers.

The months following weren’t easy. God didn’t give your daddy an extra measure of patience but poured down buckets of love and patience as he shouldered the burdens of work and my depression that seemed to weigh on our house like a musty, woolen cloak. No matter what I did I couldn’t seem to find the joy and excitement that had filled me up at that first ultrasound. But, now I had something to cling to. Despite the sadness I felt in my prenatal depression, despite the void of emotions I wanted to feel, I clung to the knowledge that God already knew you as my baby, as His child, and that He had a plan for you beyond the fog of my prenatal depression and desperation.

Child, when you were born, I am not exaggerating when I tell you, you were my bright spot, my sunshine. The grey cloud of apathy lifted when I held your warm body against mine and I breathed in your sweet, milky scent. They say what I suffered from was perinatal depression. What I know is that it was a season that helped me to see more clearly. We don’t know what light is until we experience darkness–and although God let me experience the darkness of a mental illness called depression that I had never known before, He also allowed me to see His light and goodness in a way that I would have never fully grasped until I saw your face.

There are many things that can be gleaned from this story, but I think most of all I want you to know who your maker is. Mommy and Daddy dreamed of you and planned for you, but your God knew you by name before you were even scrambled eggs in my tummy. So while I will speak words to you of love and encouragement, I will try to guide you down straight paths, I want you to always know that God is the one who sent an angel for you when I couldn’t find you in my darkness. He’s given me the wisdom, courage, and strength now to be your mommy, but on the days that I disappoint you, He will never fail you.

If you or a loved one thinks they have prenatal depression, talk to your healthcare professional who can connect you with a support network. Don’t endure prenatal depression alone.

http://www.postpartum.net