Reality

I don't know about you, but I read a lot of "mommy blogs." Sometimes in our exuberance to present motherhood as "The. Best. Thing. Ever. I love it I love it I love it," we neglect to present that dark side, the "I am the worst at this ever" side and the "I really want to quit but it is too late for that" side. For me, at least, it is hard to publicly acknowledge these parts of motherhood because it is basically letting the world know how bad I fail at my job some days.

So there you go. Sometimes I fail my job. Sometimes I fail to love my job, which is probably even worse than not "being a good mom." But it happens, people.

Thus is the life of a mother.

I have a sneaky suspicion that if you (if you are a mom) disagree with me and have loved motherhood every day of your life, chances are you are probably not as good at mothering as you thought.

(That is what I tell myself, anyway.)

(It makes me feel better.)

(I do denial really well.)

This is the part where I get into the TMI for the week, simply because I want a minute of the wambulance's pity (skip this paragraph if you don't want to know how terrible-wonderful my life is). My week this far has consisted of four visits to Doctor's offices. Two ultrasounds and one cervical check (think of those awkward ultrasounds they do when you are 7-9 weeks along and they can't get anything on your stomach- yeah, my third one of these in four weeks). I've been told I need to watch my diet more (because apparently I haven't been watching it already? What? People, these numbers are great considering the amount of Easter candy I've had tempting me this week!) And while I'm eating less, I need to gain more weight. Also, I probably need an EKG. And the baby needs an EKG. And have I got the directions for my glucose test? (This is the part where I roll my eyes and inform the nurses that if they give me that test, I will probably go into a diabetic coma). And okay, well, since we can torture you by giving you sugar, let me draw your blood and give you a jug so you can collect your urine for the next 24 hours. Don't pretend like it is awkward to keep a cooler of pee in your bathroom. Have we told you you're at risk for preeclampsia? Also, drive another 30 min to bring the pee jug back here as soon as you finish the test. And then don't forget your progesterone shot (and while you're at it, get those two unsightly warts burned off your finger. One of them may need some "carving.") Also, we are going to add another shot to your daily regimen...

The miracle of this all is that I've only broke down crying twice to my husband, once to my mother, and once to my sister-in-law.

My husband held me and told me to make the dark cloud hanging over me go away (me =depressed much this week), as well as sending several pep-talks via email (he's had to be gone a lot this week, bless grad school's heart).  Today I bragged to him that I didn't even tear up when they attacked my warts and he told me it was because I was too stubborn to cry. Actually, I really loved that compliment.

My mother, gotta love her, decided not to give me the "buck up and deal with it" speech (she's really good at that one) but the "I know it doesn't seem like it, but you are doing a great job and you may need to cheat on your diet to keep yourself sane" speech, which made me feel like I could not only handle my life, but I could be grateful for it. And eat some chocolate without feeling totally guilty.

And my sister-in-law? My five minute cry session with her probably did more than anything to make me feel better, because she commiserated with me, and we talked about the reality that motherhood sucks sometimes, even when you love your babies so much, and that although it may be absolutely awful to want to quit being mom, we think it sometimes.

And that's okay.

It happens.

Just so you know.

Because of Him

Our Sunday School teacher posed a thoughtful question in our class today: "how do you know when God is helping you through your trials?"

I have spent the last few hours contemplating the answer to this question. Of all the tender mercies I could name, of all the thoughts and feelings and answers to prayers I have experienced since the trial of bringing this baby to earth began, the answer that stands out most to me is that even when I feel very lonely, God has let me know that I am never alone. He sent one who understands.

He sent His son.

God has given me daily reminders of His son's miraculous atonement.

I remember a time, before ever having children, when I voiced some of my fears about becoming a mother to a woman whom I greatly admire and respect. At the time, she was pregnant with her fifth child. She listened to me for a while and then bore a sweet and simple testimony that I will never forget. She told me that becoming a mother and bringing children into the world gives you a very unique understanding of what Christ went through. When you have that personal understanding of His blood and his suffering and the rebirth that comes through Him, she taught me, then all of the pain and the sacrifice that a woman goes through to give birth to a baby becomes a sacred experience, and one she was grateful to have.

Over that next year, as I struggled to learn what she meant on a personal level as Scott and I added Kevin to our small family, I discovered that there was indeed a unique understanding of Christ's atonement that could only be found in childbearing, just the same as the unique understanding that came to me when I was diagnosed with diabetes and fought to have my body healed. In both instances, I found a refuge in Christ and learned to let Him succor me, because I knew He had experienced what I felt.

A few months ago, after one of my many emotional breakdowns associated with this second pregnancy, Scott gave me a blessing that reminded me of my friend's words. Since then, I have struggled for an understanding and a personal application of the atonement that doesn't come through pretty songs or art or scripture references. This time, I am allowing the Spirit to be my teacher and open my eyes to Christ's sacrifice for me.

Each day, I prick my finger four to six times to check my blood sugar levels. As I coax the red droplets from the tips of my fingers, I remember that while I shed one tiny drop at a time for my son, Christ shed many drops one time for me, a daughter. Physically, I know that it hurts to bleed from one pore, even when you draw blood willingly, and that a tenderness comes afterward to remind you of that momentary pain. Eventually, that tenderness turns to strength as the punctured skins heals and becomes stronger. The scars remain, but the pain leaves.

It seems a simple choice for me to make multiple times a day, and though I do not always do it willingly, I bleed for my son.

Christ's choice was not simple, but He made it willingly. He bled to give not just one of God's children a rebirth, but all of us.

On this Easter Sunday, as I feel new life move within me, I find myself, yet again, experiencing a new beginning through Christ.

#becauseofhim

Living on the edge

Anyone who knows me well knows I am too much of a stickler for rules. I have known this for over a decade, but some habits are hard to break. I believe in rules. I believe they are there for a reason. I believe they allow you more freedom when they are used properly.

I also believe that some rules are meant to be broken. Or, at least, almost-broken.

Now, I'll add a disclaimer here for any well-meaning relative who wants to feed Kevin a can of Pepsi or take her for a ride on the motorcycle while I am laid up with her brother this summer: some rules. Only some rules.

For example, Scott and I decided before we ever had kids that we would never let them sleep in our bed. (Note: I am not trying to bash co-sleeping here. We simply decided that for us, our bed was ours alone and that it would be easier to enforce that from the beginning of parenthood than a few years down the road when we would have multiple toddlers vying for cuddle space).

And now every time I hear the song "Let Them Be Little" I immediately feel guilty, because there is no "let them sleep in the middle" at our house.

We have reached a compromise though. It is called "let her cuddle in the middle for ten minutes while we watch Netflix at four a.m. because putting her back to bed repeatedly for the last hour hasn't allowed anyone to sleep, unborn baby brother included."

So in the early morning hours on this Thursday morning, I learned to appreciate that sometimes coming close to breaking the rules can allow you some really beautiful moments. Like our whole little family cuddled up together while the sky started to lighten up and the birds started to sing and Bobby Flay, once again, wasn't beaten. The three of us wedged together (apparently it isn't time to turn off our heater yet), Kevin resting her head on her dad's arm and holding my hand, while one of Scott's hands rested on my now-bulging-I-really-can't-pass-this-baby-off-as-chub-anymore stomach.

Then, as he tried to hold my hand and Kevin quickly put a stop to that by moving one of our hands away, we decided cuddle time was over (for her). And we put her back to bed (eventually. Because it turns out the reason she had been wide awake for hours was because she was hungry and needed some yogurt and a cookie).

As I lay in bed, trying to force myself back to sleep for a few more hours, I realized that while I do believe in keeping the rules, sometimes I also believe in coming close to breaking them.

Sometimes you need to let your husband skip class to take care of your family.

Sometimes you need to eat dessert despite being pregnant and diabetic.

Sometimes the laundry and bathrooms can wait another week.

Sometimes it is okay to get naked and go skinny dipping just for the sake of doing something adventurous.

Sometimes you just have to kiss that boy you were expressly told not to date before you return to your mission.

Sometimes toddlers need carbonation... But only in the form of root beer floats.

Rinda's Reads: Two Recommendations

I am reading again! Not as much as I used to, but enough to keep me sane. And so I thought I would pass along the best books I read in February and March. There were more books than this, but I wasn't overly impressed with the others I read (or I flat-out hated them).

For February: Ruby Red, Sapphire Blue, and Emerald Green (aka the Precious Stone Trilogy) by Kerstin Gier, translation by Anthea Bell

Another one of those fantastical young adult series, with a twist. Here's the twist: these books are translated from German, and there is apparently a movie already made of them, but there is no English translation available. Anyway, I loved the books. And it is the first time since last fall (aka since I've been pregnant) that I've been able to finish three books in the space of two weeks. I can't even really explain the storyline, except to say that it is about a teenage girl who unexpectedly finds out she has inherited the family time-traveling gene. Perhaps that sounds a bit cheesy, but I will tell you this: the books are a thousand times better than Twilight.

For March: Calling Me Home by Julie Kibler

Perhaps I picked this book up because it was historical fiction and I love historical fiction. Perhaps it was because the writer is from Texas--and not just any part of Texas, but a part my mission actually covered. Perhaps it is because I was impressed by the cover art (yes, I do judge books by their covers, so judge me).

The point is, it doesn't matter why I picked this book up. What matters is that I am a better person for reading this book, and I would highly recommend it to anyone (especially people looking for book club suggestions). If anyone has read this book, please call me. I need to talk it over with someone. Not only is the writing beautiful and the characters well-developed, but this book shows that racism is not just something that ended in the 1960s, and it explores why it is important for us to pay attention today.

This book has one of those storylines where you think you know what is going to happen (a white girl in Kentucky just can't end up with a black boy in the 1940s, everyone knows that), but then Kibler manages to surprise you throughout the whole book anyway. Be warned, this book is real and not all warm fuzzies. I would give it a PG-13 rating.

Anyway, you should read it.

Now, any recommendations for me?