Cleaning out the Clutter

It's 8:07 on a Thursday night, I just finished off my "dessert" of Rainbow Mallows (the baby of Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms--generic brand, of course--seriously genius) and I have no idea what to write about today. There have been a few things going through my mind, but nothing outstanding or super uplifting and my husband is talking to me about football so I'm a little distracted. But I told myself I would write every Thursday and so write every Thursday I shall!

We have a corner in our living room that is surrounded by a catch-all bookcase and a computer-desk turned TV stand. Everything gets stuck in there. I am trying to be less cluttered in my life, so I decided to clean it out yesterday. I laid Kevin down on a blanket next to me, turned on Tangled (this is the first time I've turned on a movie to entertain her and not me), and got to work filing all the papers back there. I ended up with nine folders--all labelled something prefaced by "baby" or "pregnancy"--and a little bit of flashback anxiety.

I came across one of the booklets that "teaches" you how to handle having a baby in the NICU. I remember flipping through it during one of my many pumping sessions at the Ronald McDonald House while the NICU at Primary Children's was closed. Then, I was in survival mode. Yesterday, I was in "I am going to face this and get over it" mode. Whenever I think back to those three weeks of having our baby girl in the hospital, I sort of get a mini panic attack. I'm only starting to realize how tough it was and how completely NOT over it I am. Some days I forget about what happened, because she is just SO healthy and happy. Other days I remind myself because I really don't want to forget what I learned there.

A friend told me that having a baby in the NICU brings and maturity and a softness that new moms can't get any other way. I believe her. Her first baby was in the NICU for 11 days and on oxygen for a month longer when he went home. Last week he got a little brother that got to come home 24 hours after he was delivered! I couldn't be happier for their family. She said that she didn't realize the nurses left the baby in your room all night. I imagine this new little guy is a whole new ball game. She's finally getting to go to Italy.

It makes me wonder if we will ever get to go there--not Italy, the country, but Italy the metaphorical "everything goes as planned" method of having a baby (see Emily Pearl Kingsley's Welcome to Holland). I am prepared (or at least I tell myself I am prepared) for the reality that with my diabetes, I will probably only ever have NICU babies (it takes IDM babies a while to get their blood sugar regulated on their own). I'm hoping we won't have to spend 24 days there with other other kids like we did with Kevin, but in reality I might not ever get a brand-new baby that sounds like a crying kitten staying in the same hospital room as me.

I guess this leads me to what I've really been thinking about this evening. Sometimes our life doesn't go as planned.

Hah.

That's an understatement.

Maybe it is better to say, "sometimes life doesn't go as dreamed" or "the timeline of my life isn't the tempo I'd like to dance to." In the end, though, when a few weeks or months or years or decades have passed, we see the wisdom of God's timing. When I look back on the things in my life that I wouldn't have chosen (like not kissing a boy until I was almost 21 or coming home in the middle of my LDS mission or graduating from college a full 6.5 years after graduating high school) I see that everything happened when I needed it to happen. Sometimes it was hard to accept the end of an era (like that fantastic junior year of college where I constantly lived and breathed fun for the first time in my life) and sometimes it was even more difficult to accept the beginning of a new one (like realizing that I can't ever go back to not being diabetic).

Right now, I am at the beginning of one of my favorite chapters of my life so far--being a mom. This chapter didn't start at all the way I had planned, but it is a better story and I am a better character because of our unanticipated early beginning. I've learned that sometimes life is a choose your own adventure story--but sometimes you also have to be wise enough to recognize that storylines end and storylines begin in the middle of a book. Nobody wants to keep reading a book where the main character only lives in the past.

So I am filing away the NICU booklet and focusing on my healthy girl. And when we end up in Holland again someday I will take in every detail, count my blessings, and be grateful to leave.



I saw this little saying in a store today. Love it. Photo Credit HERE

Voices

This week has gone by fast and we've been able to do some fun things. My husband has been such a great example to me this week--he's been taking time to serve so many people, and serving me by letting me have time to serve others. We were able to have the Sister Missionaries join us for dinner yesterday...what an interesting experience to be on the other side of the table (and we were done in less than an hour)! Both sisters seemed kind of shy and the conversation was somewhat awkward and stinted as I tried to get to know them without asking those off-limits questions (for example: How long have you been out? Except that I sort of made that mistake inadvertantly because I asked them what areas they had served in...and when you've only served on one area--"this one"--it kind of gives away your greenie status). After a few silent moments, I found the magic conversation starter: "Tell me about some of the people you've been teaching." Both sisters lit up and the babbling commenced and I was grateful. It was fun to share some of my favorite mission experiences too--I know they liked those better than new baby stories (again, duh me).  I am grateful for the spirit they brought in to our home and for the reminder of that wonderful period of time in our lives where we were able to be full-time servants of the Lord.

I have been thinking a lot this week about God's role of being our Heavenly Father. Being a parent myself has given me so many more insights about God's love. I think that you can try to understand God's love for his children, but you can't really begin to comprehend it until you are a parent yourself.

For example, Kevin and I enjoy our time together in the mornings. Scott and I often fight over who gets to get her out of bed in the morning and receive The First Smile of the day. I usually win because he is usually gone before both of us get up. After her tummy is full, I lay her down on a blanket and eat some breakfast (because I learned the hard way that if I don't eat it doesn't create a good situation for either of us...but I'm not sure I'm ready to write about that experience yet). Kevin isn't a big talker like a lot of baby girls are. She likes to sit back and observe and occasionally will humor whomever is holding her with some squeaks and giggles and what my mom has started to call her Princess Grunt (her way of saying "hold me already!").

When she thinks she is alone, however, she will talk and talk and talk until she hears me answer her. When she can't see me, she gets nervous. She hates being alone above all things. I can be sitting on the couch or at the table a few feet away from her, listening and watching and making sure she is okay, but if she doesn't hear me she doesn't think I'm taking care of her. In reality, she is my focus at all times (hence why I quit facebook--too much of a distraction). Sure, I still shower and clean up the house and get things done, but I am always aware of where she is and what she is doing.  She doesn't know this, however, unless she hears my voice or sees my face.

How often are we like that with our Heavenly Father? He is always, always aware of us but we don't believe that unless we feel like we are receiving answers to our prayers and seeing His hand in our lives. This week has been a wonderful reminder to me that sometimes He is watching from a few feet away, ready to rescue us when Tummy Time gets too hard or we become too tired to play on our own or we are hungry and in need of nourishment.

If we listen, we can hear Him reassuring us that He is there, He is constantly aware of us, and He is always listening to us.

A Champion

I have been watching a whole lot of television this week. But since the Olympics only come around every two years and I've missed the last two, I feel justified. I've watched a range of events that I've never paid attention to before--canoeing, rowing, kayaking, volleyball, boxing, diving, cycling, fencing, bad badminton--in addition to the ones I've always enjoyed, like swimming and gymnastics. I am amazed at how easy the athletes make their chosen sports look. I am astounded by the things the human body is capable of.

I was thinking this as I was watching diving the other day, when the thought came to my mind that my body has done some pretty incredible things too.  And although I can't jump more than a foot off the floor, I can barely doggie paddle across a cheap hotel-sized pool, and I will NEVER EVER appear on international TV in a bikini let alone a leotard, I have given birth, and that is, in my opinion, the most important feat the human body will ever achieve.

I'll never forget those first few moments after my daughter (whom I will refer  to as Kevin) was born. While the situation was intense, scary, and more than a little stressful (she came 8 weeks early), the atmosphere was strangely peaceful and calm as she took her first breaths. They laid her purple body on my chest and I heard her holler as her limbs flailed all over the place, searching for boundaries, something to help her define her surroundings. I reached out my hand and she found her anchor, my finger, and gripped so hard they had to peel her tiny fingers off so that the doctors and nurses could begin to take care of her. I remember thinking, "Good. She's screaming. She's holding on. She's a fighter. She'll be fine."

I think of the pain and the sacrifices of those early days, when we did not know how this would turn out. Would she suffer lasting damage? Would she remember the pricks and jabs and lights and x-rays and having her little heart shocked back into a normal rythmn? Would she ever be able to breathe on her own without the oxygen for more than a few days at a time? Would we ever be able to go home? We prayed and cried and rejoiced over the little things that seemed so big. We held her hands, stroked her head, patted her bum--anything we could do to say, "We're here. We love you. Don't give up."

Now, almost five whole months later, she is strong and healthy, with chubby thighs and rosy cheeks. I watch her discover something new about herself every day: her voice, her hands, her lips, her tongue, her hair (which is disappearing), her feet, her ability to make others smile.

I am not an Olympian, but I am a mother. My home is my training facility, my parents and my Heavenly Father my coaches, my husband my teammate. I don't stop training, ever. I work hard, I sacrifice, I pick myself up from disappointments and rejoice over our triumphs.I cheer on my teammate and ignore other competitors--I am competing against no one but myself and my personal best. And Kevin?

She is my gold medal.

Back to My Roots

I turned 25 this week. There's nothing like a quarter century mark to prompt one to look back on the past few years and in consequence look forward too. I've been thinking a lot about my last five years--and all the images that come with that.

My junior year of college. That summer I worked as a youth camp facilitator. The MTC and how I couldn't wait to get to Texas. Those first several months in Texas and I waded through homesickness, illness, loneliness, and the sincere joys of sharing the gospel. That devastating phone call that said I was going home earlier than expected. Not knowing if I would go back and finish. Falling in love. Not wanting to go back and finish. An innocent, although inappropriate, kiss and a few days later getting on the plane anyway. Eleven bittersweet months--my adorable companions, the people I taught, the land I never wanted to leave, and the man I couldn't wait to come home to. Taking off my nametag, exhausted, nervous, and relieved. A hello hug. Two brief trips back to Texas with loved ones. A summer romance that was a long time coming. A ring--bigger and sparklier than I could have ever imagined--on my finger. Whirlwind nine-week engagement. A perfect, beautiful, sunny, warm day dressed in white with my love at my side. Back to school. Back to work.  A new job. A belated California honeymoon. Burying two of my favorite people during the same week. A jump into the unknown, followed by a positive test, a long embrace, a deep breath and whispers about how we were terrified and unbelievably excited. Muddling through those last twelve credits with hourly trips to almost every bathroom on campus. Turning in my last final, knowing I had accomplished my goal twice over. Working, waiting, preparing. Fatigue. A check-up that turned into my first ambulance ride and 50 hours of labor later, the most precious and beautiful little baby girl in my arms. Three weeks in the NICU. Weeks that defined her life, my life, and his life. A passed weight test. A carseat with an actual baby in it. Tears all the way home. Learning to be a family of three. A graduation ceremony. Days filled with diapers, smiles, stories, and love.

I am living my dream.

The thing I miss most about being a missionary is those Thursday afternoons in some library in some town in Texas, spending an hour recording how my life went for the last week: what I'd learned, where I'd been, who I'd been with. And I realized this week that I really miss writing that record.

So I am going back to my roots and I am reintroducing myself to preparation day. I never knew exactly who saw my letters--I know the email reached my mom, who sent it out to a list of people I loved, who may or may not have passed it on in turn. And since our family blog is so private it's basically under cyber lock and key, I've decided it is time I started another blog and got back to my weekly writing hour.

Welcome back to Thursday morning.