A Looong Winter

I know I've been gone a long time. It's been a long winter, y'all.

We did a lot of this,

quite a bit of this,

and, thankfully, bunches of this.

Oh, and two babies in the house means a LOT of this.

And now, we're ready for spring. We're dreaming of flowers. And rainbows.

Thanks for coming, winter. It's time for you to leave now.

Good to Be

Tonight at supper I kept noticing a lady at the table next to us watching my family. I caught her eye several times, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed that I made eye contact with her. I wondered what interested her so. I wondered if she envied me with my sweet family. I didn't find it hard to imagine that. If I were someone else, I'd envy me. That's a really good feeling.

It's good to be the Mama.

Hold Me Close

I have a baby who doesn't like me to put him down. If I put him on my bed while I change clothes, he whimpers and whines until I pick him up. If I put him in his crib, he turns red in the face and wails as though I've abandoned him forever. And so I pick him up.

I've read about 50 parenting books. I get all the parenting magazines. I get weekly emails from BabyCenter updating me on what my baby SHOULD be doing and how I SHOULD be responding. Popular belief seems to be that the best thing to do is to let him cry a little--show him that he won't die if he's left alone--and "teach" him to be independent of me.

Fortunately, I learned long ago to ignore popular opinion.

I put myself in his shoes (or lack thereof), and I realize that it does feel scary to be put down. The world is big and bright and noisy, and, by contrast, Mama's arms feel comfortable, warm, familiar. I often put him in a sling and "wear" him to free up my hands. It's convenient. Sometimes I wear him for his benefit and not mine, however. If he's overstimulated or overtired it helps if I pop him in the sling and sway a little. The outside world goes away, and he can relax in the comfort of my embrace. He usually goes to sleep and dozes peacefully for as long as I will let him.

I understand his need to be held close, for the world to disappear. Every Sunday morning my church sings the first verse of "Jesus Draw Me Close" as a sung prayer:

Jesus, draw me close

Closer, Lord, to You.

Let the world around me fade away.

Jesus, draw me close

Closer, Lord, to You.

For I desire to worship and obey.

As I'm singing these sweet words, I picture God wrapping his arms around me, refusing to put me down. Sometimes the world feels hard and overwhelming, and I am just sure that God has left me. I whimper (and sometimes even wail) and then feel His arms around me. He hasn't left after all--He was there all the time. I picture Him shhing softly in my ear and promising to make everything okay as He holds me tight. He's an attachment parent. It feels so very good. I can see why Nolan likes it so much.

And that's why I wear my baby. That's why I love attachment parenting. Those "experts" have it all wrong.

New Year. Fresh Start.

I saw this bumper sticker yesterday that said, "More Wag. Less Bark." I tried to get a picture of it, but the light turned green before I could get my camera out, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, I liked it. I think I've been barking far too much lately. My kids are slow to do their chores. Bark. There is too much noise in the house. Bark, bark. And I've been wagging far too little.

So, my new year's resolution: More Wag. Less Bark.

Also, my first baby lost his first tooth on this first day of the new decade. Put the brakes on. It's moving too fast.





Happy New Year, friends. I hope that your 2010 is filled with many blessings and that you wag far more than you bark.

*I DID write this on New Year's Day. Unfortunately, blogger was not feeling cooperative. I haven't been able to get it to post until today. So, Happy New Year a few days late.

Quick Takes for Christmas

I'm short on time (always), but I wanted to update on little Nolan and also put a few other thoughts in my head in written form. Today, we get 7 quick takes.

1. Nolan went back to the doctor on Monday for a weight check. They were hoping he would have gained 2 ounces (1/2 ounce a day for 4 days), and he gained 9. So, that's thrilling. Of course, that was with breastfeeding, formula, pumping, and almost no sleep for Mama. So, we've backed off just a little hoping to find that perfect balance of weight gain and sanity in our household. Right now I'm breastfeeding about every hour and a half then offering a bottle. I've been pumping enough (SO MUCH PUMPING) that I'm able to offer breastmilk as a supplement most times, so he's only had formula twice in the last 3 days (both times he spat most of it back out, so I don't know if he was full or just thought it was yucky--because it IS yucky). He is taking less and less from the bottle and seeming satisfied after breastfeedings, so I think that my milk supply is increasing and he's getting stronger. THANK YOU for your prayers, kind words, and even meals. I'm serious that I couldn't have gotten through this last week without all your support.

2. I talked to a lactation consultant this week. She told me that a big part of breastfeeding is mental--if you think you can do it, you can do it. If you decide you can't, you can't. Now, I don't know what the ratio is of mind power:science when it comes to the actual mechanics of breastfeeding, but I definitely see where she's going with this. She said that there's no science to prove that mother's milk tea actually improves milk production, BUT if a mother is willing to give Daddy the crying baby and make herself a cup of tea and take the time to drink it before breastfeeding, she's already in a better state of mind and will produce more milk as a result. I think this can apply to most areas of parenting. If you walk away for a few minutes (take a walk, call a friend, go to your room and listen to Sarah McLachlan's Christmas album--which is fabulous, by the way) you come back in a better state to do whatever task is on your plate. So, it's not always easy to put into action (it almost never is, in fact), but it's really remarkable how much difference a shower in a locked bathroom can make in a tired mom's life.

3. This week a very dear old lady in my church passed away. She was the oldest church member, so this was hardly a surprise, but it still stings when someone you love passes. I only had one grandparent in my life, and she lived far away. Not that I didn't love her, of course, but she wasn't an active part of my daily life. So, when I came to my church, part of what I was looking for was that extended family that I didn't have. Boy, did I find it. There were plenty of grandmas and grandpas who surrounded me and cheered me through graduations, weddings, babies, and life's everyday ups and downs. I clung to 4 of them most dearly. She was the last of the 4 to pass. When I got the news I felt very personally sad. My boys will never again sit in her bony lap. She will never again hold my hand in her very frail one and whisper in her old lady whisper (which was really quite loud), "I sure do love you." But the news also made me extremely happy. She's finally Home for the holidays. I know that she's glowing as she greets her lost loved ones and celebrates her first Christmas Home.

4. Christmas is tomorrow. Once again it snuck up on me. I was going to be ready this year. And then I had a baby. And then the baby needed me more than I anticipated. And then it was Christmas. And the gingerbread house sits on my kitchen counter unassembled. And the presents sit in my garage unwrapped. And my Christmas lights sit in a bin unhung. And Christmas still came. And somehow all that stuff seems totally unimportant in the grand scheme of things. And I'm not even sorry that I didn't get around to all that stuff.

5. I'm struggling with Santa. The Jolly Old Elf has my gut in knots. I grew up with Santa visiting my house every year, and it just seemed natural that the same would be true for my kids. But the boys have been asking questions--too many questions--and I don't know how to lie to them. And I once heard a lady in my church talk about when her son started asking questions. She told him the truth. So, he asked next about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. She, again, told him the truth. Then he asked about Jesus. You know, it makes perfect sense that those things would get all tangled up in a child's mind. They can't be seen, and yet grown ups insist that they're out there somewhere. Believe in the unseen. That's faith, right? So, how do we nurture their faith in Christ when they take a blow to their faith in all the imaginary childhood icons? How credible will I be when I tell them that those guys weren't real, but BELIEVE ME THIS TIME Jesus is? So, I think Santa is coming this year just because I don't have time to really sort it all out in my head before the boys go to bed tonight, but I need to do some serious thinking on this before next year. If you have advice or thoughts on the topic, I'm all ears.

6. I really didn't have 7 things to write about today.

7. Have a very Merry Christmas and a blessed 2010.

If I Had Only Known...

I didn't know.

I didn't know that when I chose to feed the boys lunch AFTER Nolan's doctor's appointment on Thursday they wouldn't get to eat until Mike came to pick them up at 3:00.

I didn't know that when I left the house for the routine checkup at 12:00 that I wouldn't return home again until well after 6:00.

I didn't know that when my baby sucked his pacifier so vigorously he was actually searching for food.

I didn't know that when he cried he was trying to tell me that he was literally starving.

I didn't know that every time I put him to the breast he would suck until he exhausted himself and fell asleep but only received a small amount of food.

I didn't know that his tiny body was the result of hunger, not genetics.

I didn't know.

If I had only known. I would have done things so differently. I would have started pumping earlier to increase my milk supply for him. I would have insisted on frequent weight checks to make sure he was gaining appropriately. I would have forbidden pacifiers and put him to the breast every time he wanted to suck, even if it was just 15 minutes after our last feeding. If I had only known. But I didn't know. And this happened.

And now. Now my baby is scheduled to have a second blood test next week. Now he is drinking cold formula from an artificial nipple. Now I'm pumping every hour and a half and nursing too and my breasts are sore and my older children are feeling neglected. And I'm still not making enough milk. His weak suck and my ignorance allowed my milk supply to decrease to nearly nothing, and I'm not sure I'll be able to build it back up. I'm feeling betrayed by the very body I was so in awe of only weeks ago. I'm feeling cheated because I won't be able to breastfeed my very last baby the way I had planned. I'm feeling exhausted because my routine right now consists of nursing the baby, giving him a bottle, then pumping, then about 30 minutes of down time before the process starts over (day and night). I'm feeling ashamed because I let this happen--what kind of mother lets this happen? When I checked in at the hospital for his tests, I was horrified to see that I knew the admitting nurse. I handed her the orders for the tests with the words "failure to thrive" written across the top, and wanted the floor to swallow me up to avoid sitting in the room with her thoughts of how I was neglecting my baby. Failure to thrive is something that drug addicts' babies have. Good mothers have fat babies and laugh about their pudgy thighs. My baby's diaper leaks every time he pees because his legs are too skinny to get a good fit. How could I have not known? I'm terrified that his "failure to thrive"--my failure to parent--will have long-term affects on his brain and his development.

So, if you are so inclined, please pray for my very little man. And, if you don't mind, for me too.

More Like Mary

Advent started this week. Having just had a baby, I'm especially deep in thought this year about Mary and her place in the Christmas story.

I've already shared with you my birth story, in which I revealed that things didn't go quite as planned in my labor and delivery. My mom wasn't in the room as we had planned. Plus, it hurt like crazy, and I just couldn't imagine that it was supposed to hurt that much (and maybe it wasn't--the placenta was abrupted, after all, and I have nothing to compare it with having never experienced a natural childbirth before). It would have been super-nice to have had the doctor standing there with me telling me what was going on, why it was hurting, what was going to happen next. But it didn't happen that way. This baby was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I felt helpless and scared. I went into a bit of a panic, to be honest. And this was in a hospital, with a RN standing over me and my husband by my side.

But, Mary. We don't get to know a lot about Mary's labor and delivery. This is because the gospels were written by men. If we had a Gospel According to Mary, I feel certain we would have details about Jesus' entry into the world. Men, though. Luke writes "...the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son," as though it was as easy and automatic as taking a breath. He says nothing of her pain, her fear, her embarrassment. I mean, we've got to assume that Joseph had a hand in delivering the baby, and let me remind you that the two still did not "know" each other. If you've never attended a birth, I'll be the first to tell you that it's not a modest event. Talk about a get-to-know-you session for the young couple.

I wonder if Mary was a little (or even a lot) upset with God over the situation. Let's face it, God really asked a lot of the girl (and I say girl because, historically speaking, it's very likely that she was merely a teenager when all this happened). First she has to deal with an unplanned, out-of-wedlock pregnancy and public ridicule and the possibility of losing Joseph. Then she has to postpone her wedding plans so that she can remain a virgin for the entirety of the pregnancy. Then she has to travel the 70ish miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem during her last trimester, the part of the pregnancy when most of us complain if we have to waddle down the sidewalk to check the mail. When she gets there she doesn't even get to crash in a nice hotel room with a plush bed and room service. No, she's sent to the stable where she can enjoy the pleasant aroma of animal manure and the softness of itchy straw for her bed. At least she can rest after her journey, right? Wrong. Now comes the really hard part. She labors and delivers the precious baby Jesus in an unfamiliar city, many miles from her family and her home. The Baby was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wonder if she cried out to God in fear or anger or both. Then again, she was no ordinary woman.

Oh, but then. The baby was born, and her labor pains stopped. She got to hold that tiny baby and, if she was anything like me at all, it made all the pain and suffering worth it. She looked at the baby in her arms and saw something beautiful: the face of God. Can you imagine? I know that I can hardly hold my baby without crying just because of the miracle which has taken place in my life. It's almost too much to fathom--a human woman holding the savior of mankind, nursing him at her breast, He as helpless and tiny as my little Nolan.

I'd love to meet Mary. I'd love to ask her how she did what she did. I'd love to ask her how she kept her cool (IF she kept her cool) with all that was required of her (not even ending with the birth of Jesus). I'd love to BE like Mary. Because there are times in my life when I realize that things aren't going as I planned, and I get more than a little irritated with God for changing the plans on me at the last minute. I'd love to be able to say, "This baby is coming, and there's nothing anyone can do about it," with a positive attitude, trusting that God has a plan and is taking care of me and my family. The truth is that I DO believe that, it's just hard to remember in the midst of life's labor pains.

My Many Colored Days

I very firmly believe that postpartum depression is real. After Ei was born, I found myself anxious and angry and sad for no good reason. Prozac is a wonderful thing, by the way. I told my doctor, she wrote a prescription, I took a little blue pill each morning, and in a few months I felt better. It's hard when you're in the middle of it though. You've got this perfect little baby and a wonderful life and then your stupid hormones and sleep deprivation get in the way and make you cry because you're out of toilet paper in every bathroom and you start to think that if you can't even keep toilet paper stocked how are you ever going to remember to feed and bathe two children and what was God thinking entrusting all of this to you. If you've been there, you're nodding your head knowingly right now. If you haven't, just trust me.

It's not like that this time. If there's a such thing as postpartum elation, that's what I've got. I am so sleep-deprived it's ridiculous, but I am getting by on this baby high that feels amazing. All I want to do is hold him and stare at his face. The older boys are all doing fine (to my relief), my recovery was amazingly simple, the baby is healthy and nursing well, and life seems to be falling nicely into place.

And that's all. I don't have anything earth-shattering to write tonight. I just wanted to let you know that my absence in the bloggy world is not due to crippling postpartum depression or even being overwhelmed with my new life. It's just that right now I'm just content to sit and hold this baby and do nothing else. So, I'm going to get back to doing just that. He'll be big far too quickly.

Nolan, 12 days old

Nolan

Introducing...

Nolan Maxwell Sharp

Born Monday, November 16, 2009 at 10:30 a.m.

He's well-loved already.

His birth story is still whirling in my mind. It's wild. Let me share...

After much debate and discussion with my husband and my doctor, we decided to induce his labor on Monday morning. We were concerned that he might not have enough amniotic fluid because this had been a problem in all three of my previous pregnancies. I was disappointed because I really wanted to do this completely naturally. My doctor told me 2 weeks prior to the induction date that I was dilated to 3 cm and already 90% effaced, so I really thought I would have him soon. So I was also a little relieved to finally be done with the pregnancy and meet my baby.

We arrived at Parkwest at 5:30 Monday. They got my IV in and we signed paperwork, but nothing much really happened until 7:45. That's when they started pitocin to encourage stronger and more regular contractions (I had been having mild, irregular contractions for about 2 weeks). At 8:00 my doctor arrived and broke my water. She confirmed that I was still 3cm. They turned up the pitocin every 15 or 20 minutes, so it didn't take very long for me to be in hard labor. I was having painful contractions every 2 minutes (lasting about a minute each) by 9:00, and they gradually got stronger and lasted longer after that. I had signed the consent form for the epidural but told the nurse I wanted to wait to get it. The truth was that, although I had suspected I would need an epidural to get through an aggressively induced labor, I was disappointed about not having the natural childbirth I had dreamed of for so many months. So, just kept telling myself that I would wait 10 minutes and then ask for it if I still wanted it. After 10 minutes, I'd tell myself the same thing again. I kept watching the clock and, when the deadline came, setting a new goal time. At 10:00, I was holding strong.

At 10:15 my dad brought my children back from the waiting room where they had been playing. They were loud and busy. They climbed on the bed where I was laboring and made noise and broke my concentration. It was at this moment that I realized I couldn't go on for 4 more hours (I was expecting a 2:00 delivery, which was pretty consistent with the labor time for my second and third children, minus just a little bit due to wishful thinking). I don't know if the pain actually got worse at that point or if I just lost my concentration and ability to deal with it with all the noise, but that's the point when I could no longer look ahead 10 minutes. I told Mike to call the nurse and ask for my epidural. He gladly did. I guess everyone must have realized that I was in a lot of pain at that point because my mom took the boys back out of the room, and my dad left altogether saying that he'd be back around lunch (and not to have the baby before he returned). My nurse came in right away and went immediately about the business of preparing for the epidural. As she was unpacking the kit on my tray, I told her that I needed to use the restroom before the anesthesiologist arrived. She told me to wait because he would be there in 10 minutes and put a catheter in place. I assured her that there was no way I could wait 10 minutes, and she helped me unhook the 50 thousand cords which tethered me to the hospital bed so I could go. Leaning on my IV pole for support, I made it to the restroom, where I was hit with the most unbelievable contraction. I was dizzy with pain, and I felt pretty sure I was going to die in that bathroom. I called to Mike who helped me cross the room back towards the bed. I had another very painful contraction just as we reached the foot of the bed, and I stopped there to wait it out before I tried to climb back in. It was different though. This was no ordinary contraction. This was a prepare-for-your-death kind of pain.

I told Mike and the nurse that it was suddenly extremely painful. They ignored me, minus a few consoling pats on the back. I guess, "THIS REALLY HURTS!" is just something that women in labor exclaim, so no real reason for alarm. After repeating it over and over and OVER the nurse finally asked if I thought maybe the baby was ready to come. I told her I thought maybe he was already coming. Mike wanted to assure me that the baby was, in fact, NOT going to fall out of my body, but first he looked to be sure that he knew what he was talking about. That's when he said, "The head is already out!"

The rest is a bit of a blur, but here's what I know. The nurse insisted that I lay down on the bed, but I absolutely couldn't move due to pain and panic. So, Mike pushed me backwards onto my back. The nurse grabbed the towel she had just put out for the anesthesiologist to use and caught my baby with it (because she didn't even have her gloves on at this point) at 10:30 a.m. after 2 and a half hours of labor and zero pushes. There was a little nursing student observing (it was her first day on the maternity floor). She couldn't have been more than 18 years old. The nurse sent her out to get help, and she gladly bolted. Within seconds, a crew of nurses descended on my room. Meanwhile, the nurse who delivered the baby was cleaning him up at the foot of my bed. I hadn't delivered the placenta yet, and the cord was not yet cut. She wanted to wait for the doctor to do those things. The doctor did arrive quickly (out of breath from running from her office) and delivered the placenta. She discovered that it was abrupted, likely the cause of the "I might die" pain I felt while walking to the restroom.

The anesthesiologist arrived shortly afterwards. We thanked him but told him his services would not be needed.

So, minus the induced contractions, I got my natural childbirth. I would highly recommend it. I felt GREAT afterwards, and the high of what my body is capable of still has me smiling three days later.

Oh, and the best part? He's wonderful. He's tiny and squishy and velvety soft and smells divine.

And that's the story of how 7 pound, 6 ounce Baby Nolan was born and made his mark on the world. Welcome, little guy. I hope you always have as much enthusiasm for life as you showed Monday.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Parenting is hard. I've written that before, but this time is different. We're having a really hard time at the Sharp household right now, and I'm struggling. The big boys have started fighting, which I know is normal for siblings, but it's aggressive and ugly and makes me so sad. They refuse to clean up their toys. They talk back. The last couple of days I've been standing there looking at them, scratching my head and thinking, "What has happened to my family?"

Yes, I know we're in the midst of major life changes. The baby should be here any day now (the doctor said on Monday she'd be surprised if I lasted another 10 days), and that alone is bound to cause some ripples in our usually still waters. Aaron is outgrowing the baby stage and becoming both a playmate and a real nuisance to the big boys. We've started homeschooling, so our days are no longer full of free play (although we do still get plenty of that). So, I know that there's a lot going on in their worlds, and I've tried to be understanding. But enough is enough.

I got really strict about time outs. I started using a timer and had very specific rules about what constituted a successful time out. I was consistent, for the most part anyway, and tried to be calm but firm when sentencing. Aggression was a non-negotiable time out, as was talking back and acts of defiance. And they just didn't care. 5 minutes later they came bounding out of their time out spots, offering a half-hearted apology only because it was required. Nothing changed.

The other day I did something I thought I would never do. I spanked my child. Ei bit Jackson on his face, leaving a nasty looking bitemark next to his eye. I asked him why he would do something like that (not that there is any good reason, but I needed to know if Jackson also deserved punishment), and he said that they were playing ball and Jackson got to the ball first which made him mad. I wanted to cry when I realized that my sweet little boy had the potential to be so very mean. So, I spanked him twice, while Jackson watched, and thought that this would surely put an end to this recent streak of ugliness. Afterwards I felt like throwing up. I'm not judging others here--just being honest. I just can't figure out how someone can spank a child and walk away feeling good about her parenting skills. All day I wanted to grab Ei in a big hug and tell him how sorry I was, that returning violence for violence was a terrible thing to do. But I talked to Mike about it, and we decided that it might be good for him to see that parents do have bigger ammunition than just time outs and that he better get his act straight. We agreed not to use this particular method of punishment on a regular basis (in fact, I think I'm done with it), but we thought maybe some good might come of it. It didn't. He has bitten Jackson 3 times since then.

Today I walked into the bonus room of our house and took a good look around. There were toys (so many toys) on every inch of the floor, despite my pleas that they clean up for 4 days in a row. I walked the boys into the room and showed them what I saw and asked if they thought it was acceptable. They said no. They asked if they would still get their allowance this week, but they made no effort to pick up their toys. I wanted to bang my head into the wall. What have I created?

And so, today begins a new experiment in my parenting career. We skipped our regular trip to the library for storytime, and instead I emptied the toy room. I gutted it. While the boys screamed and begged for me to stop, I loaded up all their toys into boxes and took them to the garage. Afterwards we had a discussion about how they are not entitled to a room full of fancy toys, dessert after every dinner, and fun outings every day. I told them very calmly that they've become spoiled brats, and that I'm accepting part of the blame for what's happened because I'm the one who buys all the toys, gives them treats, takes them for outings, and doesn't expect an ounce of respect in return. And I told them that today things change. They will earn their toys back by keeping their room clean, respecting others, following directions, and refraining from acts of unkindness. Time outs will continue. Rewards (treats, fun outings, etc.) will be just that--rewards for good behavior, not a part of our regular routine.

Yes, this is poor timing. The baby will be here before we know it, and all of this will be put on the back burner while we just try to survive those first few weeks. Yes, it's going to be hard on all of us to change our old habits. But it's a good start, and I feel hopeful about things for the first time in weeks. Parenting is such an incredible responsibility. I have such a short amount of time to teach these little people to be responsible, compassionate, KIND adults. There's no room to be wishy-washy, even if it's more fun and seems to make the moment easier. I get it. I know this. Now, doing it is the hard part. Prayers, please.