Embracing the Mess

Picture this. Ellie and I are sitting together at the table eating breakfast. These days, she eats pretty much anything and everything we eat, so on this morning’s menu was French toast and blueberries. As is the norm these days, she gets through about three bites before she’s squalling and reaching for something on the table that she sees but cannot reach. I pass her sippy cup to her. No cigar. I try handing her the toy she was playing with while I made breakfast. Still squealing and pointing. “What do you want baby?” I ask, longing for the days when she will be able to communicate her needs in a more direct and less ear-ringing sort of way. As I feed her a bite from her tray, her tiny fingers curl around my fork and the squealing stops. She smiles at the sweet victory of finally obtaining her treasured prize. I let go, knowing what will ensue if I fight her over the fork, but what happens next is just incredible. She begins stabbing at her tray like a bad horror movie, and just as I’m about to grab it from her grip, she successfully stabs a blueberry and it sticks. The fork goes to her mouth and a smile of sweet, sweet victory erupts from her face.

I’m not sure when it happened, but my sweet little baby has officially turned into a toddler. Some days it feels like such a privilege to be able to witness this tiny person learn and discover something new for the very first time. Other days, it’s just downright gross. She’s literally into everything – and she’s fast – which means that she’s halfway across the kitchen before I realize she’s headed straight for the dog bowl – and if I beat her and get the bowl of food off the floor before she’s put it into her mouth, she’s already halfway into the bathroom to play in the toilet water.

Some days, I’m seriously not sure I’ll survive until nap time.

But other days, she does something incredible like learning how to use a fork for the first time, and I’m in complete and utter awe that I created this human and that somehow, despite the number of times I already messed up that day, she’s managed to observe and learn how to use a fork and feed herself.

I know this is just the beginning, but it really never gets old watching her discover her world. There are times when I have to fight every urge to pull her out of a situation where she’s discovering, clean her up, change her clothes, and plop a big bow back on her head. But toddlerhood is not about pristine clothes or clean hands, and the bow in the hair is not worth the time or the fight. Toddlerhood is for pulling worms out of the mud and gasping as it wriggles in your fingers. It’s discovering that if you fill the cup with water and then hold it to your lips, you can drink it, even if it means you’re wearing more than you consume. It’s grabbing fistfuls of spaghetti and squishing it before you eat it. It’s about having to take three baths in one day and accepting that your kitchen floor may have a stickiness that you just can’t get rid of. It’s letting her hold the ice cream cone or learning the hard way that the sandbox is for playing and not for eating.

It’s not always pretty or easy to watch. Allowing your child to learn in this way, also means you have to allow room for messing up, getting it wrong, or even getting hurt. The other night, Ellie figured out that she could drink the water in the bathtub. It only took about three times before she accidentally breathed in while her nose and mouth were submerged and she got choked. Her panicked little eyes and crocodile tears were gut wrenching. Parenting is hard, every single day. But she learned and tonight while she took her bath, she used the washcloth to collect water and drink instead.

But I would so much rather watch her learn in this way, even if it’s difficult and sticky and exhausting because it’s authentic. I could show her a picture of mud, but it’s not the same as digging her fingers deep down in the earth and discovering it for herself. Clothes come clean. So do toddlers. I say, embrace the mess.

To the Mama Who

On this Mother’s Day, and everyday,

To the expectant mama who has looked forward to celebrating this day for a long time and who sits in quiet anticipation of all the future Mother’s Days filled with sticky kisses and homemade cards and  breakfasts in bed.

I am so excited for you.

To the brand new mama – As you rock that sweet babe in your arms in the middle of the night and you wonder if you’re doing it all right or if you’re messing it all up or if you’re doing enough or if you’re doing too much.

We rock together.

To the mama who stays at home and whose day is filled with Play Dough and grocery store tantrums. Who folds the laundry and puts on makeup for her husband and who wonders if anyone even notices.

I respect you.

To the mama who works long days and who wonders if she’s missing it all and who second guesses herself as she sips her coffee after dropping the kids at daycare every morning.

I respect you too.

To the mama who sometimes feels like she’s running a taxi service and whose evenings are filled with dance practice and swim lessons. Whose Saturday mornings are no longer filled with lazy morning snuggles and coffee, but are spent watching four year olds try to kick a ball down a field.

This is a season and remember that it all goes too fast.

To the mamas who lie in bed, wide awake, praying that they are able to protect and keep this fragile little life God has bestowed to them.

The fear is real. We pray together.

To the mamas whose babies are all grown up and falling in love or getting their driver’s license or going away to school or having babies of their own. Who have done the best they can day after day to raise babies who can go out into the world and make a difference.

I value your wisdom and I aspire to be like you.

To the single mamas or the mamas whose husbands are deployed or gone. Who get up day after day, without complaint, to do what needs to be done. Who try to fill the shoes of two parents and who sit on the couch after the kids have gone to bed and long for adult interaction.

I honor you and I hope that you don’t feel alone today or ever.

To the mamas who desire in the deepest parts of their souls to be a mama and who have lost little ones or who have felt the incredible disappointment and despair month after month. I cannot imagine what this day feels like for you.

I see you and I’m praying for you. Today and everyday.

To Mamas everywhere, and especially to my own who I’m not sure I ever appreciated in the same way until I was trying to be a mama myself. Happiest of Mother’s Day to you.

My Birth Plan

A few months before I had Ellie, I sat down and really started thinking about what my ideal birth would look like. I know some of you are already laughing because generally speaking, births come with all kinds of unexpected plot twists and reality often trumps expectations. Knowing that, I wrote my birth plan to reflect what was really important to me, but also with a stark understanding and acceptance that there may be moments or a time when what I wanted and what was medically necessary were two different things. I really believe that if you write a birth plan {theoretically} in pencil rather than ink, you’re setting yourself up for a much better scenario. I didn’t print multiple copies of it or have it laminated, but I did make sure to share it with my midwife {who put a copy in my file}, my husband, and with the L&D nurses when I arrived at the hospital. My birth plan reflects what was important to me – it’s certainly not a one size fits all – but if you’re looking for ideas of what you can include in your own plan, here’s what mine said:

1. Please do not hook me up to any devices or machines that are not necessary. Unless there is concern, please only use a doppler to track the baby’s heart rate and not a strap.
2. No use of IV’s or a saline lock unless medically necessary.
3. Only check baby’s progress when requested by me. Please do not ask if you can check me.
4. Please allow food and beverages during labor at my discretion.
5. Please allow me to move around the room, walk the halls, or get into the tub or shower if requested.
6. Please allow me to wear what I want during labor.
7. I would like to avoid interventions wherever possible. I also understand where there might be moments where I feel especially anxious or vulnerable. Please don’t ask me if I want an epidural.
8. Please delay cord clamping until the cord has finished pulsing. Please ask me and/or my husband before you clamp.
9. Please check with me and my husband before allowing any visitors into the room – delivery or recovery.
10. In the event that interventions are recommended, please talk to both me and my husband, explain all reasoning, and then allow time for us to discuss privately before making a decision.
11. Barring any complications, my friend Brit will be catching the baby. I give her full permission to do so.
12. Please place the baby onto my chest immediately following her birth and do not ask to take her for measurements. If someone needs to examine her for medical reasons, please explain that to both me and my husband.
13. Please do not take the baby from the room at any time.
14. If I am not in a place where I can respond or consent, my husband and sister know my wishes and can speak for me.

During most of my labor, I felt very in control and very aware, but when I reached transition about an hour before Ellie was born, I really went into a zone where the only thing that existed in my world was bringing that baby earth side. Right after she was born, I lost a lot of blood and my blood pressure plummeted making those first few hours after her birth also a little hazy. I felt very thankful when all was said and done for my birth plan which helped to ensure that I could have the experience I desired without needing to advocate for myself.