When Nursing Doesn’t Work

I nursed Ellie for 22 months. That was more my choice than hers – I truly loved breastfeeding her everyday and never felt ready to give up those quiet moments together first thing in the morning and before putting her to bed. I’m not going to pretend that all 22 months were easy – nursing in the early days is incredibly difficult whether your baby struggles or doesn’t – but by the time she was about 6 months, we really hit our stride and nursing was easy. When you nurse a child for almost 2 years, you rightfully believe that you’ve mastered the skill, and so when Owen came along, I thought nursing would be a breeze. I was wrong.

I’ve had numerous friends who have struggled with nursing because of tongue and/or lip ties. “Tongue tied” is an expression we use often in our culture, but before I had babies, I never knew that it was a real thing. For those who may be unfamiliar, a tongue or lip tie is when the frenulum (the piece of tissue that connects your lips to your gums and your tongue to the bottom of your mouth) is too long and/or thick. It restricts a baby’s mouth and makes it so that they are unable to freely use their tongue or lips to latch correctly. Babies with this condition often work very hard to nurse and have a difficult time getting the quantity that they need. The condition is often overlooked or not diagnosed as many doctors and lactation consultants do not check for it as a standard of care. Because I’ve had friends whose babies have struggled with it, I knew to ask about it while we were at the hospital, so when the lactation consultant came in for her regular check, I asked her to please look at Owen’s mouth. The response I received was very odd – she said that there was both a tongue and lip tie, but she did not think that either were severe enough to cause any issues and did not need to be resolved. Nursing Owen in the early days after he was born was a bit of a struggle. It was more painful than I remembered with Ellie, but I chocked that up to him still learning how to latch correctly and engorgement. When I was still shrieking in pain two or three weeks in, I decided it was time for a second opinion. We took Owen to a pediatric dentist for a consultation and he was diagnosed with both a tongue and a lip tie. The dentist corrected it that day using a laser. There is NOTHING fun about holding your 4 week old baby down while a doctor lasers his lip and tongue, but the entire procedure lasted less than 2 minutes and he was sound asleep in my arms minutes later. It was much more traumatic for mama than it was for sweet little Owen. We took him home with instructions to do some stretching exercises and work with a lactation consultant to “re-teach” him how to latch. I nursed him when we got home and noticed a difference almost immediately. It seemed we had solved all of our problems.

One of the side effects of a tongue and/or lip tie can be excessive spitting up. Babies who have this condition often suck in a lot of air when they are trying so hard to nurse causing excess gas and spitting up. Owen spit up a lot from the beginning, but the doctor told us not to worry about it unless he was clearly in pain or not gaining weight. Since neither was true, we just thought we had a laundry problem. For good measure, I cut out major dairy and we started having him sit up for a while after every feeding. Nothing seemed to be working. The pediatric dentist who performed his tongue and lip tie reversal told us that the spitting up would likely stop once he learned to nurse correctly. I was so hopeful that would be true. The first few weeks and months of postpartum are difficult enough – no one wants to walk around with baby vomit in their hair. Unfortunately, while the tongue and lip tie correction did resolve the pain I was having while nursing and gave him the ability to get a full meal much more efficiently, it didn’t cut out the spitting up. Because of all the pain I had nursing early on, I had started pumping a lot more and we started giving him bottles a lot more regularly. While the bottles didn’t eliminate the spitting up, we did notice that it happened a lot more frequently and with a lot more volume when I nursed. So we did some research, bought premie size bottle nipples, thickened formula, and breast milk thickener and started doing some experimenting. While it wasn’t the magical, dreamy nursing relationship that I hoped for, the fact that he was eating more efficiently and keeping it down became more important than how he was getting the food.

But it’s not really that simple. The notion of “fed is best” is a lot easier to believe and support when you’re talking about other people’s kids and other people’s choices. While I can rationalize and understand that the decision to almost exclusively bottle feed Owen came from a place of wanting what’s best and healthiest for baby and mama, it often feels like a contradiction. If you know me or have read anything I’ve written before, you know that nursing is a significant part of my mama identity and has been an important part of doing what’s healthiest for myself and my little ones, and so giving that up in the name of health and well-being was not a simple decision. From the discovery of the tongue and lip tie to the excessive reflux to the bonding relationship I’ve built with a torturous machine instead of my infant, these past four months have been a whirlwind of emotions. I have moments where I feel inadequate. I have moments where I feel angry at God. I have moments where I feel relieved when at 3 a.m. I can turn to my husband and say, “your turn.” I have moments where I feel like throwing in the towel and just formula feeding. But then our entire house comes down with the stomach flu and by some miraculous force of nature, Owen is the only one who is spared and I remember why I continue to fight and continue to pump every four hours, even in the middle of the night, even when I’m tired and every muscle in my body hurts and the last thing I want to do is hook myself up to a machine for the sixth time that day. I’m learning that it’s okay to feel all of these things. I’m also learning that emotions don’t always make sense and that it’s okay if sometimes I feel both relieved and disappointed all at the same time. Through it all, I know that I’m doing what I need to do in order to take care of myself and my baby.

Most babies outgrow their reflux by the time they are a year old and for most, symptoms are often markedly better after about 4 or 5 months. At four months, Owen still spits up, but not nearly as much or as often as he used to. I’m hopeful that as he continues to grow, I can begin nursing him more and more. I’m hopeful that 3 a.m. rendezvous may begin to be met with precious snuggles instead of pumping. I’m hopeful that over time my heart will heal. I’m hopeful that Owen and I can have the same long-term nursing relationship that Ellie and I shared.

I’m hopeful.

 

 

The Working Mama’s Dilemma

Right after Owen was born, so many people asked me how much time I was going to be able to stay home before I had to go back to work. I took 9 weeks, which is about the same amount of time I took with Ellie. Most people followed my response with some level of sympathy saying that they were sorry that I couldn’t take more time and that going back to work and leaving my babies was probably going to be so difficult. I don’t want to sound hard or cold when I say this, but after 9 weeks at home, I was counting down the days until I could put on my real pants and makeup and go back to work. Back into the land of adult conversation, where I can finish a cup of coffee without having to reheat it 12 times, and where no one touches me for 8 consecutive hours. And so maternity leave, though it was a beautiful time to get to know Owen and adjust to my new life as a mama of two, was also a confirmation of what I already know to be true: I’m not cut out to be a full-time stay at home mama. Our society loves to glorify the “Stay at Home Mom” as an easy job. You get to sleep in, stay in your pajamas, play at the park all day, and binge watch T.V. while the kids are sleeping, right? Ya’ll, I’m here to tell you, there is nothing easy about being a stay at home mom. Now that there’s two of them, I like to joke that we can’t be anywhere before 10:00. The reality is that between trying to argue with a 2 year old about brushing her teeth or that she can’t wear her pajamas to the grocery store while trying to nurse a newborn and perfectly time our “adventure” before he wakes up and needs to eat again, all while throwing some dry shampoo in my hair and get myself fed and making sure the diaper bag is packed with snacks, diapers, sippy cups, and anything else we might need in the hour we’re gone is seriously no simple task. After 9 weeks at home, going back to work actually felt like a break, a time to rest and recharge from the much more exhausting task of parenting full time.

The journey to learning what works well for our family and gives me the balance that I need in my life has not been without challenges or detours. It is paved with roadblocks that seem to constantly cause us to go back to the drawing board, re-evaluate our decisions, and try to figure out what’s best for our family moving forward. We have recently encountered a pretty large roadblock – one that we saw coming as we welcomed a second child into our family, and yet one that’s causing me to question once again all the things I know to be true about why I choose to work outside of the home.

The cost of childcare.

We’ve been incredibly blessed for the past couple of years to leave Ellie in the care of a close friend who stays home with her children. It’s the perfect scenario and I’ve always felt like it’s been a way for God to communicate that he supports my decision to work part-time. Now that we have two babies, one of which is almost ready to start preschool, we’ve reached a new juncture and are navigating the next chapter of childcare for our babies. Ideally, we’re looking for a place where we can drop them both off, him for daycare and her for preschool. We’ve found some great options, but have reached a point where the cost of childcare is almost exactly, if not more than the amount that I bring in every month.

And so I’ve been forced to ask myself the question every mama asks herself when trying to decide if she should work or stay home: Is it worth it?

The answer to that question is not a simple yes or no; there’s so much to consider. My husband supports me either way, but has expressed that it seems like an awful lot of trouble for not much monetary gain. And he’s right. I know he’s right. And yet, there’s so much more value to my life as a professional than just my paycheck. I could stay home with my kids and have a good life. I know that I would be okay. And yet, I also know that a huge part of my identity and happiness would be lost. There are days where I feel angry or guilty that I don’t find fulfillment in staying home with my kids full time. I recently read a book about how important a mama’s presence is in her children’s lives in the first three years. I cried through most of the first half until I realized it was doing more harm than good for me to read any more. And yet when I stop and really think about it, I know there are so many aspects of my working that positively impact my children. They are learning to exist apart from me, which is an important reality of life. They are learning that other adults have authority and how to be flexible and respectful. They are learning how to play with other children who are not their siblings. And they are learning that people – regardless of gender – can be anything they want if they work hard and follow their heart. This is something I not only want to model for my daughter, but also my son who will one day be a husband.

There are aspects of my working, apart from earning money, that positively impact me too. I’m a better wife. When I’m home all day, I count down the seconds until my husband walks in the door and then I find myself resenting him if he needs to work on a project or can’t help me with the kids immediately. I’m also a better mama. I love everyday with my children, but I’m also human and my patience only goes so far. I find that when I spend too many consecutive days with them without a break, I get easily overwhelmed and I’m not at my best. Two days to spend with my children during the work week is perfect. We go to story time. We paint pictures. We get things done around the house. We play outside. And then when mama’s at her wit’s end, it’s time to go back to work for a day or two. And work makes me a better “me.” A huge part of who I am is mama – it’s something I take a lot of pride in, but it’s not all of who I am. My role as a mama has become a big part of so many of my relationships also – I’m still a sister, but as two mamas, most of what we talk about is our children. I’m still a friend, but as many of my friends start families of their own, girl’s nights have become gab sessions about sleepless nights and spit up solutions. I’m still a wife, but that role is so intertwined with also being a mama that sometimes I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins. But at work, I get to be just Meghan. Sure, I talk to my co-workers and students about my children, but most of my day revolves around helping students schedule classes, talking about academic success, and thinking critically. To give it up would feel like I’m extinguishing an important part of who I am.

My other fear in all of this is that choosing to take a little time off of work to raise my family might easily turn into years and years away from work and away from my field, losing relevance and making it difficult to get my foot back in the door. I spent five years in college followed by two years of graduate school and using the knowledge and skills I learned in those years is important to me. Childcare isn’t going to get easier as they get older. Schools don’t start at 7 and end at 5. And as they get older, they will start getting involved in extracurriculars, all of which will require transportation and careful planning. I start to imagine that “two years off” might easily turn into 10.

The decision to work or to stay home is difficult no matter what the situation. Whether a woman has a choice or does not, it always requires a certain level of sacrifice. I have mad respect for women who choose to work full-time, for women who stay home with their children, and for women who fall somewhere in between. It’s hard work. Every single day is a struggle. Every single day brings questioning and self doubt.

I am still running the numbers, calling preschools, and weighing pros and cons in my head, but I think deep down, I know that I’ll be happiest and most fulfilled if I can continue to be both a mama and a professional. To be a good mama and a decent human, I need balance and self care and for me, working is a way for me to incorporate both into my daily life. In the past when we had a change in our childcare situation, I’ve always worried and stressed, overcome with the idea that I wouldn’t find something in time or that it would cost too much or that I’d make the wrong decision. And every time, God has provided exactly what we needed at the time that we needed it. This time around, while I’m still being intentional on my end, placing the kids on wait lists and asking friends for suggestions, I’m placing this into God’s hands. If He opens doors for childcare that will allow me to continue working, I will take that as a message that He is blessing that decision and will take care of me and my babies. Likewise, if childcare does not work out, I’ll trust that was part of God’s plan and know that He will take care of my spirit as I begin a new chapter.

I’m keeping my heart open knowing that we will be taken care of either way.

 

 

Owen’s Birth Story {a love letter}

Sweet Baby Boy,

On a cold day in late January, I told your daddy you were coming. You were a mystery, a surprise, and yet from the very beginning, you were the surest thing I’ve ever known. We celebrated you at our birthday dinner with friends a few weeks later and toasted to the perfect completion of our family. A few months later, the doctor asked me if I’d like to know the gender of the baby. I was only 18 weeks along and didn’t expect her to ask, so your daddy was not with me. Excited to know, I had her do the scan, but put the pictures in a sealed envelope so we could find out together. Over Facetime on Nana and Pop’s porch on a warm day in May, we found out we were having a son. My heart leapt for joy.

We spent the coming months painting your room, hanging curtains, and shopping for baby overalls. The hot summer days seemed long as my body grew and everyday tasks such as lifting your sister or unloading groceries became more and more tedious. We spent our days soaking in the pool and bickering about what to name you. After months of deliberation, we finally decided on Owen. It was perfect. And as the leaves began to turn and the crisp autumn air creeped in, I wondered when we would finally get to meet this sweet baby boy we’d been dreaming of.

My last doctor’s appointment was two days before your due date. I was 4 cm dilated and felt like a ticking time bomb. Every night, I would crawl into bed and wonder if this would be our last night as a family of three. I was so excited to meet you, and yet with each passing day, my anxiety levels increased, knowing that you could come very quickly and without family in town, I wondered what we would do with your sister if you came in the middle of the night. I began having nightmares of rushing to the hospital, Ellie crying in the waiting room having been ripped from her bed, your daddy missing your arrival because he was calming your sister. At four days past your due date, we called Grandma who agreed to come down and stay with us until you were born. It was as if my body knew it could finally breathe a sigh of relief because less than 12 hours after she arrived, my water broke.

It was 3:30 in the morning. The house was silent and dark. I crept into our bedroom and woke your daddy to tell him that it was still early stages, but I was in labor. We were finally going to meet you. Hoping that he might be able to get a few more hours of sleep, I left daddy upstairs to sleep and made my way to the couch downstairs where I rode out contractions while binge watching Project Runway. It was so quiet and peaceful – nothing like the screaming or writhing that Hollywood likes to portray. The early stages of labor can be quite beautiful – seeing what your body can do and a slow and steady reminder that you’re getting closer to meeting your baby.

Your sister woke up around 8:00, just as we were getting ready to head to the hospital. My contractions were consistent and with already being 4cm, I didn’t want to wait too long. We kissed her goodbye and told her that in a few hours, she would finally get to meet “Baby Owen.” Daddy asked if we could run into Dunkin Donuts on the way to the hospital to grab some coffee and breakfast. While sitting in the parking lot, waiting, I had several very strong and very long contractions. Oh my gosh, I thought, we’re going to have a baby in the Dunkin Donuts parking lot. If we do, do you think they’ll give us free coffee and donuts for life? What if we name him Dunkin? As your daddy climbed back into the van, I told him to step on it. You were coming quickly and I’d like that to happen in a hospital, preferably with drugs.

We arrived at the hospital where they checked me in and got us settled into a labor and delivery room. I was 6cm and they asked if I’d like an epidural. Knowing I may only have a small window to decide and knowing how traumatic Ellie’s unmedicated birth had been, I told them that yes, I’d like an epidural and they called for the anesthesiologist. With not having an epidural for Ellie’s birth, this was a new experience for me. It feels very strange to look at a part of your body that’s connected to you and yet not be able to feel or move it. The contractions began to feel less and less painful until finally, I could only see them on a monitor. This is great, I kept telling Aunt Shannon. Why did I think this was such a bad idea last time? I was just settling in for what would surely be a quick and easy labor when suddenly the nurses rushed into the room to check the monitor. I had begun to feel a bit nauseous, which we quickly learned was a symptom of low blood pressure and strain on your heart. The doctor came flying into the room and quickly had me changing positions to see if we could get you in a more comfortable position. She said she needed me on my hands and knees, but realized that was probably impossible since I was numb. Before she even finished her sentence, I was up on my hands and knees – that’s what 36 weeks of prenatal yoga will get you. The issue was quickly resolved, but they inserted an internal heart monitor to make sure all remained calm. Even in the flurry and panic, I remember feeling very calm knowing that I was in good hands and that God had brought us this far, he would surely continue to take care of us.

Around 1:00 in the afternoon, the doctor came in to check me. She looked up from under the sheet and asked the magical question – Would you like to have a baby? They tore down the bed, put on gowns and gloves, and I whispered a quick prayer as I prepared for what was the most traumatic part of your sister’s birth. With the epidural and no pain, I was easily able to listen to the instructions of the doctors and nurses, and while it was still a lot of work, it was so much more manageable. I loved being so aware and present, fully able to appreciate what my body was doing. After several pushes, I could feel your little head, which was all the motivation I needed. One more big push, and they slid your tiny body onto my chest. In that moment, time stopped. No one else was present. It was just you and me, meeting each other for the first time and yet it was like I had known you forever. You fit perfectly into the crook of my shoulder. Everyone marveled at your “Godzilla hands” and guessed what you’d weigh. 8 pounds, 5 ounces of beautiful baby bliss – nearly 2 full pounds bigger than your sister {a fact that made me feel even more grateful I chose pain management this time}. I finally got the beautiful, healing moments to just enjoy and marvel at you in the minutes and hours after you were born. I got to take you in, feel the warmth of your skin against my chest, breathe in the sweet, fresh smell of your head, and help you learn how to eat. All of the things that felt so overwhelming and painful the first time I gave birth were magical and healing this time.

I knew our family was incomplete. I craved you in the deepest parts of my soul. I loved you before I knew you.

And just like that, there you were.

Love,
Mama

Self-Care for the Realistic Mama

I’m just going to come out and say it. The thing you’re not supposed to say when you’re a mama. I don’t love the infant stage. Yes, the tiny little outfits are adorable, but what’s not adorable? Trying to get them off of their tiny, folded bodies while not smearing poop and barf all over your baby, yourself or your couch. Yes, there’s not much that beats the tiny infant snuggles. Except maybe your bed. Infants seem to sleep around the clock and yet somehow, you haven’t managed to sleep more than 3 hours consecutively in 6 solid weeks. Tired is an understatement. Your coffee needs coffee. This morning, after 3 solid hours of you and your husband taking turns trying to coax, rock and feed him back to sleep, you laid your weary head on the pillow, closed your eyes, and heard your two year old yell the one word over the baby monitor that will rip any sane parent back out of the bed. Potty. And round and round we go.

Don’t get me wrong. I adore my children and the privilege of being a mama is not lost on me. I know that while these days seem so long, the years will fly and one day I’ll be yearning for this season, wondering if we made the right decision stopping at two, and wondering just how complicated it is to reverse a vasectomy. But not today.

Ya’ll, this season is hard.

In the months, weeks and days leading up to Owen’s birth, people asked me often if I was ready for two. Sure I am, I thought smugly, we’re already in the thick of child raising, an infant isn’t going to change that much. Sure, the sleepless nights will be an adjustment, but I’m off work for a few months, so it really shouldn’t be that bad. Plus, infants sleep around the clock, so I’ll just nap while both of them are napping….

Owen has been alive approximately 45 days. I’ve napped exactly 3 times.

Six weeks later and I feel like I’m slowly beginning to crawl out of the 4th trimester fog. I’m starting to wear real pants again and I’ve even managed to go to the grocery store a couple of times unscathed. Going from the parent of one to the parent of two has been more of an adjustment than I thought it would be, but we are learning and adjusting. There are moments every day where I feel like I’m totally rocking this mama of two gig. Owen is snoring in the swing, Ellie is coloring contentedly, and I’m sneaking a quiet cup of coffee on the couch. And then there are moments where I think I might actually lose my mind. While trying to console a screaming Owen, Ellie comes walking into the living room without pants on to let me know that she pooped. It takes me a second to realize that for the last 10 minutes, my two year old has been unaccounted for. Turns out she was cleaning poop out of her potty and putting it in the big potty by herself. With her hand. And then cleaned it up with the hand towel. Don’t let the real pants or the makeup fool you – we don’t have it all put together.

Parenting, I’ve learned, is the most humbling of life experiences. Most days, it brings me to my knees asking God for patience and grace. If the last 2 1/2 years {and even more so, the last 6 weeks} have taught me anything, it’s that taking care of yourself is one of the most important aspects of being a good mama. It’s also often the toughest. When the baby needs fed and the toddler is melting down in the floor and everything you own smells like spit up, and there’s nothing in the refrigerator, it can be be difficult to stop and do what’s best for you. Self-care may look different in every season of life, but it’s important to recognize its importance and incorporate it into your daily routine. Here’s a few ways I’ve learned to incorporate it into my life as a mama of young children:

1. Capitalize on quiet time. Whether you’re a mama of one or a mama of multiples, hopefully every day brings slivers of time when everyone’s needs are met and you can do something for yourself. In these moments, think about what would bring you the most calm and do it without feeling guilty. Society loves to infiltrate mamas with this sense that they must be productive and engaged all day every day. The truth is that your family will reap the benefits of you taking a moment for yourself to rest or recharge. This may look different day to day. Some days, I jump at the chance to lay on the couch and binge watch This is Us or close my eyes. Other days, the opportunity to sweep the floor without a toddler’s “help” or organize the craft drawer brings me calm. Whatever it is that will make you feel human again, even for a minute, is worth it. Don’t neglect it and don’t feel guilty. They’ll wake up and need you again soon.
2. Recognize that doing what’s best for you may be what’s best for your children in the long run. For us lately that has been incorporating a bottle or two of formula into Owen’s daily routine. With Ellie, I was steadfast that her lips would never touch formula. While I achieved my goal, I drove myself insane in the process. I was anxious every day about supply. Unable to share the burden of late night feedings with my husband, I lost sleep for months, unable to ask for help. While I still value the nursing relationship with Owen, I’m also finding it impossible to balance nursing for hours on end and be a mama to Ellie and a wife and a human. I cried alligator tears the first time Brian gave Owen a formula bottle, but I have to say, now that we are weeks into it, it’s become a huge relief. Sometimes we have to shift our values and expectations in order to maintain sanity. What could you do or change that would bring you more calm and balance?
3. Ask for help. I’m not great at this. I don’t like to inconvenience other people and I like to believe, as most mamas do, that I’m super woman. But sometimes it gets to be too much and you just need a break. What I’m learning is that by asking for help, you’re not only doing what’s best for you and your babies, but you’re also opening the door to allow others to feel comfortable asking you for help also. It becomes a great way to build community. It’s also good for your children to sometimes be in the care of others. It helps them to learn that other adults have authority and how to play with others.
4. Turn on the T.V. and stop feeling guilty about it. Ellie has watched more television in the last 6 weeks than she’s ever watched in her life. This period is an adjustment. I don’t have the time or energy to play and interact with her like I did before Owen and her emotions are a loose canon as she adjusts to her new reality. It’s not ideal, but sometimes I just don’t have the energy for it all and I know that an episode of Daniel Tiger will buy me some time to feed Owen in peace. It’s just a reality of this season and I’ve decided not to feel guilty about it.
5. Adjust your definition of self-care. It may not look like yoga classes or dinner out alone with friends for a little while. Those things will return as babies grow and life becomes more manageable. For now, it may just be going to the bathroom alone with the door closed or taking a second to put some mascara on. Exercise might be taking the stroller out instead of going to the gym. It won’t last forever, but for now, self care might look different than it has in the past. It’s important to recognize small opportunities every day to do something for yourself.
6. Don’t feel like you have to be “on” all the time. I feel guilty every time I lay Owen down in the swing instead of rocking him for hours like I did Ellie or every time I have to tell Ellie that she’s going to have to wait and I’ll play with her later. I want to be a hands-on mama. I want to meet all of my children’s needs all of the time. But having two has made me realize how unrealistic that is. And not only unrealistic, but also detrimental to both their well-being and my own. Ellie is learning patience. Owen is learning self-soothing. I’m learning to forgive myself and accept that I’m doing the best I can and that my children will be okay in the end.
7. Re-evaluate your life balance. Whether you work or stay home, finding a good balance between time with your children and time away from your children is a huge challenge and what’s best for everyone can change from season to season. I work three days a week. It’s taken some time to figure it out, but this seems to be the perfect balance for me and my family between “Mama loves make believe picnics and park time” but also “Mama needs to have a conversation with someone older than two.” No choice is easy – it always requires sacrifice. Just find what works for you and if what you’re doing isn’t working, re-evaluate.
8. Pray. There are moments everyday that bring me to my knees, asking God for more patience or to help me to respond better next time. I would never pretend that I have all the answers. I do know that God chose me to be the mama for these sweet babes and that he’s always there to provide calm and wisdom. I just have to remember to ask.

In the end, it’s about giving yourself some grace and remembering that this is a season and it too will pass. Never again will tiny humans be so dependent on your time, energy and body. And so it’s really okay if your toddler is watching Finding Dory for the third time this week and eating the popcorn you made yesterday. It’s also okay if that popcorn is the closest thing she’s going to get to a vegetable today. She’s not going to die and neither is the baby if he cries for a minute while you take a shower. It’s really okay if you feel like the worst parent ever for a while and yet you just don’t have the energy to care. They’ll survive and you will too.

Take care of yourself mama. They need you to.

 

 

My New Birth Plan {keeping an open mind}

This blog began as a platform for me to process my thoughts about birth and early motherhood. As I near the end of this second pregnancy journey, I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic and thinking a lot about Ellie’s birth and wondering what this next experience will be like. It seems that everyone’s favorite question these days is whether or not I am ready to bring this sweet babe into the world. People ask this question, often apprehensively, bending to the American norm that labor and birth are risky and painful and should be surrounded with a healthy dose of fear laced with a desire to “get it over with.” I think they are often surprised to find that my response is that I am looking forward to labor and that I rather enjoyed the process of bringing Ellie earthside. Yes, contractions are painful. Yes, birth is hard. Yes, postpartum is difficult. But contractions are also powerful signs that my body is doing exactly what it was designed to do and every one of them brings me closer to meeting this sweet new member of our family. Labor can be long and it is certainly exhausting, but for me it was also an incredible time to witness the strong and loving community of family and friends I’ve built and the depths of their love for me. And while the hours, days, and weeks that followed Ellie’s birth sometimes felt like a personal prison, they were also some of the most precious as we hunkered down and learned how to be a family of three. Birth can either be approached from a lens of fear and dread or from a lens of faith and awe. I chose the latter for Ellie’s birth and I truly believe it made all the difference. And so, as my body turns into a ticking time bomb, I’m choosing again to lead with excitement and faith that my family, my medical teams, and my God will bring us both safely through this experience.

With all of that being said, my “plans” for Owen’s birth are a little different than those I had for Ellie’s entrance. As a first time mama, I felt like there was so much that I wouldn’t be able to control about the experience, and so I tried to compensate by trying to control anything and everything that I could. I had a detailed birth plan with everything from what I intended to wear to what I’d like to eat while in labor. Not knowing how big she would be or what the weather would be like that day, I packed five outfit choices. And when it came to medical interventions or pain relief options, I didn’t even want anyone to say the “E” word in my presence. I had a plan.

Ellie’s labor and delivery were beautiful. I got to see firsthand that I really was as strong as believed. My life was forever changed. Everything about Ellie’s labor and birth were textbook. I successfully made it through 18 hours of labor and delivery without any medical intervention precisely as planned. I remember feeling so relieved when I felt her slip outside of my body knowing the worst was over and that I had done it. It was what happened in the hours that followed Ellie’s birth that changed my perspective. I don’t remember a lot about the hour or two after Ellie was born. I know they placed her on my chest and I remember the nurses mentioning to the midwife that I was bleeding a little more than normal. I felt very weak and disoriented. They kept pressing on my belly to get my uterus to clamp down as the midwife began to assess the damage and stitch the skin that had torn. I remember lying in the bed willing them to stop and thinking that this was all so much more painful than actually birthing this child. The “magical hour” that I was promised where I would bond with my baby and revel in the sweet relief of being done was more like “nightmare hour” where I was catheterized, pumped full of pitocin, and stitched back together. It was a living hell.

In the days and weeks that followed, it seemed to me that I was healing at a slower rate than I should have been, but like most new mamas, almost all of my attention and energy went into taking care of Ellie and not taking time to go to the doctor or worry about my own well being. When I went in for my 6 week check up, I’m not sure I adequately explained how much pain I was still experiencing, believing that it was all probably normal for the degree of tearing that I had. In the U.S., barring any major complications, this single 6 week check up is typically the only postpartum care that a woman receives. The United State’s healthcare system is OBSESSED with the health and well-being of moms and babies during pregnancy often calling for an obscene amount of testing and check-ups, but once baby is earthside, it’s sort of expected that all is fine and that care for the mama is no longer really needed. After 5 months of pain, I finally went back to the doctor for another check and they discovered that my stitches had not healed correctly and I had developed an excessive amount of scar tissue. This was repaired through surgery, which essentially led to another 6-8 week postpartum recovery period. I was much more up front with my surgeon at my post-op appointments about the pain I still seemed to be experiencing and how my pelvic muscles seemed to be out of whack. He referred me to a pelvic floor physical therapist.

What is a pelvic floor physical therapist you ask? They are PT’s whose job is to help people to reestablish the use and function of their pelvic floor. You’ve never heard of one you say? That’s probably because most doctors don’t even know they exist, let alone refer their patients. It’s a travesty. Pregnancy and birth transform a woman’s body and sometimes things don’t “just go back to normal.” A pelvic floor therapist can help assess areas of weakness and help to establish simple exercises to regain strength and function. The pelvic floor is a muscle just like any other area of the body and it needs to be exercised and cared for. After a few short visits with an angel named Jessica, I finally (nearly 9 months after giving birth) felt like a normal human again.

This time around, I’ve adjusted my “plans” a bit starting with the fact that I don’t really have any plans. I know that through the whole experience, I’ll have a voice and can ask for what I need as it arises. I’ve chosen to work with a doctor this time instead of a midwife. I don’t blame the midwife for my afterbirth experience or that the repair did not heal properly, however if s%@t hits the fan again after Owen is born, I want someone who has seen it all standing at the other end of the bed and calling the shots. Midwives are wonderful, wonderful people and I have so much respect for the profession and feel incredibly grateful that they are an option, but I also know that the bulk of their training is in the realm of what’s considered “normal.” I’m not convinced that a doctor should not have been called in after Ellie was born. I’m also keeping an open mind to the option of the “E” word this time. I often wonder that if I had an epidural with Eliie if I could have better listened to the directions of the midwife during birth, maybe done less damage to my own body, and perhaps enjoyed the hours following her birth instead of writing in pain while being put back together. The last thing I know is that I’ll be asking directly for a prescription for pelvic floor therapy at my 6 week appointment regardless of how I’m feeling to make sure that things are healing and functioning properly. If I cannot take care of myself, I’ll never be able to properly care for these two tiny souls, and so I am choosing to prioritize self-care this time.

God is the only one who knows how and when this baby will be born. In the meantime, I intend to take a lot of naps, enjoy the last beautiful days as a mama of one, dote a little extra love and affection on my family, and exclusively wear yoga pants. And I know that when the time comes, I’ll be in good hands trusting my instincts and my team.

Waiting for Owen

This afternoon, I got a few precious minutes to myself and decided to lay on the couch and read – a rare privilege in the land of mamahood. I rested my book on my ever-expanding belly and after a few minutes, little fella began saying hello. I set the book down and just observed as he moved like waves. I watched his tiny bottom shift from right to left and winced a little as his hands reached toward the nerves in my bladder. At 36 weeks pregnant, there’s no ignoring his presence these days. For the first few months of this pregnancy, while I never really “forgot” I was pregnant, life and activities went on as normal without much notice, but as the days and weeks continue, things like emptying the dishwasher, lying in bed reading to Ellie, and putting on pants are becoming a real challenge. His presence is unable to be ignored.

Physically, I feel ready to welcome this new little person. His nursery is complete – clothes are washed and waiting, diapers are stocked, and his glider is sitting, waiting patiently for a little one to rock to sleep. My body is ready too. While it’s an incredible privilege to house and grow a new life for 9 months, this pregnancy has proven to be more challenging than my first as my energy wanes and yet my toddler’s energy never falters. I want to be able to sit in the floor and play choo-choos and pick her up and carry her when she’s tired and just wants mama. I even feel prepared for the sleep deprivation {or as ready as a person can be} knowing that it’s temporary, survivable, and that those moments alone in the silence of the night nursing a baby are some of the most precious and sacred moments of motherhood.

And yet, as ready as I am to meet this new little one, to see if he has Brian’s curly hair or his sister’s killer sleeping habits, I’m not sure that emotionally I’m completely ready. Last night, I lay beside Ellie in her bed and we read stories as we do every night. We transitioned her to a “big girl” bed a few months ago so we could move the crib into the nursery. Sometimes I tiptoe into her room, hours after we’ve said our last “I love you’s,” to tuck her in and steal one more kiss. She looks so teeny in that giant bed, and yet I cannot believe how much she’s grown and changed in two short years. It doesn’t seem like that long ago that we were preparing to welcome her and wondering who she would be. As I laid there in bed beside her, I placed my hand on her back as I always do and we talked to Jesus, but instead of kissing her forehead and slipping out of her room, I turned off the light, pulled her against my chest, and held her against me until her breathing slowed and she fell asleep. I adore that my child falls asleep on her own and that I get a couple of beautiful hours to myself every night before bed, but as I laid there beside her last night, I didn’t want to move. In a few short weeks, there will be two little ones who need me in a real and consuming way and I worry about fewer moments like this with my first born. Right before she fell asleep, she placed her tiny hand against my cheek and said, “I love you too, Mommy.” It’s in quiet, slow moments like this where the physical weight of the love that I have for her becomes so heavy that my heart literally feels like it might explode from my chest. I’m reading an excellent book right now called Chasing Slow by Erin Loechner. In it, she talks about how nothing can prepare a person for the kind of love that a child brings and she says, “No one ever told me how much fear is hidden in love.” I’ve been reflecting on that statement for a few days, marveling at its raw truth. Becoming a parent means welcoming more joy and a deeper love than a human could ever imagine, and yet it’s also like walking around with your heart literally outside of your body.

As I mentally and emotionally prepare for this new little person, I know that there’s a lot more to being “ready” than tiny socks folded in a drawer or a car seat installed in the car. I also know that I have two options. I can either try to resist or suppress these emotions by trying to control everything or I can relinquish control, allow myself to be vulnerable and trust that in the moments of immeasurable joy or fear or even pain that God will bring me through it and that I’ll be a better person and mama on the other side of it. Am I afraid that my patience level may run thin in the days and weeks after he’s born? Yes. Do I worry about the physical discomfort of postpartum as I try to keep up with two little ones? Everyday. Do I lie in bed at night praying to God to prepare my heart for the vulnerability and fear of loving another human that deeply and completely? Yes. Yet rather than succumbing to the fear and anxiety, I’m choosing instead to trust, to allow myself to feel all of it.

I’m choosing the risk because I know the reward will be so great.

 

The Joy of Two {a letter to my toddler}

To my sweet Ellie, the joy of our days.

They told me two would be terrible. I imagined dragging you through the grocery store screaming after I told you that you couldn’t open the Oreos. Months spent avoiding restaurants and other adult places, negotiating vegetables, bedtimes, and brushing your teeth.

As it turns out, two is a lot more joy and a lot less terror.

I wake each morning to your sweet babble over the baby monitor. “Hi Mommy,” you exclaim when I walk through your door. You bound to your feet, collecting your blanket and paci and reach up for me. I steal a few minutes of quiet snuggles with you on the couch, not because we have time, but because I don’t know how many years of quiet morning snuggles I’ll get and it’s good for my soul. “Cakes!” you squeal (which is toddler for “Let’s make pancakes!”). I set you up on the counter with a mixing bowl between your knees. You squeal with excitement as we measure the ingredients and you dump them into the bowl. You’re a terrible mixer, but I don’t mind. We sing songs as we wait for them to brown in the pan. I hope that one day you get to make pancakes with a two year old. It’s messy and so beautiful. I never thought being up before the sun would bring so much joy.

In the light of the morning, you bring joy.

Now that the weather is nice, we spend hours together at the park. You sprint toward the swings and cackle with laughter and joy as I begin to push you. We’ve been pushing you in a swing for years now, but you burst with excitement every time as if it were your first time. Yesterday, your daddy and I sat on the bench watching you slide. Each time you’d exit, you would bound toward us, arms open wide, and leap into our arms to celebrate and then you’d run and do it again. You would have played on that slide for hours if we’d let you. Sitting on that bench, I wondered how many years of unadulterated joy at the accomplishment of going down the slide we have left and I prayed a quick prayer of thanksgiving for the privilege of it all.

In your relentless energy, you bring joy.

The books and media portray toddlerhood as something to dread, something to survive. You, dearest one, are nothing to dread. Watching you learn and discover is the greatest privilege of my life. You never run out of kindness and you’re never too busy not to notice. I’m not sure when we reach an age where we stop noticing, but you’re teaching me to slow down a bit and to see all of the things I normally walk right past. You run to the nice elderly women sitting on the bench at the grocery store. While I’m inclined to give them their space, you walk right up and say hello. What joy you bring.I thought I’d be the one teaching you, but you teach me everyday. We took you to a festival last weekend where a band was playing music. You sprinted to the front and began dancing with reckless abandon. They loved you so much that they gave you a free copy of their CD so you could “jam” at home. I watched with such awe. When do we lose the urge to stop everything we are doing and just dance without any fear of judgment? I cannot remember the last time I danced in public without at least three margaritas in me.

You bring joy everywhere you go.

I cannot pretend as if every second of everyday is sunshine and roses. Today you completely lost it because I ate the last bite of your watermelon. Sometimes you fall down and scrape your knees. Sometimes we have to say, “no.” You claw at my neck and try to climb back inside of me when I drop you off at daycare in the morning. But even in the challenging moments, you bring joy. The older that you get, the more independent you become, but in these more challenging moments, you snuggle your face deep into my neck and attach yourself to me as if you were still an extension of my body. Before you, I watched other mamas comfort and calm their children in a way only mamas can. I know you won’t always need me in this way and it is a constant privilege to be your person.

Even when you’re not joyful, you bring joy.

In the car last week, you began to exclaim, “Round and round, Mommy, round and round!!” What is she talking about I wondered. We were stopped at a light so I turned around to look at you. You were pointing to a bus parked next to us. “You’re right, Ellie, the wheels on the bus go round and round!” I said. “Yeah!!! And Beep, beep beep!” you answered back. You exude joy over buses, popsicles on the porch after supper, washing the car, peeing in the potty, the dogs on your pillowcase, drinking out of a water fountain, building a block tower taller than you, ants crawling on the sidewalk, and seeing daddy’s car pull into the drive after work. I know it’s not realistic for an adult to let her co-workers know she successfully peed in the potty, but I never realized how little joy adults exude until I had a toddler. What a privilege it is to exist within your joy and to celebrate the daily mundane.

You remind me everyday how joyful life can be.

I don’t know at what age you will outgrow the exuberant joy and endless wonder of toddlerhood, but I find myself wishing that I could freeze you just as you are right now. The twos are far from terrible.

You are joy.

Lessons I’ve Learned for Surviving the Early Years

Teach your baby how to fall asleep on his/her own. This was some of the only advice that my sister gave me before we had Ellie. She’s the mother of four small children, so bedtime is no simple feat in her house. I figured she must know what she’s talking about, so I’ve always tried to be very intentional about laying Ellie down awake whenever I can. Sleep is the golden ticket in the early days, so laying a baby down awake can sort of feel like planting a grenade in your own home and then just waiting for the explosion. But, somehow, she got used to it and let me tell you, it takes all the stress out of naptime and bedtime. We have an established routine – we brush our teeth, read three books, and talk to Jesus – then I tell her I love her and I put her in her bed. Most nights, she just waves happily to me from her crib. She doesn’t cry and we never hear from her again until morning. I know it took some work and some perseverance on our part, but I feel like we are reaping the benefits now. I know that a lot of mamas love to rock their babies to sleep, and I’d never ever tell them they’re wrong, but man I love that my kid puts herself to sleep.

If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. I spent so much time during the first year of Ellie’s life worrying. Am I doing everything right? Am I making the best choices for her? The truth is that almost everything that I worried about just didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how long I kept her in a swaddle or if I introduced a pacifier before our nursing relationship was established. It didn’t matter that she didn’t sleep in a crib until she was 10 months old or that she spent maybe 20 minutes total doing “tummy time.” I’m not saying that the decisions that we make as parents aren’t important, but if you take a step back and really look at the source of all your stress and worry, it might come down to this simple statement: if it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. Is your baby safe? Is what you’re doing working? If you can answer yes to both of these questions, then stop worrying so much about what the “experts” or the critics say and do what works for you and your kid.

Open snacks at the grocery store. I don’t know about your toddler, but mine could exist on snacks alone. She also hates being contained, which sometimes makes getting her to agree to sit in the front of the grocery cart a challenge. She’s not at all afraid to make a scene in public in the name of freedom and independence. And I’m not at all afraid to bribe my child into sitting in the cart. Our first stop at the store is either to the lunch meat counter, bakery, or goldfish aisle and as soon as snacks are secured, so is Ellie. It’s beautiful. Sometimes I snack a little too. Everyone wins.

Don’t worry when your kid acts his/her age in public. Babies cry. Toddlers fall on the floor because they didn’t want to put their shoes on. Three year olds scream to get their parent’s attention. As parents, we’re hyper aware of our own children and their behavior. And so we rush our babies out of church as soon as they begin to stir and we hover over our children at the playground to make sure they’re sharing and not throwing sand. It’s easy to get embarrassed by your children’s attention-seeking behavior, but the truth is that we notice and care a lot more about how our children act than others. My husband is so much better at this than I am – he reminds me to leave her alone at the playground and that it’s okay for her to act two. And he’s right. We have to make sure that our expectations for our children are realistic and that our own insecurities don’t get in the way of our children being able to learn and act their age. So, your toddler insists that she use her hands to eat her mac and cheese at the restaurant. Let it go and let her be two.

Sometimes it’s okay to ignore the rules. The “experts” have something to say about every decision you’ll ever make for your child – what you feed them, their cartoon exposure, where they sleep, when they go to school, what time they go to bed….it goes on and on. What the so-called experts don’t have to do is actually live with your child. They don’t have to fight with them as they pick everything green out of their dinner or when the only thing that will remove them from your leg while you try to make dinner is a bowl full of Teddy Grahams and an hour of Mickey Mouse. I’m so tired of feeling guilty for accommodating my decisions for my child to get through my day. So, I choose to give myself grace and remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, it just doesn’t matter if we break “the rules” sometimes.

Make mom friends. This is not to say that when you have children you shouldn’t still prioritize and make time for your friends who don’t have kids, but there is so much value to be found in the fellowship and friendship of other mamas. There’s a flexibility and common understanding that can make canceling or changing plans at the last minute feel a little less guilt-ridden. There’s also a common understanding that children are {with little exception} always invited and included without needing to ask permission. I cannot count the number of times that I have needed last minute care for Ellie and one of my mama friends has stepped in, without any hesitation to help out. In the last two years, I’ve learned that taking your child to story time or the park is just as much about making mom friends and having some adult interaction as it is entertaining your children. But perhaps most importantly, I learn and grow as a mama by sharing the joys and challenges of raising children with other mamas who assure me that I’m not crazy and that we are all doing the best we can.

Don’t give your child punishments that really just punish you. The other night, I told Ellie that if she didn’t take 3 bites of dinner, she could not go back outside for the rest of the night. She just turned two, so while it seemed like a reasonable “bribe,” developmentally it was completely lost on her. She happily went over and found her baby carriage and began to push it around the living room, continuing to seal her lips every time she passed me and my fork filled with enchilada. Who lost this battle? We clearly did. Not only did she not eat any more of her dinner, but we also missed out on a lovely evening walk as a family because I insisted that we teach her that we stand our ground. The lesson? Don’t create consequences for your children that ultimately punish you as the parent.

Don’t buy all the fancy stuff. It really is true what they say. You buy the fancy new toy and all the kid wants to do is play with the box. We’ve had to learn this the hard way and it’s something I have to continue to remind myself of as Ellie develops into each new stage. Advertisers and retailers are good at what they do. It’s easy to convince yourself that your child needs variety and stimulation. You see pictures of beautiful playrooms on Pinterest that look like a childhood wonderland. You think your child’s life will have more value if they’re exposed to more things. The truth? My child spends most of her day with a plastic shovel digging in the flowerbed in our backyard. She learns as she digs her fingers into the earth and blows dandelion seeds into the air. Last week, she played for over an hour with a box of plastic spoons she found. I am truly beginning to see that you can awaken a child’s sense of wonder, creativity, and imagination if you give them nothing except space and freedom to explore their world.

Carve out time for self care. Before you had babies, you were a real person who had real-life hobbies and interests. You probably showered regularly and maybe even spent time with friends or stayed awake through a movie. Babies will suck every last ounce of energy and strength out of you if you allow them to, and it’s really difficult to resist their charm because they’re just so cute and helpless. But as they grow and you escape the fog of early motherhood, you may find that could actually find some time to take a yoga class or grab a drink with a friend. These things require that we ask for help though, which is not always easy to do. Repeat after me: I cannot take care of my children if I do not take care of myself. It’s easy to allow our identities as mamas consume us and become all that we are, but there’s danger in that. One day, they won’t need us in the same way that they do now and when that happens, what will be left of us? So make time for yourself. Figure out what you need to do in order to preserve the person you were before you had babies. Ask for help from your spouse or family when you need it. Exchange free babysitting with another mama so you can each carve out time for yourself. Go on dates with your husband. Use the time after the kids go to bed to do something for yourself that does not include cleaning or packing lunches. In the end, it will make you a better mama.

 

 

The Surprising Joy of “Cleaning Out”

I’m just going to say it. Children come with so much crap. When Ellie was teeny, it was all about the gadgets. We were in survival mode, so as long as she would sleep in it, we didn’t care how much space it took up. As Ellie became mobile, our living room quickly turned into a silo. We bought one of those octagon gates that contains your child, but also takes up more space in your home than your dinner table. We got padded flooring and filled “the cage” with more stuff she never actually played with. She spent more time trying to scale the walls and escape than actually playing with anything. As she grew, the stuff just continued to collect….and so we did what any sensible parents would do. We went to Ikea and we bought storage shelves and bins and we began to turn a room into a playroom. “This will be great,” we thought. “Now her stuff will be contained and will no longer live in every space in our home.” HA. But the playroom isn’t on the main level of our house, and so the “things” began to creep into our other spaces. We filled a drawer in the kitchen so she’d have something to play with while I cook dinner. Then we bought a basket for the living room of “just a few essentials.” Before we knew it, we had a plastic picnic table in the middle of our living room, bath toys that appear in our bed, and three missing library books that could literally be anywhere.

Does this sound familiar? If so, do you also spend at least 30 minutes of your hard earned adult time every night sorting puzzle pieces, stacking blocks, and organizing all of the “things” in the beautiful bins you were sure that you needed? Do you stuff things into drawers and baskets just to get them out of sight promising you’ll organize them later? How much of it do your kids actually play with? Do you ever feel like you’re literally drowning in “things?”

If this sounds like your life, then you bought the same lie that we did – that all of these “things” that we fill our homes with somehow add value to ours and our children’s lives and make us better people and better parents. I’m not buying into it anymore.

Today, my two year old and I bounced a ping-pong ball back and forth for twenty minutes. She squealed with delight every time it bounced out of my reach or the dog chased after it. Yesterday, we spent most of the afternoon searching for and collecting rocks in the alley behind our house. I’m not exaggerating when I say that she owns over 200 books, but she insists that we read the same 5 every night before bed. She doesn’t buy the lie, in fact, she reminds us everyday that she doesn’t need all of these “things” to be happy or to have fun.

Have you ever felt like God was literally screaming something at you to get you to pay attention and make a change? In the past year, I have been invited to multiple seminars on minimalism, read so many books, and had so many conversations with others who feel like they are suffocating under the amount of things they own. I can hear God telling me that I’m missing out on so much joy by placing so much value in things rather than investing time in what matters.

And so, we have begun to clean out. Slowly, but surely, we are moving through the spaces in our home and “getting real” about what we need, what brings us joy, and what’s just taking up space. It has started as a literal clean out of physical things we don’t need in our home – towels and blankets from college that sit in our linen closet, whiskey glasses suitable for fancy parties we will never throw, and kitchen gadgets that haven’t moved from their disorganized drawer since the day we moved in. We have also gotten real with the number of toys in Ellie’s spaces. Only her favorites have stayed, the rest either sits in boxes waiting for her to get a little older or has been donated. I’ve gotten real with the clothes in my closet, keeping only the things that I truly love and that make me feel like myself. If it’s not in the current season or I don’t wear it, it’s either in storage or has been donated. I cannot tell you how much easier it is to get ready in the morning now that I like every item in my closet.

Don’t get me wrong. This is not an easy process for me. I’m someone who places emotional value on things and I definitely buy into the “we don’t need it now, but what if we need it in the future” mentality. But you know what I’m finding? Putting it in the box is the most difficult part. Once it’s gone, I don’t miss it. You know what else I don’t miss? Spending time that I should be drinking wine and lying on the couch with my husband picking up toys. I spend the majority of my days taking care of the needs of others, but I’m finding that if I have some time for self-care at the end of the day, I’m a much better version of myself the next day.

The idea of simplifying your home and your life is not revolutionary. It doesn’t have to mean getting rid of everything you own. As a former English teacher, I have books in just about every room and empty space in my home. These books bring me joy. Some I may never read again, others are just waiting for the right time in my life, but I have no intention of getting rid of them. What does not bring me joy is finding sippy cups that I find days later when looking for “that smell” under the couch. Making it so we only own two sippy cups has been a life changer. There’s no reason we need 12. They just take up space, make for extra dishes, and leave me angry when I can’t find the right valves and lids.

It’s a process. We still have a long way to go. But with every “thing” we clean out of our life and our home, we make a little more space for joy.

What are the “things” in your life that weigh you down?

Why I don’t Want the Best for my Kids

About 4 years ago, after messing up movie showtimes and missing our movie date, Brian and I, with nothing else to do, stumbled into an open house up the street from where we were currently renting. Having recently decided to sell our home in a neighborhood rich in beauty and history, but also rich in prostitution, theft, and “homemade” fireworks displays, we were eager to look for a home in a neighborhood more suitable for the family we hoped to grow. Thrilled with the open house, we put in an offer that afternoon and a month later, we moved into our new home. Even with the ridiculous property tax rates and the laundry list of rules including but not limited to a dress code for lawn mowing, we felt excited to be a part of a community that always makes the list for best schools in the nation and where neighbors don’t lock their doors. We could rest easy knowing that our children would be safe and well-educated.

But recently, I’ve had conversations with trusted friends whose children are older than my own who talk about the daily challenges of adolescent parenting. This is the stuff nightmares are made of, people. They talked about how it’s impossible for their children to play sports for their school because their peers’ parents hired personal trainers for their children starting at age 6. They talked about homework demands and that between math tutors and English projects, they barely have time to eat a meal as a family let alone for their children to play or get to bed on time. They talked about the expectations of “things” such as finished basements, iPhones, streaming devices, and gaming systems and that kids don’t want to “hang out” at the houses of parents who don’t have all the latest gadgets and gizmos. What happened to the days of sleepovers where you froze your friend’s bra and ate cookie dough until you were sick? What happened to playing night games with your friends in the connecting backyards in the glow of fireflies and the summer moon? My gut just feels sick thinking about the demands and expectations that my children will face as they grow up.

It makes me think that maybe I don’t want “the best” for my children. Maybe I don’t want them to attend the best schools where they will surely receive an education that’s second to none, but perhaps at the cost of precious family time in the years leading up to college. Maybe I don’t want to live in a community that’s so affluent that my children end up at sleepovers in the homes of parents who have stocked bars and movie theaters in their basements. I don’t want my children to enter the world with the idea that they are owed anything and everything that their hearts desire.

I’m not naive enough to believe that there is a perfect community out there where the parents of my children’s friends all have the same values and beliefs that we hold or where they won’t feel the pressure to be smarter, skinnier, faster, or more grown up. There’s this rub as a parent knowing that it’s important for your children to have broken hearts, to hear the word “no,” and to face the consequences of their poor decisions, but still wanting to protect them from hurt and harm wherever possible.

Ellie is still little, and we have some time before we make any big decisions. But even as the parent of a 20 month old, I already feel the pressure to provide the “very best” for my child. From the kinds of food I feed her, to what activities she participates in, to what brands of clothing she wears, to the amount of “screen time” she’s exposed to daily….the message is clear. Your children deserve the very best and as a parent it’s your job to make sure that’s what they’re receiving. 

But what if it wasn’t true? What if there was another way? What if we put more value on growing our faith and family than on education? What if our children’s weekly “activities” included running around outside with their friends instead of running from school to practice and tutoring? What if we spent less money on things that entertain our children and give them status and invested our time with them instead? What if we as parents were more flexible and forgiving of ourselves rather than filling our days with worry and pressure to be the best?

What if “good” was even better than “best?”