Surprises

As I continue to adjust to my role as a mom, I have to admit, there were a few surprises that no one prepared me for - even the wisest and most experienced mamas I know.  Some turned out to be pleasant and others, well...you'll see.

1. My skin grew up.  In a good way.  I suffered for a very long time with acne.  I mean - we're talking over twenty years of my life, trying Noxema and Clearasil and Pro-Activ and three different medications from the dermatologist and countless other treatments, and virtually nothing worked long-term.  The closest I came was with the oil-cleansing method, but even that wasn't fool-proof.  My skin was pretty clear during my pregnancy, which I knew isn't usually the case.  So I buckled down and prepared for the worst when the hormones shifted after the baby came.  Nothing changed.  I am insanely grateful, and now leave the house without make-up more frequently.  Of course, people still seem to think I'm "sick" or "tired" without it, but that's life.

2. Never change a diaper immediately after a poop.  This one probably is SUCH a no-brainer to most moms that they don't even think of it as useful advice.  I figured it out on my own, and we won't get into any details, but I have a 60-second rule now with changing a diaper full of number two.

3. Formula is freeing.  This one doesn't apply to everyone, but it did for me.  After several weeks of attempted nursing, and lots of emotional trauma, we finally elected to exclusively formula-feed our little guy.  In spite of the heated mommy wars surrounding this topic, we've found that it works best for our family.  In my case, nursing was such a painful and frustrating experience that I grew to dread it.  Heaven forbid I should be in public when the baby got hungry.  I felt forced to make a hasty retreat home, red-faced and shameful.  I didn't want to feed in public because it made me uncomfortable - not to mention, after seven weeks, baby still couldn't get the swing of things.  For us, formula has allowed the rest of the family to participate more in caring for the baby, as well as given us more mobility.  

4. It's okay NOT to worry.  Wanting a (cheap) date night, my husband and I planned to see Guardians of the Galaxy at a local cinema's $5 night right up the road from my parents' house.  We left the baby and a bag full of supplies with them and I am not joking when I say that not an ounce of worry entered my mind.  I knew my parents were going to shower him with love, and my step-mom's extensive experience with children and babies certainly was a comfort, too.  I felt guilty only because I thought I was supposed to wail and cry and mourn about my first time away from my newborn.  Nope.  See #3 above.

5.  Babies are noisy.  I'm not talking about the crying.  I mean, I had no idea that this dude was going to grunt like a billy goat and sigh and sniffle and growl and shriek and hiss.  The first few times these sounds erupted forth from my tiny infant, I just stood there with my head cocked to the side, assuming that one of the cats had snuck into the room and was making terrifying bleating noises.  But no - cats don't typically do that, either.  On the plus side: he's cooing now and it is the best sound in the whole world since the beginning of time.

6. Nothing can prepare you for the NICU experience.  Especially if you've gotten this far after dealing with infertility or pregnancy loss, you might think you're invincible.  The worst has already happened and no matter what, things will be okay once the baby is delivered.  Not true.  Even though our little boy was only in for nine days, and received wonderful care, those days were some of the hardest and most miserable we've ever experienced.  Not only was I in emotional and physical pain from an emergency c-section, but every time we visited the baby, the updates changed - not always for the better.  My heart will always go out to parents whose babies are in the NICU, no matter what the circumstance.

7. The first time someone questions a decision you've made, your heart will break.  And your world will dim for a moment, and you'll panic and you'll stumble and you'll wonder if you're a terrible parent and you'll re-evaluate every single plan of action you'd considered.  But then, chances are, you'll realize that you're doing the best you can in your situation, for your family.  And you'll learn to handle people sneering because you're not breastfeeding...or sneering because you are breastfeeding.  And, when your baby smiles at you, the haughty look you got from that random old lady at Sheetz after a misguided and awkward conversation about homeschooling...well, that doesn't matter at all.  Not.  At.  All.

Any other first-time moms get some unexpected surprises - pleasant or otherwise? - when baby was born?

This Is 17 Weeks

Today’s topic: pregnancy woes - and wows.

Other than the terrifying bleeding brought on by my subchorionic hematoma, I’ve had a fairly uneventful pregnancy.  Nausea during the first trimester was pretty minimal.  I never threw up, although there were a few smells that made me a little sick.  Shockingly, coffee was (and still is) one of them!  Ultimately this was probably a blessing since I’ve had to be pretty careful with my caffeine intake, but I never, ever thought there would be a day when a co-worker’s  innocent cup of Folger’s sitting next to me would cause me to heave and cast evil glances her way.  “Don’t worry,” my friend Jaime insists, “That java-love will return to you eventually.”  She would know – she’s working on kid number #4 right now; she’s due a few months before me and she’s pretty much a professional pregnant lady.

Like many women, I got the dreaded “baby bloat” within a few weeks of learning we were expecting.  Of course, that’s too soon for maternity clothes, so I turned to my heroic standby gear: tunics and leggings.  It doesn’t look like I’ll have to alter my personal style too much during the next five months, as many of my dresses and tops are either stretchy or flowy anyway.  I’ll sort of end up retro-gypsy-chic these next several weeks, I guess.  Whatevs.  I keep poking at my belly, waiting for it to fully “bloom”.  I’ve always had some extra weight on my tummy, so I’m anxious for it to turn into a “real” bump” that doesn’t go away when I suck it in.  (Chubby-ish mamas - you feel me, I know this.)

This past Monday was possibly my first experience of heartburn in my life.  I was on the late shift at work and enjoyed a great morning, writing and relaxing.  When I sat down in the office, there was suddenly a dull achy pain under my sternum.  I wondered if it was related to my asthma – I hadn’t had chest pain in years, but with a tiny human squirming around inside me, who knew what could change?  Then I thought – ah, probably gas.  (I won’t be discussing that topic in too much detail; I’m still mostly a lady and there’s no reason to expound on that.)  Finally I asked one of my co-workers what heartburn felt like and we figured out that’s what it was.  Thanks, little baby.  Ironically, it would have been my mom’s 59^th birthday, and she told me that she had heartburn every single day she was pregnant with me.  Hmm…maybe a loving little reminder from her on that very special day?

I’m grateful that I have a lot of friends who have had kids already.  Not just because I know I’ll be getting loads of awesome hand-me-downs (thereby saving us tons of money), but also because they’ve gone through this.  They’ve given birth, they’ve been in recovery.  They’ve tried to breastfeed; some have failed, others succeeded.  Very few books I’ve encountered have been totally honest about this process.  Or, they are so blatantly honest that they’re vulgar and they make you wish you had never even had sex to begin with.  My friends have been a perfect balance between the two. What to Expect When You’re Expecting has been my go-to book but, actually, it doesn’t really impress me.  Especially in the area of my hematoma.  Medically, it happens to about 10% of women, but it’s never once mentioned in the 300+ pages.  Really?  I also decided to go cold turkey when it came to the internet and chat rooms this time around.  I never got a lot of reassurance from them; instead, reading about all the things that could possibly go wrong made me sicker.  Plus, let’s be honest.  I’ve lost three pregnancies.  I don’t want to play the comparison game, but there’s not a whole lot worse than that, relatively speaking.  I’m not trivializing stillbirth or any other type of terrible trauma – not by any means.  I’m just saying that, at 8 weeks, the worst thing I could imagine was losing the baby, and it happened.  So, yeah, I don’t do chatrooms.  I do have an app on my phone that tells me what fruit my baby is, and gives generic pregnancy tips, which is cool.  But that’s about it. 

We’re a sweet potato this week, if you were wondering.

Now, as for the gender – yes, we do plan to find out.  We’re scheduled for our anatomical sonogram in just over three weeks.  We have happily settled on a name for a little girl, but are still toying with boys’ names.  I will be honest, I’m 99% sure it’s a girl.  Motherly intuition tells me this, plus I admit I peeked at all the goofy old wives’ tales, and, surprisingly, every one of them has turned up “girl”.  Most of my friends think it’s a girl.  (A few, including Ross, are holding out for a boy.)  Of course we would be thrilled with a baby of either sex.  Regardless of gender, this child will be raised by lots of proud geeks.  Our first purchase for the child will very likely be the bib that reads, ‘These fools put my cape on backwards.’

Can’t wait.

The Numbers Game

I hand-wrote (!) this message yesterday during some down time at work (days before holiday weekends are generally very slow).  After talking with my relatively new artsy-nerdy friend Emily over coffee this morning, I felt it very important to post this today.  I am certain that there are a lot of women, and probably a lot of men, who are dealing with the same feelings as me, and this is something that needs to be addressed right away.

As I inch (literally) closer to my weight and health goals, I realize that I have reached a very dangerous place.  It has nothing to do with BMI or blood pressure or Daily Recommended Allowances.  It has everything to do with identity and self-image.

I have come to the jarring realization that I am on the brink of defining myself almost exclusively by my appearance.  And that terrifies me.

It's hard for me to admit this because I am a huge advocate of teaching the next generation, young women in particular, of the value of inner beauty.  It would be easier to pretend I was not having this struggle, to simply smile and say "thank you" when people notice how different I look now.  I hate what the media does to the value of womanhood.  I hate that we, as a culture, accept the cheapened version of femininity - the image of women as sexual objects, the condemnation of stay-at-home moms and working moms alike.  I hate that, as I myself eye my scale, I have begun to base my worth on how low the number dips.  The lower it goes, a little voice tells me, the greater my value.

I know this way of thinking is wrong on multiple levels.  First and foremost, it's shallow.  To assign a value to any person based on appearance alone is thoughtless, foolish, and often cruel.  How do we learn such injustice?  Look to Hollywood, full of scripts in which the well-meaning loser guy gets the gorgeous girl, but rarely the reverse.  Look to magazines, full of countless glossy pages of women so airbrushed they hardly look real.  (Can I also say here how much it pains me to see spreads in which the "affordable" clothing pieces top $400?  That's neither here nor there, of course, but man, that gets me riled up!  Moving on...)  My heart sinks when I think of all the truly talented, hard-working people who will never attain the "success" they desire because they don't have the right "look".  We are often chided not to judge a book by its cover, but it's something we do on a daily basis, often subconsciously.

And it hurts.

Another reason that this line of thinking is wrong is that it's simply untrue.  The Bible says that every person conceived has value, and nowhere does God indicate that any person is more important than another because of appearance alone.  In fact, 1 Samuel 16:7 indicates that God is speaking through the prophet with these beautiful and encouraging words: "But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him [a brother of David]. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  That's pretty darn clear that, although he designed our looks, they don't indicate value before God!  We don't have to think, act, speak or look a certain way before he gives us his love!

Yet another argument against these thoughts is a less profound, but equally important one: it robs me of my joy.  Instead of enjoying a hearty meal, I find that I eye it warily, mentally calculating the "damage" it may cause.  I have been, without even realizing it, labeling myself a "good" or "bad" girl depending on the amount of calories I've consumed and expended each day.  Why have I been punishing myself with insults when a chocolate craving attacks me or I don't count out each and every tortilla chip in a serving?

I don't exactly know.  In fact, the thing is, I absolutely know better.  I have both Bible verses and other words of encouragement to speak over myself.  I have a husband, family, and friends who loved me when I weighed almost 170 pounds and they'll also love me when I reach my goal of 126 pounds.  I'm not a model or an actress; I'm not in the public eye and therefore required to look a very specific way.  (I mean, come on, people, I wear scrubs to work.  Comfy, but hardly glamorous.)  I'm not trying to "shake my thang" in a bikini on a beach to drop jaws.  Even in regards to signing up for the Great Race, I am not trying to win - just to finish.  So why is this obsession getting the best of me?

I wish I could say.  All I know is that I am not alone.  While I do not have an eating disorder, I am aware that I don't have a healthy relationship with food right now.  I do wonder - would I feel the same way about myself if I'd been born tall and lanky, with a boyish figure?  Or with dark skin and kinky hair?  Or even shorter than I am now, with golden skin and almond-shaped eyes?  Do all women truly compare themselves to others?  Worse, do they compare themselves to those magazine models who don't even exist?  Are we all "just 10 pounds" or "just 4 inches" away from accepting ourselves as beautiful?

If my experience is any indication, I'm going to say that no, we're not.  You don't automatically gain self respect when you lose weight.  Oh, you find yourself more confident, more comfortable, but if you've developed negative habits before you lost the weight (or kicked smoking, or left an abusive relationship, or made whatever life change you needed to in order to be more healthy), you'll hang onto those habits until you realize they're hurting you more than the unhealthy conditions did.  Emily told me this morning that the things that wake her up at night aren't reminders of the physical abuse she had suffered - although that hurt, too.  She says what troubles her most are the psychological effects - including her own self-image, damaged by relationships that were not right for her.  

As with many of my more pensive posts, I don't exactly presume to have an answer.  I just wanted to be vulnerable and put this out there.  I strongly desire to be a good role model for the young ladies in my life - my friends' daughters, my nieces, the girls in my church's youth group.  And, when the time comes, for my own daughter (as bleak as things look right now, somewhere in my heart I still believe I will have a little girl someday).  It's the humanity of people who seem to be invincible that makes you realize no one's perfect, and although I don't claim to be a hero, my writings have brought me a lot of comments along the lines of "you're so strong".  

I don't feel strong right now, but I do feel like it's okay to admit that.

Who's the Victim?

In general, I prefer to stay away from hot topics and current events.  Mostly because I find that the news media rarely reveals more than one side of the story - although there are usually several that should be explored.

Still, the whole Steubenville rape tragedy is something that has been rolling around in my mind a lot lately.  I am hearing so many different opinions, and a lot of them seem to me to be fueled by nothing more than outrage.  From the students who accused the victim of ruining their lives, to the reporters who lamented the loss of the rapists' "promising futures", to the feminists who are squawking against the double standard, to the media "geniuses" who concluded that the best and most important "lesson" from the rape case is that social media can be dangerous...I think many people are missing the point.  The point is that, as a culture, we don't respect women.

This past weekend, noted speaker, writer, and women's advocate Lee Grady taught at my church.  On Saturday night, he spoke to both men and women about many of the terrible things that happen to women - on a regular basis - across the globe.  He talked about female genital mutilation, spousal rape/abuse, and many other things that saddened our hearts.  He said that much of the violence continues because women have been taught to accept it.  

How are things different in America?  They aren't.

For all of our "modern" ways and our first-world lifestyle, I challenge you.  Think about it.  If women in South America have been conditioned to accept physical abuse because it is an "understood" part of marriage according to their culture; if women in Africa hold their own screaming daughters down as they are circumcised because it is "necessary" according to their culture, we are no different.  Women in America are being taught by the media that their bodies are of no value unless they are changed - shaved, enhanced, diminished, colored,  plucked, clothed - in a way that is more appealing to men.  It's an easy brainwash, if you start out young - which, of course, we are.

Image from www.blog.bratz.com.

Many of my peers have babies and toddlers now.  I'm learning from their blogs and from other social media that many of them, regardless of their religion, agree with me that something is very wrong with what the media is teaching our children.  It's as though young moms and dads have had their eyes opened - they see the commercials and products aimed at their babies as though for the first time.  They are shocked to read articles about children in first-grade referring to themselves as "fat".  Some of them don't like the idea of Disney princesses, because they're afraid their girls will think that finding a "prince" is their only job in life!

Image from www.filmschoolrejects.com.

Yet the self-esteem-crushing industrial monster, fueled by the masses, blazes ahead, marketing also to teens and young adults.  What do we have available for them? The Twilight series, one of the best-selling trilogies of all time, which features a young woman who is actually in an abusive relationship (read a clear, simply-worded explanation here).  We're teaching our daughters to desire men who control them and manipulate them, who won't allow them their independence.  I am by no means a feminist in the extreme and somewhat twisted sense of the term, but I can definitely get on the wagon with them concerning this.  Bella is a poor excuse for a heroine!  Instead, my children will admire brave Princess Leia, who got down in the trenches to fight a rebellion.  They'll watch the adventures of clever Martha Jones, who overcame unrequited love and accomplished her goal of becoming a doctor!  They'll read about historical heroines like Anne Frank, Harriet Tubman, and Ruth, Deborah, and Jael of the Bible.  They'll read Jane Eyre and learn that a woman does not have to compromise her standards to find true love. 

At the same time as it has been repressing women, our culture has allowed, encouraged, and instructed men to take advantage of women doing just that - because such actions, of course, make them "manlier".  Men who are respectful of women's boundaries are shamed by their peers, considered weak or feminine - unable to "score".  Men who are sensitive are sometimes negatively labeled as "gay".  We reward brutality with scholarships and idolization.  We allow child abuse cover-ups on a huge scale, which in turn allows more children to be abused as leadership "figures things out".  Our popular music tells young men to "get some" without any thoughts about the future - or the past.  That's pretty dangerous.  Ask anyone with an STD - if you find someone willing to talk about the experience.

Can you see what I am getting at?  The Steubenville tragedy was awful, and yes, a lot of lives were ruined by the actions that took place that night.    Whatever poor decisions she had made - and I do personally believe that heavy drinking, regardless of age, is always a poor decision -  this girl absolutely did not "deserve" what she got.  No one stepped forward to help this young woman, because no one really thought anything bad was happening.  Their perception of the situation was influence by both alcohol and the effects of the media, which teaches that "she probably wanted it anyway".  Their obsession with social media allowed them to witness the events as through a lens, like they weren't even participating.  Just think!  If someone had been brave enough or angry enough to step in, maybe this wouldn't have happened!  Maybe reputations and friendships would have been preserved and the community would have remained intact.  

If we put out efforts into raising a generation of young men and women who respect themselves and each other, maybe the media will have less and less of these stories to feast upon.  

Eventually, that bloated beast just might starve.