Sarcastic Lutheran

If you get a minute, check out this blog from Sarcastic Lutheran, an Iliff alum and phenomenal preacher woman. Her recent sermon about the Kingdom of God is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

This is why...

This is why my house is a total disaster...

And why I haven't written all my thank yous...

And why my husband doesn't have any clean underwear...

And why I ate cobbler for lunch because there was nothing else in the fridge...

Because right now there is a sleeping baby on my chest. And everything else can wait.

milo's first month

Happy 1 month, Milo!

Milo is one month old!

Can you handle the cuteness???

He's SO done with pictures...

Happy day, Milo! You are one month old today!

One month.

In some ways, it feels like I blinked and you turned one month old. In other ways, it feels like the longest 31 days of my life! Already I can't imagine my life without you.

One month. One whole month.

We've come a long way, baby! (You, me, and your dad) You are sleeping longer at night (sometimes 4.5 hours between feedings!), can hold your head up, and are starting to focus your eyes on us. Occasionally, we can get you to smile--usually in the morning when you are happiest.

Milo, on your one month birthday I have a secret to tell you. I'm really starting to like you. I know that sounds silly, but it's true. Of course, I loved you the moment you were born but I didn't know you. You were as foreign to me as a unicorn that speaks Russian. I feel like I am learning you, getting to know you, getting to know all about you, getting to like you, getting to hope you like me... (Have you learned yet that your mom is a total cheeseball?)

Even though you throw me some kind of curveball every day, I'm beginning to learn your noises and cries. I'm figuring out which cries mean you need to burp and which cries mean you're tired and, of course, I've learned which cries mean you just want your mama to hold you. I love, love, love holding you. Even though I'm excited for you to be older (I've learned newborns aren't really my gig), I'm trying to savor the moments of holding you--the way your legs bend up underneath your body and your head is still sort of floppy and the way you smell.

Don't get me wrong, little one. Your mama is also exhausted and only gets to shower on days your dad isn't working. (Lucky for all of us, he only works 3 days a week) I'm also grieving the loss (at least the temporary loss) of my former life. Last August I was in Palestine. The August before that I was taking water to migrants on the border. Now I am changing poopy diapers and going to Target with baby spit up on my shirt. There have been times when I have wished for my life before you, but they are getting fewer and farther between. Mostly, I am just so, so glad you are mine.

Every night I sing you this song so I thought I'd include it in your one-month letter. I haven't done a thorough analysis of its theological implications, but my mama sang it to me and now I'm singing it to you...

When Jesus sent you to us,

we loved you from the start.

You were just a bit of sunshine

from heaven to our hearts.

Not just another baby,

'cause since the world began

There's been something very special

For you in God's plan.

That's why

God made you special.

You're the only one of your kind.

God gave you a body

and a bright healthy mind.

God had a special purpose

that God wanted you to find

So God made you something special,

You're the only one of your kind.

I love you, Milo!

Love,

Mama

(In order to hear the video, you'll have to stop the music player at the bottom of the page.)

A Mama Confession: O.M.G. I'm a mother.

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new." --Rajneesh

I'm not very patient with myself when it comes to learning new things. I remember crying the first few months I was a brand new teacher because teaching is oh so hard and I felt like a failure. I cried a lot when I started seminary because everything was new and strange and I felt inadequate and like I didn't belong. I felt like a failure.

And now, I am learning to be a mother. And, like the quote above that was shared with me by a friend reminds me, being a mother is absolutely new to me. And there have been multiple moments during the last 4 weeks that I have cried and felt like a failure.

I am a mother.

I am a mother.

This realization washes over me in waves multiple times a day. I guess other people know this already? That when you have a baby, you become a mother??? Yesterday I left him for the first extended length of time to go to the movies and during one of the previews I almost sat up in my seat and declared to the people around me, "OMG! I'm a mother!!!"

It's crazy. And unreal. And frustrating. And amazing. And exhausting.

I want so badly to be a good mother. To know exactly how to respond to my baby's needs. To meet each of his needs with tenderness and ease. To love being his mother at all times.

But the truth is, he's only 4 weeks old and I've already had mama moments I'm not proud of. Like when he was still sleeping in his cradle and started fussing every time I stopped rocking his cradle so I found a pair of old sweat pants and tied one leg to his cradle and held the other leg in bed with me so I could pull the pants and keep his cradle moving. And I should probably mention that I was so, so tired that I'm not really sure how hard I was rocking him but I think the side of the cradle hit the window sill a couple of times which means my baby was high flying in the dark, probably quiet only because he was frightened to death.

There have also been moments when, in the middle of the night, I have stumbled out of bed, unswaddled my baby, fed him, changed his diaper, changed his pajamas because he peed on them, reswaddled him, and then prayed to God that he wouldn't decide to poop while I was rocking him back to sleep. God, I know you're probably very busy right now. And I know there are wars going on and migrants who are dying on the border and people sleeping in the streets of Denver, but if you could just please take a little time to make sure my newborn son does not poop his diaper at this moment, I'd really appreciate it. I am oh. so. tired...

The good news is, I have had a fantastic support system. My mom, David's parents, Lauren, Matt, Emily, and my sister have been here and I know I wouldn't have survived this long without them. A care package recently arrived from my friend Carrie and was stuffed full with goodies to lift my spirits. My friend, Greta, put together a meal registry and our friends in Denver have been bringing us yummy food. David is an amazing dad and extends me so much grace. I am humbled by the outpouring of love and support and encouragement.

Here's the other piece of good news. I love my son. I am a ridiculously imperfect and sometimes crazy mama. But I love this little boy to pieces. And I think, maybe, he senses this.

The other night, I was rocking him to sleep and he had his head tucked up under my chin so that I could feel his tiny breath on my neck. I was singing him songs that my mama sang to me when I was little--songs that affirm how much I love him, how much God loves him, how special he is--and as I craned my neck a little to look at him and kiss his cheek, he smiled and sighed.

Yes, friends, I am a mother.

Milo's Birth Day

It's been 3 weeks. Not 3 weeks since Milo was born, but 3 weeks since we were admitted to the hospital in an effort to induce labor. I thought I would blog about our birth experience before the details become TOO blurry.

*Warning!* For those blog readers who do not wish to know about my cervix or anything birth-related, you may want to stop reading now.

On Friday, July 16th, David and I went in for my 41-week appointment. They hooked me up to the fetal monitors and tracked Milo's movement and heart rate for about 30 minutes. Everything was fine. The nurse did an ultrasound to check my amniotic fluid level and determined it was 5.5 (slightly low). The midwife wanted us to induce that weekend, however, after consulting with our doula, we decided not to induce. Milo was only one week late (totally normal for first time moms), his fluid level was only slightly low, and we really believed I would go into labor on my own--perhaps even as early as the weekend.

Because we decided not to induce, the midwife wanted us to come back on Monday to have everything checked again. I drank a TON of fluids over the weekend hoping I could keep everything stable. David had to work on Monday so I went to the appointment on my own. I knew they would probably pressure me to schedule an induction and we were prepared to agree to an induction on Friday the 23rd which would have been 42 weeks.

When I went back on Monday, the fluid level had gone down to 3. After a tearful appointment with the midwife and texting with David while he was at work, we agreed it was time to induce. We met at home, packed the car, ate some lunch, and I scheduled a massage. It was both a last-ditch effort to induce labor naturally and an attempt to soothe my frazzled nerves. Even though we had been eagerly awaiting Milo's arrival for 41+ weeks (and really years longer than that!) it was hard to believe that it was really time for him to come. I will never forget what it felt like to leave our house knowing that, when we returned, life would be completely different.

We checked into St. Joseph hospital around 4 p.m. on Monday afternoon. Even though it felt as if our birth plan had been totally hijacked, we did find ways to salvage a little bit of what we wanted. For example, I wore my own clothes throughout the entire birthing process and never changed into the hospital gown. (This may seem small, but it was part of remembering that a woman in labor is not "sick" and made me feel more like a human being instead of a patient)

We were finally taken up to labor and delivery and my mom arrived soon after. (She hopped on a plane after we decided to induce and made it to Denver by dinner time!) The doctor came in to meet with us and told us he didn't feel comfortable starting pitocin since I was only dilated 1.5 cm. We decided to try the "balloon method," which was basically them inserting a balloon into my cervix, blowing it up, and forcing my cervix to dilate. Yes friends, that was as pleasant as it sounds. The doctor suggested I get an epidural before the balloon was inserted because "it would be painful." I reminded him that it was our desire that I not be offered any pain medications and that I would ask for them if I wanted them.

The balloon was inserted Monday evening and we spent most of the evening walking the halls. I was having contractions but they weren't regular or strong. Our doula came up to the hospital around 9 p.m. and stayed with us until around 3 a.m., when we sent her home to get some sleep. Even though I was tired, I was feeling pretty anxious and only slept about an hour that night.

The next morning the doctor removed the balloon and let me eat breakfast. He wanted to start the pitocin around 8 a.m. but we weren't quite ready. Again, we were hoping my body would go into labor on its own. Our doula, Ann, returned to the hospital and we spent the morning doing all kinds of exercises trying to improve fetal positioning. Finally, around lunch time, we conceded and they started a pitocin IV at 1 p.m. We had asked for it to be set at the lowest setting possible and to increase slowly.

I started having contractions and, by 4 p.m., I was finally in active labor. David was a freaking phenomenal labor coach. He was calm, loving, and supportive during each contraction. It really is true that a woman in labor enters an alternative state of mind--this is the part of the story where things get a little fuzzy. I was having contractions every 2 minutes or so and we managed them together. (Of course, Ann was totally helpful and wonderful too!)

At 8:00, despite enduring 4 hours of strong contractions, I had only dilated to 4.5 cm. I was devastated. We had been at the hospital for 28 hours, we'd hardly slept, and I still had a long way to go. I was totally crushed. I cried. No, I sobbed. I was so, so sad and felt like my body was dysfunctional. I was exhausted. I was in pain. I worried that, if I didn't get this baby out soon, they would start talking about a c-section.

I told Ann and David I was ready for an epidural. I believed that getting an epidural and pumping up the pitocin was my best shot at having the vaginal birth I desperately wanted.

The epidural man arrived at 9 and provided some much-needed relief. I should mention that the epidural did not totally alleviate the pain--I could still feel the contractions and felt tremendous pressure in my back--but it was certainly better than before.

Unfortunately, Milo didn't respond very well to the epidural and his heart rate dropped. They put me on oxygen and transitioned from external fetal monitoring to internal fetal monitoring. (They actually put a monitor up the birth canal and attached it to the baby's head) Seeing me on oxygen and watching our son's heart rate drop totally freaked out my usually calm husband. Even though those moments are fuzzy for me, I remember him saying to the doctor, "My whole world is in that bed."

They were able to stabilize Milo and me and I forced David and Ann to lay down and rest. My mom stayed by my bed and, even though I am 29 years old, knowing my mom was by my side and having her rub my arm gave me the peace of mind I needed to get some rest too.

Around 1:30 a.m. they checked and I was dilated to 8.5 cm. Less than an hour later I was irritated and restless because I felt such a strong urge to push. It's pretty routine now to give moms an hour after they reach 10 cm for the baby to naturally descend, therefore making pushing a little easier. However, I was totally and completely miserable and told them I was ready to push NOW!

At 2:30 I started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. I don't know if it was because I was utterly exhausted or because the room was so dimly lit or because I was pushing so hard that my eyes were swollen and wouldn't stay open, but the whole pushing experience felt dream-like. Not that it was a dream come true to push for that long, but I was so "out of it" that it felt about as real as a dream. I remember David holding one hand and Ann holding the other and I remember my mom shoveling ice chips into my mouth between contractions.

Finally, finally, finally I pushed Milo out at 5:37 a.m.

I will never, ever forget the flood of relief and joy I felt at that moment. I let out some sort of odd wail that sort of felt like my body saying--dear God, it is finally finished!

Looking back, it was not the birth I expected. I have birthed a baby, but have yet to know what it is like to go into real labor. I had wanted an unmedicated birth. It turned out I had almost every medical intervention in the book, minus a c-section. It was longer than I expected. It was harder than I expected. However, when it was all said and done, we had a healthy and perfectly awesome son. And, in the end, that is all that really matters.

There's a baby at our house

There's a baby at our house!

Which is why I haven't posted in over 2 weeks. We are completely consumed with feeding, changing, and caring for our new little guy. Our world has become Milo-centric.

I have so many thoughts about his birth (we were at the hospital for 38 hours before he finally arrived) and the joy and agony of being a new mama, but there has been very little time to sit down and blog. Most of my baby-free time has been spent in my bed trying to catch up on sleep.

However, for now, I'll leave you with a picture of Milo Stephen who came into our lives on July 21st. Despite my fatigue and hormonal anxiety, I can honestly say that he's pretty spectacular.