Postpartum.
This is my fourth encounter of you, and I have succumbed to your oppressive and depressing grasp, once more. I loathe you, joy-stealer. You take my sleep, you fog my logic, and your tears blur my beautiful, new reality. Your grip punctures my delicate heart like barbed wire, and days of new-baby bliss are oftentimes distorted into exhaustive and emotional confusion, in the mere blink of my tear-stained eyes. My thoughts are unbridled and contradicting; I question all that I know about motherhood and my ability to love my children... and myself again.
I knew you were coming--you wreaked havoc here before--but I am always caught by surprise. You allow me only a few days of uninterrupted joy with God's precious new creation, before you barge into my heart and head with your tumultuous, wrecking ball of a presence. In a room filled by the warmth and love of family and dear friends, you make me feel alone. They ask if I am okay, but you and I know my answer is dishonest. There really are no words to help explain my state of... whatever you are. I fail at expressing how you change me; the best description I can muster is weird. Abnormal. Lonely. Ugly.
You take advantage of the fatigue, of the achy and recovering body, of the mama who no longer feels pretty. The previous months of "glowing" are swiftly overshadowed by untoned and stretch mark-ridden skin, bulky feminine products, and soggy nursing pads. In the middle of the night, your imbalanced hormones leave me drenched in cold sweats; I find no comfort in my damp, chilly sheets. Soon, your physical toll will be evident in the clumps of hair clogging our shower drain. Though I return to wearing pre-maternity clothing, you prevent me from feeling like my old self. I am unfamiliar with this new me. I stare into the mirror and see your damage; my reflection looks forlorn.
My children still find comfort in my embrace, while I feel awkward in my own skin. The youngest ones beg to "hold you," manipulating me into testing the integrity of my stitches. I am determined to prove you wrong--that I am a good mother, capable of fulfilling each child's unique needs. But you unapologetically remind me that I leave them needing more of me; their tears and sticky grips are evidence of that. You even bombard into my marriage, convincing me that my husband's tender words of endearment are bore out of insincere obligation.
Who knows how long you will stick around and when I will begin to resemble my old self. Sooner or later, these smothering waves of emotion will allow me to feel unforced happiness again and recognize the weary reflection staring back at me. Eventually, I will break loose from your suffocating grasp and bask in the glory of my chaotic, sleep-deprived, baby love-filled reality. You cannot steal this life from me. Tomorrow may be better, but, today, I loathe you, joy-stealer.
"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."
Romans 15:13 (NIV)
Monday, October 23, 2017
Saturday, August 19, 2017
Poor Daddy
If you have read any of my articles before, it is likely you know that I attract quite a fair amount of unwarranted commentary and criticism from brazen passersby. You see a pregnant mama with three little girlies in tow and cannot resist the urge to inquire about our reality. Surely, I must look so disappointed with life; sadness must ooze from my eyeballs and silent screams must echo from my inner being. How on earth can we possibly be happy with these children? Apparently, our two-parents-plus-four-kids equation is missing something crucial: a boy.
Clearly adorned with an "ask me questions" sign on my back, I am no stranger to strangers' barrage of head-scratching inquiries. Even inappropriate insinuations have been hurled my way, with our innocent and unsuspecting young daughters as witnesses: "You must not know how to make boys." Cringe-worthy. Intrusive. Other statements and questions are less grotesque, but they are just as ridiculous. For the sake of information, here is a brief review...
"All girls?! Poor Daddy."
"That fourth baby is a boy, right?"
"Y'all going to keep trying for your boy?"
I am usually so astonished by the audacity that I tend to awkwardly smile and keep quiet. It is not until the drive home that I become perplexed and overwhelmed with sadness. Are you so desperate for "small talk" that you think the topic of our family is fair game? I would like to think the best of people and assume your approach is flawed, rather than your intention. Even still, these questions have implications; they are loaded with suggestion and splattered with opinion...or maybe judgment. Do you know your questions might cause harm? Inflict pain?
The cover photo of our family does not wholly depict the history its walked. That seven years ago, while expecting our first child, we heeded the sonographer's report and prepared for our son. After many shopping trips, sweet gatherings at baby showers, and safari-themed nursery preparation, we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our sweet boy. But, because God's design for our family differed from what we anticipated, we received a Christmas surprise: our precious daughter. The sonogram images were deceiving, and our lives quickly changed gears from blue and green to purple and pink. We have never wished away our daughter, or her little sisters, but there is still a portion of our hearts reserved for a son. Each question, as illustrated above, not only intrudes into a very personal part of our family, but it also resurfaces our feelings of longing. We love a son I never carried in my womb. Not only is it difficult to process, but it is more difficult to explain.
Our story is unique, but other families have different, more painful journeys; sometimes shattered by the loss of a child or the challenges of infertility, a seemingly lighthearted question may, in fact, bring about profound sorrow. What if a mama of all girls miscarried her only son? What if a mama of all boys can no longer safely carry babies and will never have a daughter? What if my daughters hear questions that make them feel inferior? Not good enough? My daughters--these beautifully-crafted creations of the Father--might so wrongly assume they do not bring their daddy and me abundant joy, all because you had an opinion or a "funny" joke to share. Because you considered my husband a poor, helpless prisoner in a life of all girls.
I get it. Not everyone wants a family this big and not everyone can imagine a family of four daughters. All the drama, you say. Hormonal teenage years and messy bathrooms, you say. "You" neglect to consider how full Daddy's arms are at the end of the workday. The snuggles and the dances. The trips to the soccer field and golf course. The beatboxing lessons. The victory cheers celebrating his favorite sports teams. The decorative football pumpkin birthday present because, even at the craft store, his girls still think of their daddy.
Our life is rich and full of so much joy. Our little tribe is ours. It is irreplaceable. These girls are chosen--by God and by us. Do not feel sorry for our boy-less family; life is no less rewarding with daughters. Our hearts swell with love for them. Do not feel sorry for my husband; he is one spoiled daddy. Do refrain from comparing my family to some bogus, personal or social standard; we are living a life designed by God and are blessed beyond measure. And, lastly, do consider the internal implications of your commentary and questioning; you will never be able to see the scars on a mama's heart.
"I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers."
Ephesians 1:16 (NIV)
Clearly adorned with an "ask me questions" sign on my back, I am no stranger to strangers' barrage of head-scratching inquiries. Even inappropriate insinuations have been hurled my way, with our innocent and unsuspecting young daughters as witnesses: "You must not know how to make boys." Cringe-worthy. Intrusive. Other statements and questions are less grotesque, but they are just as ridiculous. For the sake of information, here is a brief review...
"All girls?! Poor Daddy."
"That fourth baby is a boy, right?"
"Y'all going to keep trying for your boy?"
I am usually so astonished by the audacity that I tend to awkwardly smile and keep quiet. It is not until the drive home that I become perplexed and overwhelmed with sadness. Are you so desperate for "small talk" that you think the topic of our family is fair game? I would like to think the best of people and assume your approach is flawed, rather than your intention. Even still, these questions have implications; they are loaded with suggestion and splattered with opinion...or maybe judgment. Do you know your questions might cause harm? Inflict pain?
The cover photo of our family does not wholly depict the history its walked. That seven years ago, while expecting our first child, we heeded the sonographer's report and prepared for our son. After many shopping trips, sweet gatherings at baby showers, and safari-themed nursery preparation, we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of our sweet boy. But, because God's design for our family differed from what we anticipated, we received a Christmas surprise: our precious daughter. The sonogram images were deceiving, and our lives quickly changed gears from blue and green to purple and pink. We have never wished away our daughter, or her little sisters, but there is still a portion of our hearts reserved for a son. Each question, as illustrated above, not only intrudes into a very personal part of our family, but it also resurfaces our feelings of longing. We love a son I never carried in my womb. Not only is it difficult to process, but it is more difficult to explain.
Our story is unique, but other families have different, more painful journeys; sometimes shattered by the loss of a child or the challenges of infertility, a seemingly lighthearted question may, in fact, bring about profound sorrow. What if a mama of all girls miscarried her only son? What if a mama of all boys can no longer safely carry babies and will never have a daughter? What if my daughters hear questions that make them feel inferior? Not good enough? My daughters--these beautifully-crafted creations of the Father--might so wrongly assume they do not bring their daddy and me abundant joy, all because you had an opinion or a "funny" joke to share. Because you considered my husband a poor, helpless prisoner in a life of all girls.
I get it. Not everyone wants a family this big and not everyone can imagine a family of four daughters. All the drama, you say. Hormonal teenage years and messy bathrooms, you say. "You" neglect to consider how full Daddy's arms are at the end of the workday. The snuggles and the dances. The trips to the soccer field and golf course. The beatboxing lessons. The victory cheers celebrating his favorite sports teams. The decorative football pumpkin birthday present because, even at the craft store, his girls still think of their daddy.
Our life is rich and full of so much joy. Our little tribe is ours. It is irreplaceable. These girls are chosen--by God and by us. Do not feel sorry for our boy-less family; life is no less rewarding with daughters. Our hearts swell with love for them. Do not feel sorry for my husband; he is one spoiled daddy. Do refrain from comparing my family to some bogus, personal or social standard; we are living a life designed by God and are blessed beyond measure. And, lastly, do consider the internal implications of your commentary and questioning; you will never be able to see the scars on a mama's heart.
"I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers."
Ephesians 1:16 (NIV)
Wednesday, June 14, 2017
The Discourager
I have been absent from the keyboard for quite some time, primarily because our little family encountered yet another detour in this overly-blessed life of ours: a fourth baby! There are few words to describe our array of emotions, but shocked and bewildered still carry some weight. After my last pregnancy, just last year, feelings of contentment unexpectedly sneaked their way into my mama heart. I could hold our third bundle and feel complete, abundantly fulfilled in my calling of motherhood.
February's positive pregnancy text shook me, rattled my confidence in my mothering capabilities, and challenged my understanding of God's work in my life and our family. I was overcome with fear and doubt, and cried for our already-here baby girl...who was only ten months old. I was convinced she would feel replaced and hate me. I was doubtful I could stretch my heart, my arms, and patience to cover another child. I was even terrified of telling my husband, bypassing all the cutesy announcement ideas; he got a phone call...at work: "Sooo, I need you to go outside." I felt completely out of control, completely blindsided, and completely unprepared for the emotion, the physical changes, and the attention that would come with this fourth pregnancy.
At five months along, we have all adjusted well to the idea of our new reality. Baby #4 is our fourth daughter, and her three big sisters will be sure she never spends a moment of her life alone. Our network of family and friends has embraced and encouraged us along this unexpected journey and helped us rebuild our confidence in ourselves and God's direction. The stares and not-so-occasional comments from strangers have been brutal, though. Apparently, it is a phenomenon to have four children and more bizarre for a family to have (or even want) four children of the same sex.
Sometimes, people can be so disappointing. In moments of their unwelcome, unfiltered gushing of nonsense, I want to run and hide. Without ever asking for it, I instantly become a public spectacle, attracting attention that makes me uneasy and defensive, for no good reason. I have become overly-aware and hyper-sensitive to the reactions I see unfold around me. People will hurl disapproving glances my way and utter rubbish under their breath because they simply do not understand. Thankfully, I know this baby was miraculously created into life by our Father's loving hands; the approval or acceptance of others is unnecessary when I know the One who breathed life into our precious daughter.
Bystanders are unaware of others' internal processing and only worsen their feelings of doubt or guilt, without taking into consideration the differences in life circumstances or God's calling for them. I was a shocked and useless onlooker of a heartbreaking incident in a breastfeeding support group on social media, a couple of months ago. This first-time mama had exclusively breastfed her daughter for six whole months (she deserves a standing ovation, y'all), but had not endured the easiest of journeys. Her many dietary sacrifices did little to help remedy her baby girl's tummy and skin issues; six months of unsavory food substitutions and eliminations proved useless. The disrespect of this hurting, reached-her-last-straw mama was gut-wrenching. The disregard of her achievements and struggles was astonishing. Mere strangers shamed her, belittling all efforts, instead of meeting her in the valley with grace and spirit-redeeming reassurance. Even the so-called encouragement was more often discouraging; respondents offered the best (ahem, good...ish) advice they could muster for the disheartened mama, but their words were splattered by remnants of their own expectations or standards on the subject. They failed to see this mama's journey for what it was for her: hard and long. Instead, argumentative, condescending, and judgmental comments scared her away; not once did she reply to anyone.
This mama wholly undeserved the lashing she suffered. At the very minimum, she deserved neutral support, advice void of self-praising, and grace-filled understanding of her personal journey and all the differences that accompanied it. She received none of that and probably gave up on her endeavors, guilt-ridden and with her head held low. After losing her post in the busyness of my feed, I posted one of my own to the group, praising this mama and her success and praying for a rejuvenation of her spirit. I am not confident she saw my post, though, for two reasons: 1) in a group of thousands of posting mamas, much goes unnoticed, and 2) the group administrator blocked further commenting on my post (reason: "to prevent further confrontation"). Evidently, my content of life-breathing truth and support was too controversial, but the ruthless attacks of this mama's character and priorities were of the acceptable nature. They persisted for hours.
Why must we have so little regard for others? Why must we prioritize our self-importance over the needs and struggles of those around us, especially those who reach out for a lifeline? A broken spirit should be treated carefully and with abundant compassion. Full disclosure of a person's life is not required for us to extend unconditional grace. We do not need understanding of a person's circumstances before we consider her or him worthy of our grace and alliance. Our words should be meticulously chosen in every situation, to ensure our mouths speak truth and are void of judgment.
"An unfriendly person pursues selfish ends and against all sound judgment starts quarrels. Fools find no pleasure in understanding but delight in airing their own opinions... The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."
Proverbs 18:1-2; 21 (NIV)
February's positive pregnancy text shook me, rattled my confidence in my mothering capabilities, and challenged my understanding of God's work in my life and our family. I was overcome with fear and doubt, and cried for our already-here baby girl...who was only ten months old. I was convinced she would feel replaced and hate me. I was doubtful I could stretch my heart, my arms, and patience to cover another child. I was even terrified of telling my husband, bypassing all the cutesy announcement ideas; he got a phone call...at work: "Sooo, I need you to go outside." I felt completely out of control, completely blindsided, and completely unprepared for the emotion, the physical changes, and the attention that would come with this fourth pregnancy.
At five months along, we have all adjusted well to the idea of our new reality. Baby #4 is our fourth daughter, and her three big sisters will be sure she never spends a moment of her life alone. Our network of family and friends has embraced and encouraged us along this unexpected journey and helped us rebuild our confidence in ourselves and God's direction. The stares and not-so-occasional comments from strangers have been brutal, though. Apparently, it is a phenomenon to have four children and more bizarre for a family to have (or even want) four children of the same sex.
Sometimes, people can be so disappointing. In moments of their unwelcome, unfiltered gushing of nonsense, I want to run and hide. Without ever asking for it, I instantly become a public spectacle, attracting attention that makes me uneasy and defensive, for no good reason. I have become overly-aware and hyper-sensitive to the reactions I see unfold around me. People will hurl disapproving glances my way and utter rubbish under their breath because they simply do not understand. Thankfully, I know this baby was miraculously created into life by our Father's loving hands; the approval or acceptance of others is unnecessary when I know the One who breathed life into our precious daughter.
Bystanders are unaware of others' internal processing and only worsen their feelings of doubt or guilt, without taking into consideration the differences in life circumstances or God's calling for them. I was a shocked and useless onlooker of a heartbreaking incident in a breastfeeding support group on social media, a couple of months ago. This first-time mama had exclusively breastfed her daughter for six whole months (she deserves a standing ovation, y'all), but had not endured the easiest of journeys. Her many dietary sacrifices did little to help remedy her baby girl's tummy and skin issues; six months of unsavory food substitutions and eliminations proved useless. The disrespect of this hurting, reached-her-last-straw mama was gut-wrenching. The disregard of her achievements and struggles was astonishing. Mere strangers shamed her, belittling all efforts, instead of meeting her in the valley with grace and spirit-redeeming reassurance. Even the so-called encouragement was more often discouraging; respondents offered the best (ahem, good...ish) advice they could muster for the disheartened mama, but their words were splattered by remnants of their own expectations or standards on the subject. They failed to see this mama's journey for what it was for her: hard and long. Instead, argumentative, condescending, and judgmental comments scared her away; not once did she reply to anyone.
This mama wholly undeserved the lashing she suffered. At the very minimum, she deserved neutral support, advice void of self-praising, and grace-filled understanding of her personal journey and all the differences that accompanied it. She received none of that and probably gave up on her endeavors, guilt-ridden and with her head held low. After losing her post in the busyness of my feed, I posted one of my own to the group, praising this mama and her success and praying for a rejuvenation of her spirit. I am not confident she saw my post, though, for two reasons: 1) in a group of thousands of posting mamas, much goes unnoticed, and 2) the group administrator blocked further commenting on my post (reason: "to prevent further confrontation"). Evidently, my content of life-breathing truth and support was too controversial, but the ruthless attacks of this mama's character and priorities were of the acceptable nature. They persisted for hours.
Why must we have so little regard for others? Why must we prioritize our self-importance over the needs and struggles of those around us, especially those who reach out for a lifeline? A broken spirit should be treated carefully and with abundant compassion. Full disclosure of a person's life is not required for us to extend unconditional grace. We do not need understanding of a person's circumstances before we consider her or him worthy of our grace and alliance. Our words should be meticulously chosen in every situation, to ensure our mouths speak truth and are void of judgment.
"An unfriendly person pursues selfish ends and against all sound judgment starts quarrels. Fools find no pleasure in understanding but delight in airing their own opinions... The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."
Proverbs 18:1-2; 21 (NIV)
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