I gave up chocolate for lent last year and I’ve taken it a step further this year and eliminated desserts altogether.  I suppose after being off sweets for the last third of my pregnancy I gave myself permission to indulge (read “go hog wild”).    Yes, I’m pretty sure Scott only had a few pieces from that pound of hand-picked See’s candy.  But really (you think I’m kidding?), I have discovered in this last week that I am using chocolate as a drug or an idol or maybe just a mood booster.  When I’m exhausted or frustrated I find myself longing for just a little piece of chocolate.  And that is why I am thankful to be celebrating Lent this year.  Because it sure seems a lot simpler for me to self-medicate than to stop and ask God to give me strength.  This is what idolatry is about, isn’t it?  Seeking strength, sufficiency, help from someone or something other than God. 

Father, help me to seek you when I have need.  Help me to rely on you to be my peace, my strength, and my joy.  You are sufficient for me and more than sufficient.  Keep me from small-mindedness and lack of Your vision for my life.

 

All week I have been acting like an extreme germaphobe. I say acting like because it really isn’t me. Before Nes I have never had anyone use hand sanitizer before touching my child and I have generally been opposed to use of hand sanitizer and anti-bacterial soap for regular use (of course there are exceptions). But I’ve never had a newborn with one lung during flu season before and for her respiratory infection hovers as a potential cause for hospitalization. Currently I have two snot-nosed kids who couldn’t not share their germs if their lives depended on it. Seriously. It’s really an exercise in futility. I have been strictly enforcing a “drink from your own cup/water bottle” policy, hand washing, “cover your mouth when you cough (with your elbow)”, “don’t touch your sister’s paci”, “don’t touch your sister’s face”, etc. But there have been multiple offenses and I know, despite my efforts, that our house is a petri dish of germs and bacteria. So, I feel compelled to pray. God, protect my daughter. Keep her in health as you are the only realistic defense she has.

I attended a doula circle meeting this morning where a grief counselor came to help us when working with clients who experience loss – miscarriage, death of baby, and even those who had birth experiences that were disappointing.  As we spoke a little about miscarriage, I noticed that a lot of emotions were surfacing for me and I just feel I need to process a bit, so bear with me.  I want to start by saying that I completely understand and accept that God allows circumstances in our lives to make us better people, to help us relate to others and to cause us to look to Him as our source of life and peace, but just understanding that all things have a deeper purpose, doesn’t make them less painful.  The fact is, emotions are not logical.  That is why trying to explain to a crying child that the toy broke because it was not meant to be thrown across the room isn’t really going to stop their crying.  They are sad.  They want the toy back.  They want to change the outcome of their actions.  Better to agree that it is so sad that their toy is broken and deal with the logic of it after they are done mourning the loss, yes?

As adults I think we try to find the logic or meaning in hardship so that we can ultimately suppress what we’re feeling.  If there is a reason for it, then I don’t have to acknowledge these feeling I am having…  Except, that our beings don’t work that way.  So when Claire was talking about writing an obituary for a baby that was miscarried I started to tear up.  Although I was barely pregnant that summer of 2008, it was enough for me to be excited about the future and think about what the due date would be.  It wasn’t a planned pregnancy but I was so happy.  I remember thinking back about how tired I had been the couple weeks prior and realizing it was because I was pregnant!  I had a feeling that it was a girl for some reason and I never had an inclination one way or the other with the boys.  It was a little tricky because we were in Israel and I wouldn’t be able to see a doctor until we got home, but it would have still been in the first trimester.  We went camping that weekend in Northern Israel and I started bleeding.  I was sure of what was happening.  We shortened our trip.  I wasn’t able to see a doctor because the travel insurance didn’t include maternity care so I called my midwife from Texas and she comforted me and gave me medical advise.  We didn’t really have time to get too used to the idea, but it didn’t take me long to start dreaming.  It was a loss.  It was softened by the comfort of friends and hearing the stories of others who had gone through one, too.  But I felt a deep sense of loss and despair was mixed in during those months after when I really was quite concerned about whether or not I would be able to have any more children.  Like I said, emotions are not logical.  So, if you met me in fall of 2008 and thought I seemed a little sad, well, I was.  But I don’t think I told anyone about what I was feeling.

Probably the most unsettling situation in life is hovering around your due date.  I think most moms hope to be early, but are safe to set their mind on a post-date birth.  It seems like the two weeks before the due date moms stop living and start ticking.  Ticking like a time bomb waiting for their baby to come.  As a newish doula I think it’s easy to feel this way, too.  I’m sure I’ll get used to it and just remember to keep living and realize that life will work its way out – even if I have to cancel something fun here and there.  I spent most of last night in the hospital with a mom whose water had broken, but had not started active labor.  Pitocin, epidural, and a day later I am at home waiting for her to call to say she needs me again.  It’s a strange place to be.  Hoping and praying for this mama, that she can have the VBAC she so desires, even if it wasn’t exactly how she had hoped it would be.

There is a cobb of corn on the floor under the kitchen table, ziplock bags distributed throughout the house, piles of laundry that has to be done tonight, a dishwasher that needs to be emptied so that the dishes from tonight can be placed in it, wash cloths lining the floor of the hallway, a bathtub that needs to be scrubbed because Aitan pooped in it, and bath toys to be sanitized. So, why am I sitting down at 8:00 to have a cookie and write a blog post?

Okay, I got up and took care of most of that, so I feel less bad about now procrastinating. It’s been a hard day.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

–Reinhold Niebuhr

Oh man. I’ve been looking forward to today for a long time. I made plans for my mom to watch the boys while I attended a hypno-doula training. The training was great. In addition to learning how to support women who choose hypnobabies, I also received some wonderful advice from some more experienced doulas. I’m really excited about getting back into my work and am hopeful that things will pick up soon. So here comes the gripe:

Scott left for NY on Friday and I don’t have any groceries that would amount to dinner – at least not easily and it was already 5:30 when we left my parents house. Aitan had only snoozed for about an hour all day 1/3 of his normal nap, so I knew he needed to eat and get to bed pronto. Besides the boys already were running behind. I usually try to feed them at 5:00 so I can bath them and get them in bed by 7:30. So, I figured we could stop somewhere on the way home. The fwy entrance was closed so I had to detour through South Pasadena and then Ilan started crying for the potty and so I just stopped at Kentucky Fried Chicken because it was there. I figured it couldn’t be that bad, but I was so wrong. Not only was it FILTHY!! The chicken was soggy, the corn was overcooked, and the macaroni and cheese tasted like plastic (probably because it was). I felt like such a sucker. And totally miserable. What was I putting in my kids’ bodies?

So we leave and arrive home. The front door is open, as in wide open. As in not locked swinging in the wind open. I haven’t spoken with my mom yet, but I’m assuming she was overwhelmed with the boys and forgot to lock the door. I see the camera and computer on the desk and figure if someone was going to take something they would start with those and assume no one has come into the apartment. We go into the boys room so I can change Aitan’s diaper and I noticed the door to my bedroom is shut. Two possibilities, my mom shut it to keep the boys out, or someone was in there. So I kept the boys in their room and shouted “If anyone is in the bedroom, please come out now and there will be no consequences. (Silence) ‘m going to open the door now.” Fortunately, no one was in there. But still not pleasant.

So I get the boys ready for bed. Aitan is still not asleep (2 hours later) and Ilan just fell asleep after the “I’ve passed the tired mark and have had a brief adrenaline rush that is making me tired, irrational and totally miserable to deal with.” All I wanted to do tonight was call a friend who is in the hospital (which it is now too late to do), make a grocery list, and follow-up on some of my doula stuff. Counting on His mercies being new tomorrow. I need ’em.

Being a mom, in fact, is not the worst job in the world.  It is pretty hard, though, and if you ask a mom, she would most likely tell you that, yes, she feels like she is failing miserably.  Anyone who has ever had a job they cared about can tell you that doing well is extremely rewarding and getting recognition for a job well done is a huge motivator.  As a parent you are responsible for something much more valuable than a spreadsheet – a human soul, and the pressure to succeed is huge, yet you are constantly confronted by your failures.  I recently read an article (All Joy and No Fun) about how married couples with children are generally less happy (as evidenced in numerous studies) than those without.   I’m sure the grass is always greener on the other side, but the funny thing is, even though study after study shows this to be true, parents don’t “feel” less happy.  It’s just when you start considering the daily activities and all of the ways life is effected by children it starts to sound really bad.  Every activity is made more complicated with kids and when your 3 year old pokes you on the cheek at 6 am (for the third day in a row), that feels like something to be less happy about.  Senior says, “Children may provide unrivaled moments of joy. But they also provide unrivaled moments of frustration, tedium, anxiety, heartbreak. This scene, [a mother nagging her son, who refuses to turn the tv off and do his homework] which isn’t even all that awful or uncommon, makes it perfectly clear why parenting may be regarded as less fun than having dinner with friends or baking a cake. Loving one’s children and loving the act of parenting are not the same thing.”

One thing that was mentioned in the article is that since industrialization children have moved from being “extra help” with the household duties to little dictators.  We cart them around and cater to their needs so that they will have everything they need to succeed.  Maybe it’s overkill?  In the article they referred to the Nambian mothers in the movie Babies, who sat chatting and caring for their children and actually seemed to be enjoying themselves.  No fancy toys, no mommy and me classes, just spending time together.  As a parent I find the most joy when I actually put the iphone down and spend some quality time playing with my boys.  Nothing beats our mornings together when everyone crawls in bed and we rough-house and cuddle.

Even though we can look at the whole of our job as parenting with joy, because it truly is rewarding and your children have a way of touching your heart with love and pride like no one else can, the day-in and day-out is hard.  To point out what is most frustrating is difficult.  The hours are long – really you’re never off the clock, you can spend all day cleaning and still the house looks like a tornado came through (really, it seems overwhelming and impossible to get above baseline), you are faced with opposition for even the most mundane tasks (as I write Scott is arguing with Ilan about washing his hands after going to the bathroom), and you can hardly do a task or have a thought without interruption.  You never know if you are really doing the right thing, and you desperately want to because you love your children and you want to give them the best there is.  Oh, the insecurity!

So, yes, if you asked me what I would prefer to bake a cake (or even do the dishes) over giving the kids a bath, it probably would be true.  It’s not because I’m not happy and don’t love my kids or even wouldn’t have fun giving them a bath.  It’s because I probably do need a little time to myself, to do something without a struggle.  I stay at home with my kids, Ilan, the older, is not in pre-school, I cook most meals we eat from scratch, and I don’t have a backyard where the kids can play fairly safely with limited supervision.  Ilan is super social and he expects my participation in whatever he is doing, so that even when he could be playing independently and I could sit outside with him and a book, he still wants my focus.  So, why do I feel guilty when I take some time and do something for myself?  Maybe it’s because I feel guilty for needing or wanting a break from my kids.  But letting my guilt keep me from caring for my own needs won’t make me a better mom or a happier mom.  In fact, most couples could also benefit from taking time to focus on each other instead of the kids.  Even after the kids go to bed at night we’re both so zonked that we vegetate either behind a computer, a tv screen or a book.  I want to feel fulfilled as a woman, wife and as a parent.  It seems like in the pursuit of being a good parent I am neglecting the things that make me a better parent and create a better home for my kids.  So, I’m taking happy back.  Look out.

Share On Facebook