The Poo Poo Chronicles

I've had four children in six years and each time I've said to myself, "Self, I will not be changing two sets of poopy diapers!" I've had great intentions to get the older child potty-trained before the next one arrived.

I thought my third girl would be the easiest! She actually began going potty on the toilet around eight months of age, due to a horrendous rash, yada yada, long story. But earlier last year, after all the upset of lost baby and other issues, I got lazy with her. I also blame the fact that I was pregnant for over a year. Yep, that's right! I was pregnant from November of 2007 to January of 2009... kind of... with only the month of March as the exception. My one and only menstrual cycle was on April 1st. Hahaha, April Fools to me!!! Okay, sorry to be talking about menstrual cycles (hi, SuperDave!). Let's get back to talking about poop.

So, here I am with an almost 3 year old who used to poop on the potty who now poops in her diaper and I love my life. All facetiousness aside, I really do. But I really don't love changing two sets of nappies.

My brilliant husband decided we needed to begin giving praise/rewards to said almost 3 year old for some extra motivation. He remembered what we used to do with our second daughter... that was, to let her blow out a candle after the poop ended up in the proper receptacle. I've never been one to use candy as a reward, so the candle was perfect. They really do get so excited about it and talk about it all day long!

Three cheers for hubbalicious for remembering this! I guess after 4 children, your brain really does lose cells. Will let you know how this story plays out as it has only been 5 days of doing this. Wish us luck and less money spent on diapers!!!

For your viewing pleasure, a video that Gracie loved as a baby in training.



~ christa jean

Reality

The euphoric feelings of newborn baby happiness have officially ended and left me in a puddle of tears. I cry over anything now, be it silly, stupid, or sad. I cried at the dinner table last night. I cried when the baby cried. I know this is "normal". I know I'm not depressed. I know this will pass. I'm just sleep-deprived.

My husband and I frequently look at each other with panic in our eyes... do we really have four children???!!!

My husband is such a trooper. He does the dishes, puts the girls to bed, rocks baby in the night, but I can tell the exhaustion is settling on him as well. It shows in our patience with one another, with the girls. Add to that, he's stuck at home with no job, little money.

I hope I don't sound too whiny, just stating the reality of it all.

Last night I hit "The Wall". You know, when you come to the end of your strength, your sanity, your ability to cope.

I recently saw a film in which "The Wall" is described perfectly. It was a particularly poignant scene, one that I will remember. The main character is running a marathon, but has sprained his ankle within the first half mile. He decides to finish anyway because he has never finished anything in his life. As he gets within 20 feet of the finish line, he falls. Up to this point, he has had a crowd of people following behind him, cheering him on. But as he's lying on the ground, two nay-sayers (they have money on him that he won't finish) begin telling him he's a quitter, stay down, you'll never finish. The scene flashes to what he's seeing in his mind. He is standing before a brick wall which stretches as far as he can see. As he looks behind him, he is totally alone. In his mind's eye, he sees a brick being pushed out of the wall. He looks through the hole to see himself on the other side, beckoning to come.

I could relate so well. There are times when you hit that wall and you feel totally alone, isolated. When in reality, there are many around you who are cheering you on, seen and unseen. The voice of the Accuser is right there with you at the weak point, telling you to stay down, you're just a failure, you are NOT fit to be a mother. A hole appears in the brick facade and you see the One beckoning to you to come to Him.
I imagine Him saying to me, "Come all you who are weary... and I will give you rest."

Yesterday morning, when I was more chipper, I read in Romans 8 this verse:

"Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses.

For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought,

but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us

with groanings which cannot be uttered."

~ Romans 8:26 ~

I wished I could have held on to that in the evening when I was at my lowest. When I could hardly even whisper Jesus' name. Dear God, help me.

I know this will pass. There will be a new moment after this one.

And then I'll probably forget about all the dramatic blubbering I did.

And then I'll be sad that the wee baby days are over.

If my posts get sappier, just bear with me! ;-D

~christa jean

I have been hesitant to let the words pass my lips.

I know that once I do, those words fashion history.

I'll type them...

My baby boy is one week old.

I didn't want to say them because I know how these things go. Soon I'll be saying, "He's one month old" and then before I can bat another eyelash, I'll have to say, "He's one year old."

Maybe I'm trying to slow down time by keeping the words inside. I will only get one year with him as a baby, after one year they grow up.

I can hardly remember my first-born's baby days. They passed in such a blur. Now all I can do is search my memory and shuffle through pictures to try and recall.

I do remember those days that I wanted to scream "DO-OVER!" because I knew I had created a sour memory. I wish to go back and erase those days. And yet, I know that they are woven into the pattern of my destiny and hers. I needed to have those days so that I could see my need. She needed those days so that she could hear me say, "Will you forgive me? I was wrong."

What I hate is that those wrongs still try to sneak up and wrap themselves around me like silk cords around an unsuspecting fly. Only, I'm not unsuspecting... I know what shame is and that it is not from God. Endless Grace is what comes from Him. All I can do is receive it. His grace covers all our wrongs. They are buried under an ocean of Mercy... so undeserved.

The more children I have, the more I realize that I am so utterly helpless to do this without Him. And that is a good realization.

~ christa jean

My Birth Story

To begin, let me first set the stage with what I had pictured in my head as being the ultimate, perfect birth...

On an evening when all is peaceful, sweet little curls tucked into beds, my labor would begin. My contractions would surge in and out of my sleep as I rested for a while, practicing my breathing and meditating on the miracle I was apart of. Towards the wee hours, the intensity would gather, signaling the end was near. I would call my midwife, light some candles, turn on peaceful music and focus deeper into breathing the baby down. The birthing tub would be filled and I would ease into it for added comfort. My midwives would arrive, tell me I'm fabulous and cook up the Birth Soup. The intensity would grow, me knowing it's time for baby to appear and yet still in control, getting ready for the final stage. All the while little curly heads tucked in bed remain that way. The baby would slide easily down the birth path and into our arms.

Sounds idyllic? Of course!
God sure knows best.
This is what really happened:

Tuesday night I went to bed, sensing something was different, but too tired to ponder it. At exactly 3:30 am I awoke to a *pop!* yet it was not my water breaking, maybe just my pelvic bone shifting, I don't know. I pulled my snuggly self out of bed to use the restroom and climbed sleepily back into bed. As soon as I lay down, the contractions began, no warning. They came on hard and fast, sometimes a minute in-between, sometimes seven. My husband heard me breathing through them and woke to see if I was okay. I told him, "It's begun". He got up to begin inflating the birthing tub and to make some calls. We called our midwife at 4:30 am. I was getting agitated because the surges were coming on very strong now. And poor hubby was still trying to move a pile of laundry, set up the tub, take care of me, etc. Just before 5:30, my midwife arrived and assessed the situation. She had to try to help with the hoses for filling up the tub, she had gear to bring in and by now I was writhing. I was on my hands and knees thinking that baby was posterior and that's why my back was so angry at me, but looking back I'm not sure that was the case.

Now the tub is part way filled and I want to dive in to take the edge off the intensity of it all. I climb in and find that it's warm... but not very... Hubby and midwife are still kinda rushing around trying to get set up. In the tub, I'm flailing around like a fish caught in a net. I remember specifically looking at my midwife at one point with terror in my eyes, hurriedly whispering, "I think he's coming!" At that point, she put on her apron and gloves and hubby came in. Nothing more could be done about the lukewarm tub water. The focus was now on the birth that was now so imminent. I was gonna start pushing and the other midwife hadn't even arrived yet!

I remember feeling that I would be happy to slip under the water and disappear, escape from my body. I vaguely heard midwife say, "Hold her head, she's going under!" Hubby's reassuring and strong hand reaching under my head. I pushed a few times and felt the familiar ring of fire... aaaaah!!!! I pushed his little head out and was still in the zone, my midwife interrupted my thoughts and said "Reach down and touch your son's head". I reached down and felt the softness of his little head and knew I would never forget that. Smile. I hear my midwife saying to me, "I want you to give me a great big push next because the cord is wrapped around his neck." It wasn't strangling him but it did need to be pushed down over his shoulders. I felt the release of his body coming out and then saw his little pink fleshy self being laid on my chest. He was born at 6:25 am, less than 3 hours from when the contractions began.

My midwives tended to me, got me settled in bed. I was fed and then baby was fed. So comfy and cozy.

I *heart* home birth! I would have never thought I could do a birth at home, but that was just because I was not informed about it. We fear what we do not know. Now I know and I would not have it any other way.

Whew! What a surreal experience! I was in my body, and yet I was not. Maybe a woman feels that way because the pain is so utterly intense and yet she is needed to complete the task.

It was not the birth I had pictured, but in ways I couldn't have planned, it was better. My daughters slept through the whole thing and sleepily came in to see baby brother around 8 am. They got to hold and snuggle him and then go out to a pancake breakfast with Nana! The best way to celebrate!

I love the first feelings of that little baby head nestling down under my chin.
That perfect little creation, that soft virgin skin that makes all the pain fade away like a distant memory.
The miracle of life, this mystery of love that will take me a lifetime to understand.

~ christa jean

The end of 9 months, the beginning of a lifetime.

This is me on Tuesday evening.

This is me on Wednesday morning.

Welcome to this world, little boy of mine.

~ Eliot Samuel ~

I will fill you in on all the details as soon as I catch some more zzzz's!

~christa jean

0 Days

Today my baby countdown says 0.

If I were typing this post last Monday, I probably would be having a massive fit and filling your eyes with a list of complaints.

But not today. I am at peace. I am calm.

I realize the due date is always a guess and I'm willing to let it go.

I know that this baby will come at the perfect time.

I know that the time is near.

I have had 4-5 nights of strong contractions... they just like to go away when I lay my head down to sleep. And without grossing you out, let's just say there's something going on down yonder!

In the meantime, I've been cleaning and organizing as much as my lumbering self will allow and then taking luxurious baths. I've been practicing deep breathing and dreaming of a smooth delivery. I am excitedly anticipating this birth because it will be in my own home. I won't have to rush around packing a bag and then change into that ridiculous hospital gown. I won't have to be strapped to that uncomfortable fetal monitor nor be poked numerous times to get the horrific IV inserted. I won't feel ravenous and only be given jello and ice chips! I won't feel helpless and out of control in that sterile environment. I'm not making a statement against anyone else who loves hospital births, I just knew that for me, this time, it wasn't what I wanted.

This time, my midwives come to me! They have to pack the bags and gear. They are fully trained for emergencies, IV's, etc. They cook me a big pot of soup. They speak softly and gently and help me on this path. They massage me. They give me guidance. They do my laundry. It's all about me, me, me! Heehee, sounds so selfish, but after these 9 months, I think I deserve it! This will be a birth to remember and don't worry, I'll tell my story when it's over.

It is a new year and I get to have a baby! A baby boy! I'm still flabbergasted that I'm having a baby. How do these things happen?! ;-D

Like all of you, I too have been pondering what this new year will hold. What surprises it will bring. I have been pondering what I want to be, how I want to live...

I love what one friend said on her blog, that she plans on doing something special with/for her husband each day. I love that. I'm not going to make a huge list because I'm tired of trying so hard "to do". But I may jot a few things down that I'd like to have the grace to become. And, I think I know just the Guy who has enough grace for me.

His grace is suffient for all our needs this year. And for that, I say "Thank You!"

~christa jean

Becoming a Babe.

I awoke yesterday and I couldn't seem to wipe the crankies out of my eyes. I was harsh with the girls and impatient. I felt the familiar shroud of darkness encompassing me. There was no joy in the thought of a New Year.

I began to give ear to that slithering, accusing voice.
"How can I be happy about a new year?" I thought.
"All I have to reflect upon from this past year are crtiticisms of my mistakes and failures. And here I've gone and started this new day in the new year off the same way I've started so many days in the past. I will never change."
And so the thoughts came and took hold.
My shoulders slumped, my gaze sank.

Sometimes all it takes is spilling the nasty, dark thoughts out into the light. In the past, I would have kept silent my thoughts, not bothered anyone with them. Yesterday I decided to speak.
I confessed to my husband, him who loves me so graciously, that I had no hope for myself and the coming year.
What he spoke to me hit me like lightning. The shroud of darkness dissipated, my eyes were opened. He spoke...

"I realized recently that I can't change myself. I cannot fix myself. It's as if I'm a newborn baby lying there needing my soiled clothes changed. I can't feed myself, I can't even lift up my own head. And I should have known all along."

Maybe his words brought about one of those moments when the Divine touches down and understanding blossoms. An "aha!" moment. The crusties rubbed from my vision. The truth finally makes perfect sense. The truth I thought I knew all along.

Maybe it was made so clear to me because any day now, I will be looking at my first-born son. And it's all coming back to me how helpless these babes truly are. How dependent they are upon us for care and nurturing. They are born with nothing to give and there is nothing they can do on their own but be loved. And, oh, how we love them! We fall in love with them because they came from us. They were created in love and conceived in the fires of passion.

Funny that it has taken me four births to see this truth clearly.
I am loved because I am.
It is nothing I have done or can do.
I suppose I might as well give up trying and doing once and for all, and just be.
Be dependent on the One who fashioned me in my own mother's womb.

Maybe this year I'll learn more from my babe than from anything else.

~christa jean