[Intended to be a spoken word poem.]
Tired. So very tired.
You smile: sometimes wryly, sometimes goofy and lopsided, other times open mouthed in sheer delight. All wonderful ways for a cute baby to smile, and each lights up your face.
But you are asleep. Eyes may even be partly open, but it's a trick: it's a REM cycle. They are not for me. Not today, not yet. So I am jealous of your dreams, baby.
I look forward to the day those smiles are meant for me, but wish I were to get even one alert smile today. Today, when I am so exhausted from weeks of little sleep, the five weeks of your little life, and each week bringing increasing fussiness. When you do nap for 10 minutes at my breast today, these sleep smiles come out to play, and I nearly drool. I'm so jealous, so hungry for just one to be intended for me!
Maybe you're even dreaming of me and my milk; what other experiences do you have? But still, I feel ignored by you in real life, tested and fought with, and you still only a babe! I know that soon this too shall pass, as everyone is so quick to tell me, as you quickly approach an age of regular waking smiles (and then--swoon!--giggles). But hope for the future is weak in this moment of crushing exhaustion and emotional loneliness.
So I am jealous of your dreams, my daughter... I can only hope to have some of my own tonight.
--Ellen H.
Saturday, October 29, 2016
Friday, October 28, 2016
Humble Christ. Humble Mother.
"Did you know, that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby, you kissed the face of God?"
Christmas still months away, I sit at my computer, breastfeeding my one-month-old, listening to "Mary Did You Know." Maybe it's just the postpartum hormones, but I tear up sentimentally. In this moment I am struck with how very humble Christ was, to come as a baby first. He didn't just show up on the scene 30-ish years old, ready to start his ministry and then die at the end. He went through the whole growing up thing. How vulnerable he was, a helpless newborn! He relied on a human mother to keep Him alive at first (with God's protective help, though). This thought is a lot more real with my own baby in my arms.
The realization sure puts my pride in perspective. How ridiculously out of place it is, when God was okay with putting His Son completely at the mercy of a young woman. I'm sure Mary felt some of that weight of awe and responsibility, as this song so famously wonders. I feel the weight with my own tender child, and she's certainly not divine.
Being a new mom makes you humble too. In the first weeks of my daughter's life, I found myself getting butterflies in my stomach each time a friend told me they were coming over to visit. I had invited them of course, and I was excited to introduce our precious little one. But I got nervous… Why? When I realized this was a pattern, I explained it to my husband. Part of his theory was that our house wasn't as clean as it normally would be when accepting guests. Perhaps I felt a little embarrassed for my friends to see a messier version of myself than I normally would present to them.
Funny, huh? Pride has to go out the window when you have a newborn. Just weeks prior I would have had those dishes done in no time split--it was a smooth pregnancy--and felt a whole ton better for having a clean kitchen. Can you tell I'm an achiever? But even if baby were napping, I couldn't stand that long: I was too sore from childbirth. I could barely stand the few minutes to greet my guests because of the discomfort. Humbling, to be sure.
It's okay though. It's a good exercise for me, to show the new cracks in my prideful armor of image. Let the sink get a little fuller. Admit my physical weakness. This way I'm learning to care a little less about minor things, and remember that this child is my first priority now. Yes, that means even items two and three on my to-do list might not get done, let alone the whole thing. Yes, that meant staying on the couch so I could heal, instead of getting my guests a glass of water. Instead, I remind myself each day of my new motherhood that I've accomplished my main objective: Keep Child Alive. Check.
Some of my friends are amazed that I wanted guests at all in these first few weeks. I totally don't judge the tired, sore, or introverted mothers who don't want them. But I did. I was so proud of this beautiful little being that grew inside me, and I truly wanted my extended family and closest friends to meet her. I also wanted the emotional encouragement, along with the gifted dinners, so I'm thankful God gave me the wisdom to ignore my pride and let people in. If Jesus could humbly let Himself be raised by lowly Mary, so could I let others into my home and see my vulnerability. In doing so, I found that I gained greatly.
Thoughfully writing on,
Ellen H.
P.S. I'm partial to Clay Aiken's version of this song. Okay, Pentatonix's is also pretty great.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WiL993FK0y4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifCWN5pJGIE
When you kiss your little Baby, you kissed the face of God?"
Christmas still months away, I sit at my computer, breastfeeding my one-month-old, listening to "Mary Did You Know." Maybe it's just the postpartum hormones, but I tear up sentimentally. In this moment I am struck with how very humble Christ was, to come as a baby first. He didn't just show up on the scene 30-ish years old, ready to start his ministry and then die at the end. He went through the whole growing up thing. How vulnerable he was, a helpless newborn! He relied on a human mother to keep Him alive at first (with God's protective help, though). This thought is a lot more real with my own baby in my arms.
The realization sure puts my pride in perspective. How ridiculously out of place it is, when God was okay with putting His Son completely at the mercy of a young woman. I'm sure Mary felt some of that weight of awe and responsibility, as this song so famously wonders. I feel the weight with my own tender child, and she's certainly not divine.
Being a new mom makes you humble too. In the first weeks of my daughter's life, I found myself getting butterflies in my stomach each time a friend told me they were coming over to visit. I had invited them of course, and I was excited to introduce our precious little one. But I got nervous… Why? When I realized this was a pattern, I explained it to my husband. Part of his theory was that our house wasn't as clean as it normally would be when accepting guests. Perhaps I felt a little embarrassed for my friends to see a messier version of myself than I normally would present to them.
Funny, huh? Pride has to go out the window when you have a newborn. Just weeks prior I would have had those dishes done in no time split--it was a smooth pregnancy--and felt a whole ton better for having a clean kitchen. Can you tell I'm an achiever? But even if baby were napping, I couldn't stand that long: I was too sore from childbirth. I could barely stand the few minutes to greet my guests because of the discomfort. Humbling, to be sure.
It's okay though. It's a good exercise for me, to show the new cracks in my prideful armor of image. Let the sink get a little fuller. Admit my physical weakness. This way I'm learning to care a little less about minor things, and remember that this child is my first priority now. Yes, that means even items two and three on my to-do list might not get done, let alone the whole thing. Yes, that meant staying on the couch so I could heal, instead of getting my guests a glass of water. Instead, I remind myself each day of my new motherhood that I've accomplished my main objective: Keep Child Alive. Check.
Some of my friends are amazed that I wanted guests at all in these first few weeks. I totally don't judge the tired, sore, or introverted mothers who don't want them. But I did. I was so proud of this beautiful little being that grew inside me, and I truly wanted my extended family and closest friends to meet her. I also wanted the emotional encouragement, along with the gifted dinners, so I'm thankful God gave me the wisdom to ignore my pride and let people in. If Jesus could humbly let Himself be raised by lowly Mary, so could I let others into my home and see my vulnerability. In doing so, I found that I gained greatly.
Thoughfully writing on,
Ellen H.
P.S. I'm partial to Clay Aiken's version of this song. Okay, Pentatonix's is also pretty great.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WiL993FK0y4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifCWN5pJGIE
Thursday, October 27, 2016
The Swing. Or, Guilt versus Grace.
[So begins a series of blogs on my experiences of new motherhood, many first drafts dictated onto my phone, since I spend hours breastfeeding, hands full but mind pretty free to wander. Now I'm going back and editing them, in an attempt to write more, post more, and to feel good by accomplishing something I personally enjoy. The following was originally written a couple weeks ago.]
It's staring at me.
Taunting me.
Daring me to decide what I'll do.
...The swing, that is. It's a great lesson in mommy guilt. If I put my newborn daughter into our electric baby swing and she sleeps for two hours, blithely swinging away, is that somehow "cheating" or ignoring her? Then again, if I hold her in my arms for two hours, am I making it harder for myself later, so she'll never want to be put down? If this sounds silly, you're not a new mother and you definitely don't have a swing in your nursery, winning a solemn staring contest. Guilt is a very powerful thing, you know. A serious force to be reckoned with.
I am no stranger to such slippery, tricky guilt; I used to be a hardcore perfectionist. However, in the more recent years of my adult life, I have learned to recognize this, and these days I more specifically describe myself as a "recovering perfectionist." But I have this child of my own now, and it brings a whole new challenge to that department. I want to do everything in my power to make sure that in the Nature versus Nurture balance of a person, the Nurture aspect of child rearing is done just right. Typical of many new moms, not just the previously-Type-A ones. Of course, perfect mothering isn't possible. Still, my heart doesn't really realize that yet, especially when my newborn is so helpless. I somehow think if I do enough on her behalf, educate myself enough, sleep-train her well enough, fill-in-the-blank enough, she'll get the absolute best chance at being a smart and well-behaved child. An admirable goal, but not realistic. I know, I know...
The swing continue to stare at me. It's so innocuous looking, with its cream colors and soft, puppy-head pillow. When I've (finally!) done dishes, plus eaten something, and then discover she has slept through it all, I am grateful... but then the swing seems to taunt me, "She needs more daytime stimulation or she won't sleep enough tonight!" Or, I cuddle her in my arms while she sleeps, only to hear it whisper, "You could have used me to complete at least one measly chore today. Your husband shouldn't do all the chores when he just wants to hold his daughter after work..." And the back and forth struggle continues. I see how silly and tiring this is, yet it's real. (Well, not actually hearing the swing talk to me, but you get my point!)
Thankfully, there's grace.
So much grace.
That's the thing with perfectionists: we forget all about grace. As a Christian, I believe that my salvation is through grace, not by what I do. Ephesians 2:8-9 says, "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith... not by works, so that no one can boast." What I'm learning here in a tangible way is that the journey is by grace too. Years from now, I won't be able to boast that my wonderful child is somehow due to my amazing child-rearing abilities. Rather, I will need to humbly admit that who and what she is all comes from Jesus. He makes beautiful people through messes and certainly through imperfect mothers! Not even in spite of them, but through them. Praise God. And He will be working on me too. Clearly He will use this child, as He has used many other circumstances in my life, to make me less legalistic, less fearful, and way more full of grace, especially towards myself.
Amen.
Thoughtfully,
Ellen H.
P.S. By the way, there's a sweet little song that relates to this:
"Grace Alone" (Scott Wesley Brown)
Every promise we can make, every prayer and step of faith,
Every difference we can make, is only by His grace.
Every mountain we will climb, every ray of hope we shine,
Every blessing left behind, is only by His grace.
Grace alone, which God supplies,
Strength unknown, He will provide
Christ in us, our Cornerstone
We will go forth-- in grace alone.
It's staring at me.
Taunting me.
Daring me to decide what I'll do.
...The swing, that is. It's a great lesson in mommy guilt. If I put my newborn daughter into our electric baby swing and she sleeps for two hours, blithely swinging away, is that somehow "cheating" or ignoring her? Then again, if I hold her in my arms for two hours, am I making it harder for myself later, so she'll never want to be put down? If this sounds silly, you're not a new mother and you definitely don't have a swing in your nursery, winning a solemn staring contest. Guilt is a very powerful thing, you know. A serious force to be reckoned with.
I am no stranger to such slippery, tricky guilt; I used to be a hardcore perfectionist. However, in the more recent years of my adult life, I have learned to recognize this, and these days I more specifically describe myself as a "recovering perfectionist." But I have this child of my own now, and it brings a whole new challenge to that department. I want to do everything in my power to make sure that in the Nature versus Nurture balance of a person, the Nurture aspect of child rearing is done just right. Typical of many new moms, not just the previously-Type-A ones. Of course, perfect mothering isn't possible. Still, my heart doesn't really realize that yet, especially when my newborn is so helpless. I somehow think if I do enough on her behalf, educate myself enough, sleep-train her well enough, fill-in-the-blank enough, she'll get the absolute best chance at being a smart and well-behaved child. An admirable goal, but not realistic. I know, I know...
The swing continue to stare at me. It's so innocuous looking, with its cream colors and soft, puppy-head pillow. When I've (finally!) done dishes, plus eaten something, and then discover she has slept through it all, I am grateful... but then the swing seems to taunt me, "She needs more daytime stimulation or she won't sleep enough tonight!" Or, I cuddle her in my arms while she sleeps, only to hear it whisper, "You could have used me to complete at least one measly chore today. Your husband shouldn't do all the chores when he just wants to hold his daughter after work..." And the back and forth struggle continues. I see how silly and tiring this is, yet it's real. (Well, not actually hearing the swing talk to me, but you get my point!)
Thankfully, there's grace.
So much grace.
That's the thing with perfectionists: we forget all about grace. As a Christian, I believe that my salvation is through grace, not by what I do. Ephesians 2:8-9 says, "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith... not by works, so that no one can boast." What I'm learning here in a tangible way is that the journey is by grace too. Years from now, I won't be able to boast that my wonderful child is somehow due to my amazing child-rearing abilities. Rather, I will need to humbly admit that who and what she is all comes from Jesus. He makes beautiful people through messes and certainly through imperfect mothers! Not even in spite of them, but through them. Praise God. And He will be working on me too. Clearly He will use this child, as He has used many other circumstances in my life, to make me less legalistic, less fearful, and way more full of grace, especially towards myself.
Amen.
Thoughtfully,
Ellen H.
P.S. By the way, there's a sweet little song that relates to this:
"Grace Alone" (Scott Wesley Brown)
Every promise we can make, every prayer and step of faith,
Every difference we can make, is only by His grace.
Every mountain we will climb, every ray of hope we shine,
Every blessing left behind, is only by His grace.
Grace alone, which God supplies,
Strength unknown, He will provide
Christ in us, our Cornerstone
We will go forth-- in grace alone.
 |
| My two-week old daughter, happily asleep in The Swing. |
Monday, October 17, 2016
A prayer for Cupcake.
My husband and I didn't decide on a name for our baby girl until after she was born, so while in the womb, her nickname was "Cupcake". She was born almost a month ago now (wow!) but for the sake of privacy, I'll continue to call her by her nickname on this blog.
Anyway, here is a prayer I wrote for her during my pregnancy:
Cupcake,
I pray that you are smart,
but pray more that you are wise.
I pray that you are physically strong,
but more so, morally strong.
Beautiful,
but more a lover of God's beauty.
A good eater,
but more so, satisfied by His Word.
May you be
resourceful like your dad,
passionate for others' good like your mom;
Like both your parents--creative,
yet exceeding them both in graciousness and courage.
Most of all,
may you be you,
and God help us as your parents
to encourage you to grow up to be just that--
who He created you to be.
©Ellen H. Written August 2016.
Anyway, here is a prayer I wrote for her during my pregnancy:
Cupcake,
I pray that you are smart,
but pray more that you are wise.
I pray that you are physically strong,
but more so, morally strong.
Beautiful,
but more a lover of God's beauty.
A good eater,
but more so, satisfied by His Word.
May you be
resourceful like your dad,
passionate for others' good like your mom;
Like both your parents--creative,
yet exceeding them both in graciousness and courage.
Most of all,
may you be you,
and God help us as your parents
to encourage you to grow up to be just that--
who He created you to be.
©Ellen H. Written August 2016.
Friday, October 07, 2016
A fun little poem.
I was sitting at home: 40 weeks pregnant, feet up. I'd had a week of "vacation" (at home) since baby hadn't come yet but my maternity leave had begun... because let's be honest, swollen feet and a hundred incredulous looks from patients at work when I told them I was due so soon was getting old. The bright fall sunlight filtered over my couch where I sat. It was my due date, a Friday, and I was out of chores, errands and energy. So I had been coloring (no matter how in vogue it is, that statement from a 20-something still sounds immature to me!), and my mind was free to wander. Out of that came this silly little poem:
As I twist them in my hands,
ruffled skirts unravel from them,
drop to the floor,
revealing raw nude beneath
their colored coverings.
I spin them to keep them on point--
and I'm delighted to see what
beautiful pictures this creates.
...The title? "Dance of the Sharpening Colored Pencils" :-)
Thoughtfully yours,
Ellen H.
P.S. I didn't have to wait much longer for little one - she arrived two days later!
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