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I've Moved to BrianaMeade.com

Mon, 30 Sep 2013 16:53:04 +0100

Hi everyone! If you are looking for new blog posts, please check out brianameade.com!

I've moved to a new location on the web!

On A Serious Note

Fri, 13 Sep 2013 17:37:51 +0100

It's not getting easier. I have struggled these first 7 weeks with two kids. I have fought with my own thoughts and ended up in the deep side of the proverbial swimming pool, not really sure whether I am treading water or drowning. Even now, as I just put Zoe back to sleep after changing her diaper, I can hear her screaming in the other room "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!". I know that if she doesn't take a nap, the rest of my day will be a nightmare of crying, whining, and screaming because she will be exhausted. I know that it is the right thing to do to leave her in that room until she falls into a fitful sleep after 15 minutes or so of desperate tears, but it doesn't make it any easier when she is yelling my name and literally pounding on the door. I've tried going into the room and lying with her until she calms down--but this only seems to make her more needy and stressed out when I leave.

Being a mother is heart-wrenching on so many levels.

I feel like I am constantly making these decisions between giving into her emotions, wants, and needs and just doing what I think is best for everyone (and, in the midst of all this, 75% of the time I don't even know what is best) --including her.

You know how in college you finally figure out who you are and start to own it? Like really own your identity? Well, if anything has put me back at square one, it is being a mother. I ask existential questions of myself every single day, like "Am I a good person?" "How do I know I am doing the right thing?" or even "Does it even matter that I exist?"

I find myself grappling with these huge emotions like shame and guilt and fear. I often have no idea how I am feeling--which is an anomaly for me. Am I afraid? Am I sad? Am I angry? Am I all of these things at once? I see the selfishness in myself come to light every 5 minutes of my day. The moments where I just want to zone out and leave all of this behind.

Then there are even worse moments. Times where I have seen the fear and anxiety magnified into my own little girl's face. This happened yesterday when I was in the car. I find it particularly hard to drive anywhere with them because Kaiden often cries non-stop in the car. He doesn't seem to like being in the car seat at all. After about 25 minutes of screaming (or even after 15 minutes) I often hit a point of wild, desperate sadness. I feel completely helpless. I feel pointless. I feel like my very existence, my very goodness, is being questioned. Sometimes I feel like I am experiencing a small form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder when he starts screaming, like every other time he has screamed is flashing before my eyes and these huge neon letters: " You're just a crappy mom" emblazon the walls of my heart.

So yesterday, when we were driving in the car to pick up my husband, Kaiden started to cry his heart-wrenching, I -am-hurting-and-you-aren't-fixing-it cry again. Just as he had begun to do this, I looked in the rearview mirror to see Zoe turn to Kaiden and yell with her eyebrows narrowed and a terrified look on her face "Kaiden! Stop. Kaiden. STOP CRYING NOW!! NOW!!" She was shaking her head back and forth crazily and I could see her eyes widen until they were all white with tiny blue irises. She looked so... afraid. And then it hit me. That is what I look like.

That is what I have been yelling at Kaiden on the way to pick up Chris every single day, when I am trying to navigate on-coming traffic while jamming a pacifier into Kaiden's mouth and I almost swerve off the road.

That is how I look when I am trying to get Kaiden into a carseat at the YMCA, and I am bent over behind the open door of the car, and a minivan swings out across the lot to almost hit me and my two kids in all of our helplessness, my hand clutching Zoe's.

That is how I look when Zoe melts down in the middle of church at my womens' bible study and I try to grab her hand to get her up off the floor and she hits her head against the ground, hard, and I am so, so angry at her for not cooperating, but really, I am scared.

Because this is the scariest, hardest thing I have ever done. Because I am terrified. Because the stakes are higher than they have ever been.

It comes out in this wild anger that I have to hold inside of me and my fists are clenched and I feel like I am in the biggest knock-down-drag-it-out fight, but I am so so unprepared.

And in the midst of all of this, there is the guilt and shame of wishing I could give up. Wishing that there was a way out. And of course, there is the resentment against Chris and God and the convincing evidence that someone, anyone, could be doing this better than me.

When Chris gets into the car and asks how my day is and I tell him, he says that I wouldn't have this problem with Zoe throwing herself on the floor if I just got down on her level and explained things to her face-to-face. She listens to him when he does this. I nod, but secretly I feel numb. I have spent myself until there is just a shell of myself left and there is nothing him or anyone else can do to fix it.

I am torn.

Change a diaper, crying, screaming, exhaustion, change a diaper, feed someone.

I wish I could give some uplifting note of cheeriness at the end of this, but the problem is, I'm just not in that place right now.

I have memorized all of the empty phrases that are supposed to get me through: it get's easier. It goes so fast. You'll miss this time, eventually.

I have read all of the uplifting blogs about how we are all so hard on ourselves. How every type of motherhood (one kid, two kids, sick kids, boys and girls) is hard. That we all need grace and mercy as we walk this road. But this is what I am living now. And this is who Briana is, right now. I am fishing for a better version of myself, the person that I know might be in there--the person that keeps going in the toughest moments.

Maybe inside there is also a person I've never met, one who possesses those qualities that I went into motherhood totally lacking---a girl who is patient and kind, who sacrifices for others, who doesn't always have to be first in line, and is willing to give up some dreams.

Maybe, eventually, I can come to terms with this humbling version of myself I see everyday and grow to like her, even love her enough to be gentle to her and acknowledge her fear and stop beating her when she is down.

Maybe I can realize that this fear and sadness can be brought to a heavenly throne room and tossed onto the floor in all of its debilitating mess. I have no idea what to do with it otherwise.

.

On how I was mistaken for a terrorist while breastfeeding

Fri, 13 Sep 2013 17:40:54 +0100

Last week I yelled "I'm BREASTFEEDING!" at a TSA Agent at the Raleigh-Durham Airport. Yup. I've heard stories about women getting booted out of restaurants or malls for breastfeeding in public--but I've never actually met one of these women. Maybe it's because I am a part of a generation that avidly believes in tolerance and freedom-to-do-as-you-will, but I find it hard to believe that someone would come up to me while I am feeding my baby and ask me to stop. It seems circa 1950, Betty-Draper style to question a woman's right to feed her tiny one.

Women have even more ammo to defend their baby-feeding rights with the advent of research that seems to beat everyone over the head with the facts that breastfeeding is the holy grail of all future health for your baby (while I am a staunch supporter of breastfeeding, I don't believe that its' the only choice--sometimes its' not even possible to make this choice. If there is anything I have learned from motherhood, its that It's the hardest thing you will ever do to keep this tinies alive and well-fed, so frankly, I don't care how you do it).

To all those out there who have never "milked" a human person: it is one of the most inconvenient things you will ever do. Yes, I know, it's supposed to be more convenient than, let's say, making a bottle in the middle of the night.

Granted, if I had to choose between making 6-12 formula bottles a day, or breastfeeding, I would choose breastfeeding. At least you can leave your house without thinking about how you will get to a gas station to use their lukewarm water out of a faucet to make a formula bottle. You are the warm bottle.

The problem with breastfeeding is you are perpetually stuck to your baby. You are afraid, sometimes terrified, to leave them for fear that they will start that ear-pitched screaming that qualifies them for a bad singer on America Idol try-outs. .That you will get a frantic call from your husband with that screaming in the background and imagine that your tiny one is yelling "I've been abandoned!! I'm starving!" over and over again.

Screaming like this goes into my ear, and gets translated instantly into mama-warrior "I've got to feed my baby" tunnel vision. And this is why I will be avoiding the Raleigh-Durham airport for the near future. Or at least I will be dying my hair and wearing sunglasses next time I decide to travel.

It all started as a normal blue-sky North Carolina day with two babies crammed in the back-seat. Gold fish crackers were everywhere.We were picking up my mother-in-law at the airport on her flight from Los Angeles. I started out a little late because I knew she would have luggage to pick up at the Baggage Claim. Unfortunately, we still arrived early. The luggage wasn't out yet.

Zoe was already acting up and the sun was beating down on us as I drove around the airport, not once, but twice. I contemplated parking, but realized that this was probably the worst option available, as anyone will know who has sat in the car with a newborn that doesn't have the "rocking motion" that they are used to when the car is moving. I have had Kaiden scream bloody murder for a half-hour as we have waited for Chris to finish work.I was not doing that. A moving car is a car with a happy baby. Normally.

By the time we saw Chris' mom, Kaiden was worked up and screaming. As a mother I can take about 15 minutes of screaming before I want to either: 1) Die or 2) Leave and give the baby to the closest familial adult or 3) Feed the baby--since this appears to mostly be my sole purpose in life. As I listened to the screaming go on and on, I decided that I need to feed him, and it needed to happen NOW.

And this is how I ended up, parked up about a 500 feet beyond the terminal, shirt up with my baby in the front seat of my car with the air-conditioning blasting us both in the face until we were dry-eyed.

And this is how I noticed the TSA Agent in my rearview mirror with a face like death incarnated coming towards us and making those traffic motions with his entire arm swinging up and down like an army soldier.

And this is why I was not in the best mood for confrontation. My mother-in-law was in the terminal with Zoe, getting her bag, and I could not move my car. I wildly held up Kaiden (imagine Lion King music as Simba is held up to the rearview of the car for said TSA Agent to see my little cub). TSA Agent did not see my little Simba.

And so I was then forced to completely unlatch my little cub-ling, get out of the car in all of my breastfeeding glory, with my nursing cover swinging in all of its psychedelic purple-patterned obnoxiousness, and scream 100 yards away, while squinting into the sunlight, "I'm BREASTFEEDING!!"

TSA Agent turned red-faced (lets be real, he was already very chubby and red-faced, so this could have been his normal 'confrontation-face'.)

Let's just say he was not impressed.

Imagine this: The hot sun beaming off of the pavement, a giant man in his uniform, legs apart, and arms on his waist barking: "Ma'am, I need you to leave, now!"

Imagine about 5 minutes of screaming back and forth as I refused to move my car and he grew increasingly angrier and angrier.

It was a stand-off. I thought I was winning for about 2 minutes as I yelled with tears in my eyes "WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? I have a SCREAMING baby that is six weeks old, a TODDLER that is crazy, and A GRANDMOTHER in the airport with my TODDLER. They are coming out of the terminal right now!" Even as I screamed this, I could see Chris' mom with a giant suitcase and Zoe in one hand, leaving the airport terminal and ambling towards the car. I clutched Kaiden to my breast, his little eyes blinking in the light, like some kind of little salamander, and the TSA Agent looked at me in what seemed like...disbelief.

He looked like he was going to pass out with rage. But so did I, I am sure. And it was in this moment that it got real.

"Ma'am, I am writing you a ticket, make that TWO TICKETS for 200 dollars!" He screamed.

I wish I could say my entire life flashed before my eyes--but that would be way too dramatic--let's just say our entire bank account flashed before my eyes (and an image of my husband saying "you did what?")

And I retracted all of my wild, crazy-haired, baby-wielding ways. I waved the purple-breastfeeding cover of surrender.

"I am so sorry." I sobbed. "It's just really hard!" I pointed to my mother-in-law and toddler. "They will be here in a minute---please, please, don't write me a ticket."

"YOU have 30 SECONDS to get them in the car or I will continue writing this ticket" bellowed TSA man as he waved his arms at me.

I have never so quickly, or shakily scrambled a toddler, a grandmother, a giant suitcase, and a six week-old into a car seat in my life.

I'm not even trying to make the case here that I was in the right. Somewhere in our screaming match, I learned that there were taxi-cabs on the other side of the airport wall, and apparently it was a major concern that I was going to blow them up. I actually completely support our country's need for security and the fact that you are not allowed to "park" next to an airport (or next to a taxi location that could be blown up). My one suggestion to any would-be terrorists is that they don't try anything to cover up their terrorist activity (like putting a breastfeeding mother in a rigged-car). I can attest to the fact that this will, in fact, not distract a TSA Agent from doing their job.

My Husband, My Soul Mate.

Sun, 25 Aug 2013 19:52:09 +0100

Dear Christopher,
If there has been any silver lining to the past few weeks, it has been you. In the midst of mutually giving up every spare moment of our time to this little tiny one and the busiest toddler in the world, we have somehow remained maritally unscathed. Your arms feel safer than ever, as I watch you carry Kaiden, football style, for hours on end. I know that you will do the same for me when I need it. You pull more than your weight, and you don't complain.

And here we are, at the end of another summer that ripped right by us as days turned into nights and nights turned into days of baby/toddler world. And still, you managed to get those freckles from the August sun that I love so much. They pepper your face. There is one on your eyelid that I trace down to another on the curve of your mouth when you are asleep. And I love you more than I ever did.

It has been almost six years since I met you for the very first time. Though it seems like a lifetime. I can't even recognize the girl I was then. We have irrevocably changed.

It's as if I have been watching the movie of two peoples' lives in fast-forward. You changed so quickly from a boy to a man. When I met you in college, you were unsure of yourself, as we all were. You had your brave face on. The boy who constantly wore black Red Hot Chili Pepper shirts with skater shoes and an i-pod full of loud music. Was that really you?

I'm slightly afraid to even say this out loud because it seems so childish--like believing in Santa or the toothfairy--but I believe you are my soul mate.

I imagine an older, wiser person looking at me knowingly, then saying, "that's so....nice" with a condescending smile.

I've heard it a few times this year. Your husband is not your soul mate. Love is a choice. Marriage is about commitment. Sacrifice.

I am so thankful that marriage is about commitment and sacrifice--but what if I secretly believe that you are my soul mate? What if I need to believe this so that I understand love and sacrifice and commitment?

We are not just making this work. That would be far too hard. We are not eternally bound to one another like two people running a two-legged race, awkwardly crashing into one anothers' shoulder all the way to the finished line.

We are one person. We grow more and more toward one another, like two vines on a trellis, twisting until you can't tell where one starts and the next begins.

When we have a second of silence, when the noise of our day quiets around us and we lay arm-to-arm, we talk about our lives. We talk like God has it all figured out. Like there is a plan. Like everything we are and everything we do is a part of a big cosmic universe that God has ordained. Like it is holy, this experience of me and you.

It is holy the way it was when Zoe and Kaiden were born. The moments where we both clutched tiny hands and realized shakily that we had been given the incredible gift of life to hold together. That is how I experience our marriage. Like me and you were always together, from the beginning of time. Meant to be.

And maybe that seems a little bit too Disney. Maybe we are totally cliche. Maybe someday we will turn to each other and wonder if there was a different path. But I hope not. I want to fiercely believe in this. I have to fiercely believe in you and I because I am not sure that I could last a lifetime if I didn't believe you belonged to me, now and forever.

I know it when you kiss me. I know it when you tell me you don't have a dream because the dream is what we are living--two beautiful children, a tiny apartment, a pile of student loans, and a soul mate.

Two Under Two: Trying to Survive

Fri, 16 Aug 2013 18:24:26 +0100

I am not sure I am going to survive this part of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for the sleep training I have undergone for an intensive 35+ days and counting. I am pretty sure that every mom of 2+ kids could survive military bootcamp, or Navy Seal Training. I mean, come on, if I can lift a 30 lb. car seat in one hand, grab the arm of a 30 lb. toddler in the other hand, and still manage to balance my precarious diaper bag filled with: every size of diaper, a juice bottle, 3-4 pairs of clothing, a spit up cloth, a changing pad, and a baby carrier---then I am prepared to scale a few walls.

Compromises must be made. Heck, I didn't have a nursing cover at the park this morning, so I used my husband's t-shirt found on the bottom of our car. (Also found at the bottom: 35 goldfish, pieces of Starbucks banana bread, 3 sippy cups, a toy motorcycle, and a pair of broken sunglasses, in addition to numerous unidentifiable objects).

This doesn't even begin to describe the lengths I have gone to to fight for my own sanity and feed these darn children, bathe these little monkeys, and try to brush at least one molar of Zoe's teeth.

If eyeliner is found anywhere on my face, its a good day. (Disclaimer: This post is not meant for moms of 2+ children who have been to hell and back. Seriously. I know you are rolling your eyes right now. I feel like I am in the trenches of a battle, but you must have fought something akin to WWIII).

Kaiden has been sleeping 2 hours at a time at night. I have literally not slept for a full 4 hours for exactly 4 1/2 weeks. Do you know what this does to someone? (Those of you with children do.) It makes you cray-cray. Like, sobbing on the ground and throwing a tantrum when your own mother is around because you just want to stop being so darn responsible for these tiny creatures' lives. Some of the choice sentences that have been said in the past couple weeks (either to my mother or to Chris), have been "I give up." (To which my mom aptly replied 'you don't have a choice') to " I will never have another child, ever--" to multiple ideas about outsourcing childcare and going back to work.

It's that bad.
But, as always, there has to be a silver lining somewhere. Now where is it?

For those who are interested, I thought I would give you a play-by-play of the life of a mother with two children. For many, this will be a time machine to the past, but for those of you who have yet to experience the toddler + baby combo pack, this will be a window to your future (or at least the future with newborn #2)

4:30 am: The day begins. Kaiden is crying after waking up every 2 hours throughout the night. I feed him. Chris takes him when I am finished and lays him on his chest so that they are stomach to stomach. The little guy is a NOISY one. Like, he makes noise 24-7. I drift in and out of sleep to the sound of Chris patting him and Kaiden crying.

6:30 am: I don't think I've slept for the past two hours.

6:35 am: A toddler is screaming MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY from the next room. I am pretty sure this toddler belongs to me. I stumble out of bed to let her out. Change a poopy diaper. Put some clothes on her. I can hear Chris getting cereal in the other room. Kaiden is crying. Feed Kaiden.

7:30 am: It takes a while to get Kaiden changed. He poops again. Change his diaper again. Wish that I had time to grab something to eat before we leave to bring Chris to work. Chris takes out 3 bags of trash that we created in one day. I grab the car seat, with Kaiden strapped in, Zoe's hand, and the unzipped, overflowing diaper bag.

7:45 am: Chris goes back to lock the door and grab lunch. We are all strapped in the car. Zoe wants a song. We listen to a song about a "chicken in a bathroom" for the next 25 minutes.

7:48: Kaiden keeps losing his pacifier and screaming. I undo my seatbelt, straddle the middle console for the rest of the ride. Zoe is singing "Buck-buck-buck-buck-buck" like a chicken.

8:05: We arrive at Chris' workplace. Kaiden won't stop screaming. He is red in the face and sweaty. Chris takes him out of the car seat for a second. We argue about how bad my day is going to be. Ending in you can't possibly understand how bad it is. Chris tells me to drop Zoe off for two hours at the drop-in daycare down the street. I am determined not to unless I am desperate. How desperate am I? I need a Starbucks.

8:30: I drive home while Kaiden screams. Check out the drop-in daycare. No other children are there yet. Zoe is shouting "friends! friends! friends!" Must find a way to get Zoe some friend time. Drive to the park.

9:30: We are at the park. Going relatively well. Zoe is digging in the sand and following a little girl around. Feed Kaiden. He is hungry and way over-do for milk. Use Chris' old shirt to cover me. Hope no one notices.

10:00: Snack time. Zoe wants the cheerios that belong to the other little girl. Tear her away from Cheerios while Kaiden's head bob wildly around on my shoulder. Give Zoe goldfish. She eats one of the ground before I notice.

10:30: Driving home from the park. Grab car seat, Zoe's hand, and bag with stuff. Find 3 moldy sippy cups in the back and throw them into my bag to wash in the dishwasher. Lovely.

11:00: Inside the apartment. Zoe is pulling on me to play with toys. Kaiden won't stop crying. Cannot do both at once. Try to get Zoe some lunch. Lunch today is Strawberries, Tomatoes, and Cheese. YUP. More cheese on the floor than in her mouth. Still feeling successful.

11:30: Half an hour of Elmo for Zoe. Changing Zoe's diaper and forgot to put on another one because I had to attend to Kaiden? Either way, Zoe sneaks into the bathroom and pees in the potty for the first time EVER. I AM THRILLED. I ascribe this to my excellent mother skills. Somehow, I knew she wasn't going to pee on the carpet, even though this has happened before. Zoe gets a cookie for potty training herself today.

12:00 Warm milk in the microwave for Zoe. Change Kaiden's diaper. Change Zoe's diaper. Nap time clothes. Turn on oven for my own food. Cut tomato and mozzarella and put on some bread. Put in oven. Pray that I don't forget. Put Zoe to bed. Kaiden crying. Feed Kaiden. Zoe goes to bed for her two hour nap. Kaiden finally passes out after I walk him around for 15 minutes.

----------------- To Be Continued -------------

A Letter to Zoe

Tue, 23 Jul 2013 17:52:09 +0100

Life as an Animal at 40 Weeks With #2

Fri, 12 Jul 2013 16:43:59 +0100

Its been 3 months since I've last posted. What started out as a two week break turned into a three-month period where I felt increasingly private and withdrawn from most people in my life. I talked to two of my friends about this and they both confirmed that they felt "like they wanted to stay inside all day" when pregnant. In addition to wanting to stay inside my house all day, I've overall wanted to stay inside MYSELF for the past three months.

I haven't posted since we found a new job and moved to the Raleigh-Durham area of North Carolina. It has been a season of new transitions and new opportunities for faith. At the same time, it has been a time of uncertainty where I have felt all the old insecurities and difficulties of transition creeping in.

I forgot how hard it was to leave friends. My two closest and newest friends in Chicago both cried when I left. I felt numb and pregnant, and well, like I wanted to run away from everything for a while.

So here I am, in this new town, and I don't know anybody here (well, I know two people from college I will hopefully get to see sometime!). In some ways, I have this massive sense of relief when I know that I only have to focus on waking up, feeding Zoe, entertaining Zoe, and putting her to sleep (and eating lots of oreos because Kaiden wants them ;). I know that my penchant for solitude is not "healthy-Briana" long-term.

Have you ever seen how pregnant animals act though? They do strange things. I remember distinctly watching my dog Sandy act crazy and weird during her pregnancy. At one point, she dug a huge hole in the side of the house and crawled in there for a few days. This is when she was about to have the puppies. I remember how she didn't really want us around as much. I'll never forget watching those wriggly little bundles arrive in a box. I don't think she really wanted us there, and even afterwards, she dragged each little puppy into the hole to be with her, alone.

I told Chris that I feel like a pregnant dog. I am just like that. I don't know if it is hormonal craziness or what, but I have retreated for months into a little hermit hole deep inside of my heart. Sometimes, I also think of myself as a monkey mother, just wanting to hang out in the jungle with my little baby monkey clinging to my chest, jumping high away from everything.

I've found that the vulnerability of a woman really comes to fruition in mothering. You go from this recently independent, go-getter woman to this dependent, emotionally and physically vulnerable person that has the responsibility of caring for tiny little bundles of helplessness. There is nothing that makes me feel more like my life is not under my control than being a mommy. I was reminded by a newly-pregnant friend recently how difficult it can be, from the very beginning, to have all your plans changed, and a new plan set into place, simply because a tiny seed is growing in your belly with God's hand wrapped gently around it.

You are not in charge. God has whispered to me throughout my own journey of mommyhood. Let me open up your life. He says to me, even as I try to jam my life-box shut into a neat and orderly packed box--the way I want it to be.

And it is never going to be the way you want it to be. Because the way I want it to be is crazy and jam-packed with anxiety and all of my insecurities that I am not enough, that I am not doing enough, that I am missing out on something, something, because I am shoveling sand at the playground and making PB&J instead of building and creating my adult life.

So here's to the little someone that dumped my box upside-down, soon to be joined by a much anticipated second--dearest Kaiden.

Zoe is dying to meet you, and so are Chris and I.
"Oh, baby!!" Zoe says when she pats my belly.

Flying First Class

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 20:17:18 +0100

I've never flown first class before. That is, up until two days ago. Chris managed to get a first class flight with the same amount of miles that it would have cost for an economy flight (due to some generosity on the part of my father-in-law). He wasn't even going to tell me about it, until he realized that I am just a little bit hair-brained and would probably fight with the ticket counter about my mistaken "first-class" ticket.
"I could just imagine you getting really....confused." Chris told me. "So I had to tell you."

I was super excited about flying first class until I realized that it wasn't going to just be me...it was going to be me AND ZOE flying first class.
Immediately I had visions of a screaming toddler running up and down the aisle and a poop smell wafting upwards from the first class cabin, scenting all the marvelous soft towels with a dumpy smell. Lovely. I imagined the people behind me whispering into their cellphones before we took off that they were stuck with a baby in first class. Not to mention the fact that all my fantasies of flying first class have involved me in a gorgeous pencil skirt clutching a laptop, an iphone and looking incredibly skinny and tall in heels.
Not even close.
I was so nervous the day of my trip. I wanted to dress up, but I had dumped a bunch of stuff in my suitcase and a a"first-class" outfit was nowhere to be found (the closest thing I could find was a dress that made me look like a giant watermelon and my stained Emu boots that didn't match). I finally relented and wore jeans.

There is a point in my pregnancy where I just feel sloppy all the time. Like, I-know-I-have-ketchup-on-my-shirt sloppy. Its' really an unfixable thing. No amount of stylish hair-cuts and nailpolish can get me past this feeling when I have reached it around 30 weeks (i.e around now) Although a good tan, I admit, does help me face the world a little bronzer and happier.

I am not tan. I am very white and very pregnancy-fat.
Zoe is a very, very active toddler.

It was fun, in a way. Zoe was able to stand up for a little bit because I was in the bulkhead. I armed myself with a caramel macchiato--which made everything seem luxurious, and I also guiltily put my feet up (which Chris, nor my parents) would never let me get away with. HEY, I was flying first class you guys. I could do whatever I wanted!

Zoe was entertained by everything I had in my bag for 8 minutes and 36 seconds each item. I stretched the animal stickers I had bought (great idea from my friend Chelsea) as long as possible. There were stickers on the first class chair, stickers on the first class seat, stickers on the...you get the idea.

Zoe especially like the first class juice and crackers, which were bountiful in supply. Ahhhh, the lap of luxury. I think Zoe decided she was a first class kind of girl, because she kept asking for more Cran-Apple juice and pretzel crackers. The stewardess was very happy to oblige. She thought Zoe was a doll (because Zoe only cried when she wasn't oogling and googling and entertaining her!)

In the end, the one thing that surprised me about the world of flying first class was that the whole cabin was made up of ordinary people like me and Zoe. There is no special magic wonderland up there.

I guess I had imagined that life up there was full of glamorous people and business executives. To my right, there was a lovely little family with two kids. One of the kids was learning-disabled and made a grunting sound during take off and landing. (Zoe kept looking at him like what are you doing? I am the noisemaker on board).

I realized that, in the cheesiest, cheesiest way imaginable, we are all first class.

There is no one who doesn't belong. I belong, Zoe belongs, the learning-disabled boy belongs.

It felt very, very good. I stuck out my bump a little more and walked with a little sass through the airport with Zoe swinging her little arms beside me.

Legacy

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 20:22:52 +0100

I'm on vacation at my parents in North Carolina for two weeks. So thankful for the little things: the glasses of water my mom makes me drink, the food that is placed on the table before my eyes. This pregnancy has been exhausting for me. Just when I am certain I can pick myself up, I get thrown down again. I'm having a hard time accepting the fact that my body is NOT going to cooperate, no matter how many cups of coffee I drink. Instead, I am learning to go with the waves, let them pull me in, and thank God for the enormous amount of help I have received.

I've talked a lot about my mother in previous posts throughout my pregnancy, the birth of Zoe, and this new pregnancy again. Perhaps it is because "woman" things pervade every section of my life now. I am the picture of bottomless womanhood--a mother with a popped belly, holding a toddler in one arm and a spatula in the other (if I have the energy to cook). Today, at church, I had this image of myself holding two little hands while encountering God/Jesus with my little family and I felt this overwhelming, drag-you-to-the-ground-sense of responsibility. This is often how I feel about womanhood--but motherhood in particular.

Alternatively, I have also had incredibly precious moments in my thoughts about being a mom/woman. In college, I was not sure that being a woman had ANY benefits at all. It really seemed like I had the worst of the bargain--men wielded more power, more authority and, well, more everything. There were days where I was angry about this. Times where I would have seriously considered trading in my sex---if given the chance by some massive do-over by God.

Now, I have started to think in terms of legacy. I love the word legacy. To me, it means a passing of the mantle--an orientation towards another person that has come before you. It is looking back and looking forward simultaneously. One of the verses that was read at our wedding was this:

Lord, You have been our refuge in every generation. 2 Before the mountains were born, before You gave birth to the earth and the world, from eternity to eternity, You are God. 3 You return mankind to the dust, saying, "Return, descendants of Adam." 4 For in Your sight a thousand years are like yesterday that passes by, like a few hours of the night.

It's the idea that this life is a repetition, a beautiful rendition of an original song that I get to re-learn and sing. I watch my mother before me, this beautiful, wise woman who I admire so greatly--and I remember that she bathed me in the bath with my sister splashing alongside, that she held two, and finally three tiny hands in hers. And God was faithful. I have been so comforted by the fact that my mother was exhausted and depressed during pregnancy. She even recalls the fact that, while in the jungle/village as a missionary, the other villagers said she was "so sad all the time." during her pregnancy. If the entire village knew this, this was most definitely a difficult time for her. I crave these words of comfort and journeying as I walk this new journey of #2. I find myself asking her questions constantly about taking care of children, about who I am as a mother, a woman, a person. I can't get enough of my mother.

Ultimately, my mother means that I don't experience any single experience alone. While Chris is an amazing father, we have given up something in our marriage that I treasured in the beginning--the chance to experience everything at the same time, in the same way. We were both teachers after college, both 9-5 workers, both on a career trajectory. There have been quite a few times where I have mourned the fact that he has gone on a separate path alone, while I have been seemingly left behind to forge ahead with a machete, on new terrain I am not familiar with.

And yet, my solace has increasingly come from other women, and their journeys. First, from my mother, the one to whom I think of daily as I raise my little girl to become a strong woman--and second, to the women around me who inspire me daily to love, encourage and believe in this calling of motherhood. I have a moms' group who listens to my stories and wraps me consistently in grace and love. For many years, I have not felt close to other women--in fact--I would even say I have judged women from the sidelines and even commented to Chris that I didn't think womens' relationships held value.

I take that all back. I have relied more than ever on women, and I have been amazed to find the gentleness, compassion and love that has been poured out on me from those at all stages along this cyclical journey. The women ahead of me have relinquished judgment, listened to my oft-unfounded fears, and gently reassured me that God is in control. The women beside me (two in particular my own age who are mothers) have literally turned me 360 degrees to seek God's face. They have been champions of joy, love, waiting on God, and the reassurance that what we are doing is important. Not that it is any more important than anyone else--but just that it is important and it is beauty-in-the-making. I have found my own life to be a confusing mess of mommyhood, selfish love, and seemingly missed opportunities.
They have taught me that it is a life of servanthood, compassion and learning-to-be-still in the middle of the night, when you are breastfeeding, when you want to give up, when you feel worthless. Because God's journey is the best journey. Because my worth is not in what I do. Because I hold two small hands in mine, and ultimately, I chase the "treasure in the field" while believing in a bigger story.

Midwife Drama

Fri, 08 Mar 2013 20:56:15 +0100

I started crying at the midwife today. Yup, one of those days where I just could not hold it in. I had been sitting in my car before the appointment, trying to muster up the courage to tell God that I know it's all going to be all right no matter what because He is good (I'm still not there yet.) and I was listening to some mushy Christian song on the radio--that always does it for me.
Then I went in, with my heart beating in my throat, peed in the cup, sat down and cried about how "overwhelmed" I felt by it all. I had never even met this midwife before. She was also not the sweet, hug-it-out-honey type. I think she was sort of overwhelmed herself by my unorthodox display of emotion. She just stared at me and asked me if I had someone to talk to you.
I'm talking to you?! I wanted to say.
I know what she meant. I tried to backtrack and mumbled something about mentors that my husband and I have and how I'm really okay, in just a super-pregant-with-a-toddler-kind-of-way.

It was only a 3-second cry. Not a 3-minute cry, if that was any consolation. It started with "I don't know what I am doing, I feel so young and so old at the same time," and ended with "I don't know if I will ever have a career and life just seems so uncertain right now. My husband is looking for a job, we have to move out of our in-laws, and everything is basically crashing down on my baby-filled belly while I chase after a toddler."

It was a pity-cry.
Chris would say I have a lot of these. I am particularly vulnerable to them in my pregnant, uber-tired, uber-ridiculous state-of-mind.
I am embarrassed to say that I have been like this ever since I last posted. Eight days of this. Yes.

Chris and I didn't even talk at all last night. Isn't that awful? Maybe this is TMI about our marriage.
He came home at 5:30. I hadn't even had a particularly terrible day, but I was sad that he couldn't come home earlier. (He leaves at 5:30 and gets home at 5:30 often). I am sick of 12-hour days and I often beg him to come home. I made one comment when he got home, something about "why are you home so late today?"
Firestorm. He got upset. I got upset that he was upset because I was upset. After all, I have the toddler for 12 hours a day.
The whole night disappeared before my eyes. Granted, he tried to reconcile with me THREE times between the hours of 6 pm-9 pm. I have no idea what happened to me. I just turned into the "I don't want to be friends anymore. I don't want to talk.I don't want to work on it" So we didn't. He has to go to bed at 9 to get up at 5:30 again. So those precious three hours were completely wasted. I felt so alone. It was my fault.

The other night I was talking to my mentor-mom. I told her about my history of crying, emotion-filled, and childish tirades She said to me that I might need to grow up a little and put on my big girl pants. After all, I now have to set an example for Zoe. I have to support Chris.
I completely agree. I thought. But how?

My whole meltdown was spawned by another "situation" this week. Chris didn't get the job we had been hoping to hear back from for 4 weeks. I mean, I checked his e-mail every hour for four weeks. It was that bad. There was a sinking realization as time went on that we didn't have the job, but I thought that maybe, just maybe it would come through for us.
Nope.

This marks 4 months of job searching. Chris and I have spent the last 2 weeks of this last month mostly fighting--while I cry and apply to job after job online, and read article after article about how bad the economy is. Do I think this is healthy for me or my marriage? Absolutely not.
Do I feel embarrassed about my attitude and situation? Completely, but it hasn't changed the reality of how vulnerable I feel with #2 on the way and no job in sight.

When I found out about the job, this is what I did: Packed my bags to go to North Carolina and stay there in my parent's house until they return from their trip to Thailand.
Yup. Totally irrational.
Chris came up-stairs to check on me and Zoe and found me shoving her toothbrush and bear in the corner of a giant suitcase.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Leaving to go to North Carolina." I told him. (Its' a 12-hour trip driving)
He laughed.
"I'm not leaving you," I said. "I'm just leaving my life right now. I'm leaving the Chicago snow storm and this house, and my fear and sadness."
"Okay." He said. "What day are you going to leave?"
"Today or tomorrow."
"Why don't you wait a few days?"
"Because I am afraid I will lose motivation the next day." (Which I did)

Fortunately, Chris rationally talked me out of my idea. I don't know if it sounds like a good idea to truck across the country by yourself in a snow storm with a toddler, but really, it made me feel so much better to think I was going to do this crazy thing for 3 hours. For some reason, it made me feel like I was a kid again. That I had options. That I could run away from everything if I wanted to.
This is probably why my mentor said I have to put on my big girl pants now. I want to say that I am trying, but I am not sure that I even have the energy for that. Basically I just keep asking God to bring down a circle of light and goodness and joy and change this situation because I cannot see out of it today.
The verse I am focusing on is "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." 2 Timothy 1:7.
I am not sure where my "sound mind" has gone, but I sincerely hope God can find it and bring it back here.