Irreplaceable

Today I left work early once again because of pains that could be anything from a sour tummy to pre-labor. Unfortunately, everything is so squashed together that sometimes it's tough to know the difference. Thus, I came home after I finished teaching my classes, just like the doctor ordered. I put my feet up and fell asleep shortly after, and when I woke up, a sadness or sense of disappointment seemed to linger through the entirity of the day.

A conversation this evening with Tim helped bring the emotions to a head as I discussed releasing another one of my "duties" into the hands of someone else. So far, I've given up housework, cooking, going to the grocery store, exercise, and teaching standing up. Yes, I know this probably sounds wonderful to my overworked, exhausted friends, and it seemed so at first to me as well. But lately, as I've slowly given up more enjoyable tasks--frequenting Target, driving myself most places, outings with friends that involve any activity other than eating or movie-watching, and singing with Tim and the band--I've struggled against feeling useless, a mere vessel whose sole purpose is to fold my hands and wait.

I suppose I never realized how much of my worth I place in my usefulness and overall efficiency. Tim NEEDED me to keep the household running smoothly. My students NEEDED me to keep up with them. My friends NEEDED me to hang out with them. My church NEEDED me to reach out to women and to sing each week. Nope. I am not NEEDED--at least not to the extent that someone else might not easily "replace" the activities on my personal to-do list.

But, as a doctor friend of mine said recently, "Any monkey can hold a scapel and cut in a straight line. It's the personal touch, the bedside manner that counts." So it is with my life; it's not the things I can DO that give me purpose. Instead, it's the God I know, the person He is making me, and the people He leads my life to touch that offer me a sense of meaning, particularly during this time of rest and waiting.

The Westminster Catechism makes a statement I love, saying that "A man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." I am finding that at times (like this one) glorifying and enjoying Him means forsaking even good, right, and holy daily duties in order to lie still in his hand, trusting that his quiet, unmoving will is better than anything ony my to-do list. May I not chafe against this will, instead believing that He makes ME--just me, without all my actions and activities--worth enough to be irreplaceable as His child.

The Strong Women

This weekend I was reminded of the reality of the strong women in my life. As I listened to friends discuss difficult situations they (or those they love) currently face, my heart felt grateful to be surrounded by such tough gals, realizing that their strength helps stabilize me during my struggles. Here are just a few of the stories I've heard over the past few weeks:

*Two women with husbands fighting overseas, one raising her daughter while developing her own business
*Two women dealing with the loss of husbands who have chosen their addictions rather than their families
*One woman fostering two sons, not knowing whether or not she will for certain have the opportunity of making them part of her forever family
*One woman bravely facing fertility treatment for the fourth (that's tough stuff, for those who haven't been through it!) time since August 2009.
*One woman embarking on the adoption journey with thousands of dollars (without a 6-figure job) to save looming in front of her.
*One woman dealing with her husband's recent suicide while raising three children.
*One woman dealing with the loss of her father and learning to care for her mother on her own.

For these stories, thousands more exists around us each day. It may sound cliche, but we truly never do know the depth of hurt that other women (even those who seem to "have it all together") may be facing at that moment. So, as women, let's deal gently with one another, allowing petty grievances and grudges to dissipate quickly and covering one another with the grace that we so long to receive. And, as a final word of encouragement, remember that we may not feel the strength as it solidifies in our soul, but someday we'll look back and see how firm and unbending we've become.

"Oy veh with the poodles already"

The above is a quote from one of my favorite mom-daughter shows, "Gilmore Girls." My roommates and I watched this show religiously in our college years, the premiere days of the TVshow, and I confess that I now own every season and plan to watch them with Macie during our first months of late nights.

And lately I've begun to wonder if those late nights may arrive sooner than later. I went to the doctor a week and a half ago and talked to her about the cramping I've experienced lately. I didn't intend to even bring the subject up, thinking they were just the common aches and pains of pregnancy, but the first question the nurse asked when I arrived pulled the info out of me. My doctor's concern surprised me until she said, "You did a lot to get this baby, and we need to keep her in as long as possible." Once again my IVF & PCOS status (PCOS gals are more likely to deliver pre-term apparently) elevates me to receiving even more-attentive care. (A perk that I definitely don't mind.) Thankfully, all is well with my cervix--sealed shut, so "no baby today" as one of the other doctor's told me this past Tuesday--and the discomfort eases significantly when I sit on my bum with my feet up for extended periods of time, avoiding housework, cleaning, and every other unfavorable chore. Thus, my instructions for my 23rd week and so-on of baby-land include keeping my feet up, keeping fluids down, and keeping calm all the way around. Not a bad plan until Week 32, when Macie will look much more presentable to the world. After I cross that threshold, my doctor will breathe a sigh of relief, and my real work will be just beginning. I will enjoy the mandate to rest while I can.

Grading

I'm sitting at Starbucks, grading papers (and surfing the Internet, which is much more fun), and I wish I didn't have to assign grades. It's painful grading a student with learning differences, tallying the total, and writing "F" at the top of the paper. I don't think my students often realize the struggle I endure to give them the grade they deserve. Instead, the complaint is "Mrs. Bird grades too hard." At moments like this (midterm time), I wish I taught in a world where students were so eager to learn that grading became a frivolous, meaningless activity. A world in which students read Austen and Dumas (or any author!) for fun and wrote their thoughts daily. A world in which math didn't exists. (Sorry, math-friends.)

All this teacher-introspection and evaluation of my students causes me to think about my little girl. Will she be a brainiac? An avid reader? A bit on the slow side? Lacking common sense? A music prodigy? A gal who can't hit a note if her life depended on it? A fan of chic lit or sci-fi? A movie-reviewer? Possess a sense of direction? Get lost from the door to the driveway? Right now, all the many pieces of her are unknown, and the reality of the possibilities excites my heart. I will have the opportunity to know a whole new little person while she discovers her likes and dislikes, her strengths and weaknesses. My hope, my plan, and my expectation is to take her as she is--learning differences, an IQ of 180, or just an average girl. I'm so glad that I don't have to grade her on a scale of 1-100. I'm sure I couldn't be fair at all.

I'm Back!

Back from the land of walking pneumonia. Back from coughing all day long. Back from the "embrace the fatigue" blog that I last wrote--it wasn't just fatigue after all.

I must say it's good to be back in time for Christmas. I've been reading through the Christmas story, paying particular attention this year to Mary's perspective as she experiences motherhood for the first time. Her attitude of trust and submission in the midst of the most abnormal pregnancy ever acts as a reminder to me about my attitude of trust through a fairly normal pregnancy. I've found that during this season of my life, I must entrust my body, my marriage, and my parenting skills to Someone greater than myself.

The first, my body, because it's fickle; sometimes it acts as it should, but most often I find that it operates as it (or the baby) sees fit from day to day. Such a range of fatigue, hormones, and symptoms can be frustrating if I'm not willing to take each day in stride. My marriage because I've begun to realize that I will relearn Tim in an entirely new role--as a father as well as my best friend and lover. I expect that we will develop a deeper bond with one another through the crazy-love experience of parenthood, but the change (any change, for that matter) is still a bit scary. And finally, my parenting skills because I don't know what the heck I'm doing. :) I'll start by loving her wildly, beyond what I once thought possible. From there, I'll need help to find the balance between doting and condoning, spoiling and over-protecting.

I figure though that if a 14-year-old girl could be the mother of God, then surely He'll help a 28-year-old be a decent mother to Macie. Merry Christmas, my baby girl. I'll SEE you next year.

Embrace the fatigue

The sun is shining for the first day in the past week or so, and I am about to trek outside with my midterms and sit and bask in the Vitamin D while I edit them. Macie is draining me today, a disappointing fact since I assumed that the second trimester would be full of frolicking around school, shopping, and building the nursery in my spare time. Ha! My doctor reminded me sweetly that every pregnancy is different, and even though one friend told me that she had MORE energy in her second trimester than BEFORE she was pregnant (is that really possible????), that's not the reality in which I live. But I accept this as part of mommy-prep and as a necessity to help my baby grow, grow, grow. My motto today: Embrace the fatigue. The end result is worth it.

Squirming

Each day I feel Macie--yes, that's her name--squirm and wiggle, and I've found that no matter what difficulties I'm facing or what anxieties are swimming in my mind, this movement gives me pause, a moment to relax and delight in my baby girl. I spoke with a friend about this strange sensation recently, and I recalled my many fears of being a mom. In fact, I would say I was probably one of the most fearful, non-parents out there. Illogical fears and some not-so-illogical fears kept me so preoccupied that I wondered if perhaps parenting just wasn't meant for me after all. I guess I'm writing this to encourage anyone who has experienced similar emotions about this experience that carries with it so many unknowns. I've noticed that as Macie grows, my worries about loving her and caring for her diminish. I'm sure I'll never be entirely free of mom-concerns, but I am thrilled to see how much the reality of her overshadows the unrealistic anxieties of motherhood.