Tag: change

End.

This is a lengthy post I wrote in February about breastfeeding. This was just a couple weeks before we completely weaned. It may be TMI, but I wish I had read something this real when we were starting out. It didn’t come easily to me, and if I can help just one other woman decide to give it a little more time, then sharing my story is worth it.

Jealous cat often wanted in on the cuddle action.

We didn’t breastfeed today. She slept in, and I took the opportunity to go straight to breakfast. We had been doing just the one morning feeding for a month or so now, and that was already killing me. I’m so emotional. I’m happy, because I don’t have to plan my day around my boobs, and I can drink all the coffee I want again (finally!) But, this thing I wanted to do for my child, this sacrifice I made for her, is coming to an end. What I used to dread, I’m going to miss.

I didn’t worry too much about breastfeeding when I was pregnant. For one thing, I thought it was weird. I knew it would be best for my child, but a liquid coming from my boob just sounded so strange, and I didn’t really want to think about it. Secondly, it’s a natural thing, so I assumed it would just click.

Having her early threw me for a loop. I had eaten chili the night before my water broke… ya know, you’re not supposed to eat before a c-section… so when I got back into the room after having her, I was so sick from the anesthesia. They gave her to me and I held her, then they told me I needed to try to nurse. Poor [hubby] has the memory forever etched in his brain of me holding [baby girl] on one side, trying to get her to latch, and me puking into a barf bag on the other side. I was so so sick. And I was so so tired. We had barely slept, I had just had a tiny human cut out of of me, and I was exhausted from retching. I felt bad, but I was so selfish, I really did not want to try to nurse. The lactation consultant is telling me to make a sandwich with my breast? What? Can I sleep now please?

The next few days weren’t much better. [Baby girl] had interest in trying to nurse, but we weren’t doing so great. And no one told me how much breastfeeding HURTS. The lactation consultant kept telling me that the latch “looked good”, but also that it shouldn’t hurt if we were doing it right. Bull crap. It hurt so bad. Finally a nurse came in and asked how it was going one day, and I expressed concern about getting blood in the baby’s mouth, because my breasts were so incredibly cracked. She looked so sympathetic, called me honey, and asked if I had any lanolin. Lano-what? No…. she brought me a tiny tube, and at the moment I seriously thought it was the best thing ever invented. I’d read blogs and birth stories, talked to other people vaguely about breastfeeding, seen ads for “nipple cream”, but I was in no way prepared for why it was important to take care of your nipples. Ouch.

I felt so bad at the hospital and later when we got home, I dreaded feeding my poor baby girl so much. I would put it off as long as I possibly could. In the hospital, the nurses would come in and fuss at me for letting her go so long without eating. But, I was sleeping, she was sleeping… do I have to? At home, it wasn’t any better. I would have frequent emotional breakdowns from the guilt of not wanting to feed my child. For at least a couple of months, I really was miserable. It made it worse that she was so little, and the nurse practitioner we were seeing at the time wanted me to feed her even more often than I already was – every two hours. I don’t know how we got through that, neither of us got any sleep. She would take so long to nurse, I’d barely get 30 minutes of rest in before we had to start all over again. I was exhausted. The pain that accompanied those first few months was excruciating. I would get these sharp pains, like hot knives, radiate up my breasts frequently. I felt like I kept heat on them as often as I could, especially at night. Also, after I finished breastfeeding, I would get the worst chills. The first time it happened was at the hospital, and I thought I was coming off some of the strong medicine they had given me or something. I had violent shivers and just felt like I would never be warm again. That continued for a while after I got home, and I still do it from time to time. During this time of pain and dread of feeding my own child, I gave myself a goal of six months. If I could just last that long, that would be good. But, six months came and went, and I felt sort of proud of myself. We had made it that far, and didn’t show any signs of stopping.

Somewhere around 3 months, something happened. I’m not sure if it was because she grew and her mouth got bigger and she could finally latch better, or what, but it got better. We finally got to where we could nurse and I didn’t feel like I wanted to die. However, she still took FOREVER. It’s just been in the last 3-4 months that she really cut back. Our normal feeding sessions were always at least 30 minutes, most of the time more. We were at a funeral, and [hubby’s] cousin had her baby there as well. We both were in the nursery at church nursing, and I kid you not, her daughter ate like 5 minutes on each side and then they left. I was sitting there a little jealous and a lot in disbelief. Why does my kid take at least three times as long?!

Going back to work was kind of pointless because of how long it took her to eat. According to my app, her average was about 4 hours of eating time a day. And that was strictly mouth to nipple time, that didn’t count the burping and distractions in between. I had a full part-time job of just sitting. Isn’t that a ridiculous amount of time? I got literally nothing done. [I had a super distracted baby who would unlatch at the tiniest noise or movement, so multi-tasking was always out of the question.]

Of course, I would so do it all again in a heartbeat, misguided expectations and mental breakdowns included. We figured it out, created a bond that only could have come from breastfeeding, and I truly believe it was what was best for her. It was so hard, and so very painful, but now I’m going to miss it.

After I started writing this, the next day she threw a fit when she woke up until I went to the chair with her and nursed. I don’t think she’s quite ready to give it up yet, and frankly, I’m not either. I never would have thought that we’d still be doing this at 13 months. Pregnant me sure wouldn’t have believed it, because she thought a few months of that weirdness would be good enough. New mother me wouldn’t believe it either with all the pain she went through. But, here we are ❤

As I said, we only went a few more weeks after I wrote this. It’s still weird to me how much breastfeeding consumed my thoughts and my time, and now I never have to give it a second thought. As miserable as I was, and as strange as it sounds, I miss it. Being a woman is so weird sometimes.

Also, in case this needs to be said, I’m not suggesting anything I did or didn’t do is best for anyone else. I realize that I’m super fortunate to have a flexible job I can do mostly from home, and an amazing support system that picks up my slack. I’m simply telling my story in hopes that it encourages someone else!

Focus.

Confession time: I have been in A FUNK the last few days. I haven’t felt good, I’ve been overly lazy even for me, I’ve had the worst self-esteem, and I’ve just felt blah. I’ve been looking for a previous bible devotion to put up here. I spent a good 30 minutes the other night poring over my own words, only to close my journal feeling discouraged and inadequate. Nothing seemed to be important enough, intelligent enough, or organized enough to present to other people. I was getting frustrated with myself, because a lot of the entries seemed to say the exact same thing. But, I realized, that was me identifying my struggle in whatever verse I happened to be reading that day; it was me clinging to God’s word for guidance through my battle. After another day to think about it, I think it’s important to share my (ongoing) struggle. I wrote this at the beginning of January:

Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.”

1 Peter 5:6&7

This devotion was from New Year’s Day, and I missed doing it. But man, I needed this verse this morning. I realized the other day that I was letting satan tell me that certain things in my life were too small or petty to bring to God. I let him tell me that God was too big to be concerned with baby girl’s nap schedule or the piles of dishes and laundry that need to be done. I let him whisper to me that it was all up to me, that I have to get this done on my own, and that I’m not good enough [there’s that, again.]

When I came to this realization the other day, I prayed for forgiveness and for God to remind me to bring EVERYTHING to Him. A few days later, and what am I doing? I couldn’t sleep last night and was literally having a panic attack. Over what? Planning my one year old’s birthday party, mostly. I was also stressing over stuff I have to do today (long story for another day.) I finally got to sleep after midnight and then some little peanut woke up whining at 4:30. I was unreasonably angry, and then immediately felt so very guilty. After eating and going back to sleep for a couple of hours, she woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and I think, so did I! Between several minor inconveniences (i.e. I dropped my muffin in the floor) and a baby who has cried all morning, I’m so nervous and anxious that I’m shaking. Enter this passage from 1 Peter – just the reminder i had prayed for…

…baby girl woke up as I was writing yesterday and I didn’t finish. Looking back on yesterday, it got better. That 25 minute morning nap made a world of difference, and then the two and a half hour afternoon nap was exactly what she and I both needed. She got some much-needed rest, and I was able to get some work done, which made me feel like a more productive member of the family.

I honestly don’t know why I let satan tell me that certain things have to be done on my own, that they aren’t big enough or important enough to matter to the Creator who knows my every insecurity. But He does care, and He wants to carry my burdens. I have to stop listening to the whisper that tells me I don’t matter and my problems don’t matter. God cares about me and for me. In reality, my worries and anxieties are just there to distract me from God and the purpose He’s given me. God definitely wants to clear my mind of all that stuff. I need more room in there for Him and His will.

Living intentionally is something I’ve always struggled with – I’m so good at skating by with minimal effort. My word for this year is FOCUS. It doesn’t come easily to me anymore, and I’ve got to do better. I’ve got to live more intentionally, with a clear focus on God.

So, we’re nearly halfway through the year, and focus is still something I’m struggling with. A funny thing happened as I was reading my journal entries from earlier this year the other night, the same word kept popping up over and over again; if I didn’t use it every time, it sure was close to it. You know what that word was? Distraction. No matter what verse I was writing about, I somehow just kept relating it back to how satan distracts us, how we have to focus on God.

Life has changed so much since we’ve had baby girl, and I feel like I’m juggling so much. Before, all I had to worry about was me, and what I had going on – being a wife, doing my part of cooking, cleaning, etc.; working, doing Avon… that was about it. On top of all that now, I’m also a mom and have a child to worry about and everything that entails (worries and concerns included), plus, I’ve started this blog. I feel like I’m being pulled so many different directions every minute of every day. I have so many distractions. Besides praying, I’m not sure what else I can be doing to help myself with this struggle. I just keep praying for God to show me these things that are distracting me, and to make me able to see them for what they are. Obviously, looking at all these journal entries where I just keep using the word, “distraction,” I’m starting to see them. But noticing them after reflection is entirely different than noticing them in the moment. I’m doing better, but I’ve still got some work to do.

Um. Wow.

I was perusing my old Livejournal again and came across this gem. Naivety aside, it tells the story of the beginning of my husband and I, and I’m quite fond of it. Get ready for some wisdom from early twenties me:

“Um. Wow. Life is crazy. I have been married to my best friend for almost four months now.. It feels more like four years. I swear I don’t remember life before [hubby] <3.
So the other night I randomly got on to Livejournal and started reading some old entries from when [hubby] and I were dating. I burst into tears and had a breakdown that lasted the whole night. Partly, I blame it on the PMS I was experiencing, but there was also some truth to why I was so upset. As I was reading, I realized that I had fallen into a spiritual and emotional rut. For a while, I was so hopeful, so optimistic, and so in tune with God. Lately, I feel like I am the opposite of all those things. I have decided to fix this, with God’s help of course. I have re-learned recently that when you try to do things without God’s help, and without the help of people around you, you can quickly slide backwards. I talked to [hubby] about this, and told him something about us that I guess he never knew: That I use how our relationship started as my personal testimony. Everything about how we started dating was God-breathed, and it was the most sure I had ever been about anything in my life. I use this when I am telling people about how I became closer to God. He led me to [my husband], he and I both had prayed for (unknowingly) each other, and God made me realize that things really do work out when you surrender all your thoughts and fears to Him. I was so angry and bitter at the ripe old age of 19, because everyone else had, what I thought was, everlasting love. I felt like an old maid, and I hated the world for it. People kept telling me, “give it to God, He knows what is best for you.” And all the while, I kept saying, “I know,” but I never really, truly gave it all to God. One night, in a moment of sheer clarity, I got on my knees, sobbing, and said, “Lord, I don’t want this anymore, take it! Do what You will with it, I am done!” I instantly felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I had no intention of thinking anymore about it. As it happens, however, it was like God said, “FINALLY!” The very next day, [hubby] and I struck up a conversation on the internet, after we had not talked in over a year. We became good friends, and well, you know the rest. How could that obvious display of God’s power not move me? Anyway, this entry is my attempt, once again, to try to focus my thoughts every now and again. I am not going to commit to writing every day, because I know from experience that just won’t happen. My more modest goal is to write as often as I feel like it, perhaps two or three times a week. I will make lists of what I am grateful for, and I will give any concerns straight to God, for he definitely knows best.
So, here goes nothing, My umpteenth attempt at writing in my journal regularly.”

Taken right around when this journal entry was made. Fairfield Glade, TN

For any interested parties, I still didn’t write in my journal regularly after that… there’s a line to that effect in almost every entry on there. And, can you believe we had been married FOUR WHOLE MONTHS? Oh goodness, younger me, you’re cute. Dramatics aside, I am still constantly in awe of how obvious it is that hubby and I were made to be together. God has the best plans. Also, I realize how ridiculous I sound, you don’t have to tell me.

Expectations.

I expect a lot of my kid – I have since she was in the womb. She had to be tough, because there wasn’t much room in there. The last month or so of my pregnancy, her head stayed in my ribcage pretty much the whole time. They tried to make her turn, but there was just no room. Her poor little head kept getting stuck. I have said since she was born that I honestly think that’s why she had so much neck strength from the get go – she was used to constantly fighting for room. Almost immediately, my sweet girl realized she much preferred sitting up to laying back. She would get so very angry if you tried to cradle her, you know, like a baby. She also didn’t care for being rocked or cuddled too much. We gave up trying to use the rocking chair a few months in, it almost seemed to over-stimulate her rather than calm her down. She is just now getting to where she wants to cuddle for short periods of time, but still mostly just when she’s sick (or when she wants something.) She’s been miss independent for her whole almost year and a half of life. Maybe it was partly because of how big she acted from the beginning, but I’ve always had great expectations for my child.

This got me in trouble a little bit when we were in the newborn stages. The hormones and the lack of sleep made me a super unhappy person. I would get so frustrated with my poor baby when she wouldn’t go back to sleep, or seemed to be crying for no reason. I just wanted this tiny thing who needed me for everything to be able to self-regulate and self-soothe. I wanted her to just know how to do things that tiny babies really don’t know how to do.

I worked with kids for about ten years, and several of those years were spent with one year olds specifically. I learned a great deal about children and their development over those years. The biggest thing I think I learned? They are capable of so much more than we think, and expectation is everything. I would have a giant pile of money if I had a dollar for every time a parent asked, “how did you get him/ her to do that?!” Teaching a child to do something, anticipating that they will actually do it, and offering help when needed is all I ever did. Kids learn really quickly what it is you expect of them, and for the most part, they’re people-pleasers; they just want to do a good job.

For this reason, I expect quite a lot from my kid. And, for the most part, this has worked for us so far. Her mind amazes me all the time. She knows exactly what I’m saying to her. She can walk from one end of the house to the other to throw something away or put dirty clothes in the laundry basket. She can push her basket of clean clothes from the laundry room down the hall to her room. She can go get a specific book I ask for off the shelf, or a specific toy out of her bin. She can ask me to do things, like help, open her Easter egg (she’s still obsessed with these, months after Easter), pick her up, or go “that way”. She can tell me what she wants to eat (which currently is some combination of doughnuts, yogurt, bread, crackers, and prunes [yeah, I don’t know].) She knows so so many words that I’ve lost count. And she hears and repeats EVERYTHING.

My child is also my child, however, and we often have a battle of wills. After being sick for a week recently, she has been winning these battles, simply because getting her to eat or drink or do anything was a struggle. Now that she feels better, setting these boundaries again has been so hard. She really likes to test boundaries. I feel like I keep having to pray for patience, just to have enough to show her how to be patient. She really can push my buttons.

I think sometimes people think I’m too hard on my kid, that I’m not letting her be a baby. I’ll admit, it’s harder than I thought it would be with my own. Part of me wants her to stay a tiny squish for as long as possible. Another part of me, however, sees a toddler who, if left unchecked, could easily turn into the poster child for terrible twos. Yes, I want her to stay little, but I also want to set expectations now for how she should act – at some point, it will be too late.

Another thing I learned during my time with all those kiddos? Children thrive in routines. Again, I think it’s an expectation thing – if they know what’s expected and what’s going to happen next, there’s a comfort there. Another thing I’m not great at with my own stinking kid? Routines. I mean, we have a loose schedule, but it usually gets thrown off by something – a work phone call, a tantrum-throwing toddler who refuses to eat anything but yogurt, a lunch out with friends or family, or something. I keep telling myself that even if we keep the schedule a few times a week, it will stay familiar enough to be routine… but the planner and micromanager in me stays pretty anxious about it all the time.

My poor kid. She’ll either be super smart and a thoughtful, caring human being… or be scarred for life.

Home.

I have so many memories of breaking beans with my granny in this house, and this morning I broke beans with my baby girl in the same kitchen. Three generations have passed from my granny’s, and we’re still doing the same thing. I love how God gives us just enough continuity to be able to deal with the change that life throws at us. I also love the memories evoked by living in this house. It may look different now, but it feels the same. It feels like home. Every now and then, I have a familiar feeling rush over me as I walk through the house, and I’m five years old again. I’m spending my Friday night at my granny’s house. I’m here for Thanksgiving dinner. I’m just sitting with her and breaking beans (which I probably didn’t appreciate as a kid…)

As a married couple, we’ve lived in several different places, but none have felt so much like home to me as this house does. The sounds of birds and smells of the flowers in the yard are familiar. My heart is at rest here. I was so unsure about taking on this house. Every time I walked in after granny passed away, I cried. I couldn’t imagine living in this place that made me so sad. But, as time passed, I started to see it in a new light. The sadness turned to fondness, and with the promise of major changes to the inside aesthetic, I finally agreed that this house might make the best home for us. I’m so very glad that my heart finally caught up with my head, because this is home. This is a place that I can share memories with my family, just like I’ve always done here.

The new old me.

You know, it’s so funny how we forget things we once knew. I used to have a livejournal… does anyone remember those? I can’t find the one I had in high school… at the moment I can’t even remember what it was called. But, I created a more “grownup” account when I was in college. I got an email from livejournal the other day, reminding me that it was almost my husband’s birthday (he was literally the only follower I had on that account, because he used to be a loser who had a livejournal as well.) I clicked on my account last night from that email and ended up reading my own words for over an hour. I was astounded by how much my outlook on life has changed, how much my writing style has changed, and how much my struggles haven’t really changed. My jaw dropped when I read this from 2013!

Anyway. I really do want to write in here.. or somewhere. I read all these blogs and things that are linked through pins on Pinterest, and I always think, “I would love to keep up a blog like that!” Something inspirational with helpful life tips, things I’ve learned along the way, encouragement for those who need it, etc. I really, really want to. What else do I want to do? Let me tell you: I want to have a job where I can make money from home.. specifically an editing job would be perfect. Where I get to translate a little French? Even better. I want to get pregnant. I want to learn to sew. I want to get caught up on my scrapbooking. I want to be a housewife, dang it!

Goodness. Who knew my blogging journey went back that far? Not me, that’s for sure. Also, quite a bit of that has actually come to pass: I have a job that [mostly] allows me to work from home and is very flexible, I did get pregnant [twice] and now have my sweet girl, and obviously I finally did start my blog. I guess I can still dream about that editing job, and I would have to brush up on my French a lot before I could even think about a translating job. I still haven’t learned to sew. I’m completely terrified of my sewing machine. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. And the scrapbooking thing makes me laugh – I used to absolutely love scrapbooking. I made a book for my husband and made a page for each reason I loved him or all the fun things we did together. Now I don’t even know where everything is. It’s scattered all over the house from our move. Maybe one day when we get our den/ office set up, I’ll get back to it.

Now that I’ve rediscovered my old journal, I might publish some of that as well. I surprised myself with how cheery and hopeful I used to be. It’s like I was wearing rose-colored glasses. I need more of that me back. I need to be reminded of how I was and what I’ve already overcome… apparently I forgot a lot of it somewhere along the way.

Change, Part 2.

I found another thought I had typed out on my phone and labeled “change,” so I thought I’d share it. I wrote this in early March:

“Man, I never have understood more the saying about life changing when you have a kid. Not the fact that one day you’re walking around doing your own thing and literally the next you’re responsible not only for yourself but another human being as well (although this is scary true too), but the fact that when you’re an adult, a whole year can go by and you still pretty much look the same, you have the same job, and you cook the same dinner as you did the year before. A year with a kid has brought SO MANY changes in the same amount of time. There’s the new mom, so sleepy, so thirsty, breastfeeding is life, c-section [in my case] recovery stage. Then breastfeeding is still life and you’re literally hungry ALL THE TIME. Sleeping schedules, feeding schedules, runny noses, is that an angry cry or a something’s wrong cry? Tummy time, rolling over, naps. Introducing food, babbles, sippy cups, crawling. Is she eating enough? Is she sleeping enough?

As I sit here pumping, trying to wean myself down to none, I can’t help but be emotional. Before [Baby Girl], a year might have brought a few new outfits, a new piece of furniture, and another anniversary. This past year has brought more emotions than I think I’ve felt in my entire life. Breastfeeding was the center of my world for so many months. I planned my days around it. I tracked it. I worried over it. I prayed over it. And I worked at it. And now I’m actively working to stop it. This season is over and it was entirely too short.

Change comes way too quickly with a child. Every single day she does something new or improves a skill. I’m trying my best to soak up every second of it, but it’s still passing me by so very quickly.”

It’s so weird to me that even a year ago, I had this shiny new baby and was still trying to figure out this motherhood thing. I now have a full-blown toddler who likes to wear my bracelets, asks me for doughnuts, and sometimes screams no at me. What happened to that precious, innocent, tiny squish that needed me for everything? I’m super emotional even writing this right now. This change-hating mama is not okay.

Shopping at Lowe’s like a big girl.

Change.

So, I promised to let you in on how much I detest change. I came across something I had written at the end of March, and I had entitled it “Change.”, so it seemed pretty obvious that I should share that next.

DISCLAIMER: there is a vague reference to some slightly icky things that happen during childbirth, but it’s pretty mild. Also, if you ever want to have a kid, you need to be prepared for these things. I WAS NOT PREPARED. And… if the word “breast” makes you uncomfortable for some reason, maybe skip this one.

Here’s what I wrote, with a couple of edits here and there:

Avon is getting rid of the perfume I’m using, and if you know me, you know that’s a big deal. The last time they discontinued my perfume (which was not long after hubby and I started dating) mom had bought a ton of it, and I kept using it for a year or two after that. Then, it took me FOREVER to settle on a new one. Now I have to do it all over again, and this time I’m not prepared. I had no idea they were doing away with it until tonight, and I already can’t order anymore. I’m so sad. I also thought I had like half a bottle left, and I have about one spray…

I hate change, so very much. Poor hubby usually just has to drag me through life, me resisting all the way. My mom used to always tell me that dad had to do this with her, and now I completely understand, because I’m exactly the same way. I know that change can be good. The best example of that is baby girl. Our lives are not the same, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. But, I still struggled with it. We put off even trying to have a baby for so long, just because I could not wrap my head around it. Even as I was starting to go into labor at the hospital, I literally said I didn’t want to do it anymore, and that’s honestly how I felt at the time. I wanted things to go back to the way they were – comfortable, familiar, easy. I wanted to go home and go to bed. My matter-of-fact husband didn’t sugarcoat what was happening either. When I would express my concerns that having a baby would change our relationship with each other, he agreed that it definitely would, that our relationship would never be the same again. And that scared me. I liked the way things were, we were good.

Now that we’re on the other side, I can truly say without a doubt that having a baby changed our relationship. We’ve experienced being new parents together, he’s seen me completely out of control emotionally, and I’ve seen him look at me with fear in his eyes, not knowing what to do or say. I’ve seen him go buy lanolin and breast pads for his new-mother wife. I’ve seen him study the directions to figure out how to use a breast pump, and then show his wife who is scared to death of it. I’ve seen him reference the nursing guide they sent us home from the hospital about a thousand times, trying to help me be more comfortable and confident. He’s seen me puking while trying to nurse my newborn [if you can help it at all, DO NOT eat before a c-section! My poor, sweet husband, that’s literally his first memory of baby girl and I together]. He’s seen me freaking out on the hospital bed because I’m afraid I’m going to poop while I’m contracting. [Yeah, it’s gross, but it’s legit. Sorry, like I said, you need to be prepared.] He’s seen me so very out of it and so very helpless. I’ve seen him as a caretaker. I’ve seen him as a father. He’s seen me as a mother. We’ve learned so much about each other in the last couple of years (probably some things we could have done without). All these things have made us closer. These things have made me fall even more in love with my husband, and I didn’t think that was possible.

Our love for each other has only changed in that it has gotten stronger, which is a truly amazing thing. The way we got together was definitely a God thing (different post for a different day!), so I couldn’t imagine us being closer than we already were. But, here we are. And I love it.