"lonely in my own body"

**disclaimer** quotations below include colorful language

I don't know what stories Google recommends to you, but it recently recommended I read an op-ed from actress Melissa Rauch in Glamour.  So glad I did.  (If you watch Big Bang Theory, she plays Bernadette, the biologist with the super high-pitched voice.)

Anyway, the article is worth a read. It's her announcement of a current pregnancy after previously experiencing a miscarriage. Basically, there's a lot of fear and confusing emotions. And it's a very honest approach to the weirdness you feel.

Read her article here.

Best highlights of her essay:

• Ideally, the more we talk about this issue, the more we can chip away at the unnecessary stigma around it, with the end result being that those of us struggling with loss and infertility will feel less alone. Perhaps with increased overall awareness, women dealing with these extremely challenging circumstances won’t feel like they’re getting sucker punched in the uterus by well-intentioned people.

• "Miscarriage" by the way, deserves to be ranked as one of the worst, most blame-inducing medical terms ever. To me, it immediately conjures up an implication that it was the woman’s fault, like she somehow “mishandled the carrying of this baby.” F that so hard, right in its patriarchal nut-sack.

• I was constantly wishing that the feeling of being desperately lonely in my own body would dissipate.

This final one put beautiful words in place for a feeling I myself have known but been unable to describe. Very well said. Lonely in my own body. Yes, yes. That is the feeling. An awful feeling, but vividly real.

Melissa ends by pointing out to any other women who have or are experiencing prenatal loss that "you are not alone." I agree -- many of us have experienced this devastation. But I have to add my own life lesson that has only become more real to me as I re-explore these feelings of loss, working on my new book on the topic: 

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

It isn't the understanding of other women, another baby, my family, my husband, or good medicine that keeps me from being alone. It is and always will be ONLY Jesus. Faithful Savior. 

that donkey will bite you

Kids don't listen the first time. At least, not mine. I mean, they come the first time you say, "Want a snack?" but they certainly don't hear you say, "Don't hit your brother" and file that in the permanent log. That's the thing you repeat a thousand times.

We were at a petting zoo recently with my family. The kids were feeding this sweet old donkey (through a fence) -- kernels of corn right out of their hands. Excitement! But then the corn ran out. A youthful member of our party put his hand back through the fence. I cautioned him, "Buddy, don't put your hand through the fence anymore, the donkey will think you have food and bite you." Then I walked on. From behind me, I heard my sister say, "Honey, did you hear that? Don't put your hand in there, or the donkey will bite you." Moments later, she came to join me. I turned, exasperated, when I heard my other sister saying, "Don't put your hand through the fence or the donkey will bite you!" A moment later, I heard screams, shrieks, and panic that you'd expect from a four-year-old child who'd just had his hand bitten by a donkey.

Sigh.

It's hard to find compassion in those moments. (Somewhere, a really good mom would offer to kiss it, but that's pretty much making out with a donkey... so I vote no.)

Sarcasm aside, though, what are the things God repeats to me? I'm his child. And I'm the worst: petulant, ungrateful, disobedient, forgetful. And yet He patiently repeats Himself to me.

Here's what He's saying to me lately:

Do. Not. Be. Afraid.

The Bible says it 70 times, apparently. And yet, I'm afraid. I really am. I'm afraid because somehow, despite a perfect track record, I worry that God won't come through for me.  

We go to court again on Tuesday. And I'm afraid. The unknown is scary, but the future is already known (planned, ordained) by the One who loves us most.

So I guess He'll go on repeating it to me: Kelley, do not be afraid.

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when friends text me that they're praying for us. 

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when I kiss my boy goodnight. 

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when a song comes on Word-FM at just the right moment. 

I'll hear Him saying "do not be afraid" when I pray and there isn't a still, small voice or even a wind, an earthquake, or a fire... But there is a weird feeling when I'm able to swallow, and my palms are dry, and my heart is beating a normal cadence and I do close my eyes and drift to sleep. Because at that moment, the donkey didn't bite me.

choosing good memories

I know a woman who has nothing good whatsoever to say about her young children. Her grown children are great -- she's so proud of how they turned out! But I've never heard her say anything but negatives about their growing up years. It's like she looks back thirty years and sees nothing but messes, tantrums, and bad behavior.

Her attitude makes me really sad. This is a hard time of life. It's busy, sweaty, stinky, and heartbreaking. There are a lot of losses and only a few wins. It's easy to look back at the day and sum it up:

• five syrupy fingers on my front window

• one skinned knee

• twelve time-outs

• three swats

• one lost dessert

• three million suds splashed all over the bathroom

• one early bedtime

But that same day could also be re-told:

• six pancakes

• one blanket fort

• one long bike ride

• one picnic

• thirteen books read

• one healthy dinner

• one clean son to bed

You have to make the choice--which memories do you focus on? It's about more than today. I do not want to turn into that poor woman who looks at her grown children and only sees successful adults. I want to look back and fondly see peanut butter up their cheeks and a milk mustache.  I'm gonna be a grandma who smiles and says "he reminds me of his daddy" when I'm wistful, not one who glares "he reminds me of his daddy" when scornfully shushing for age-inappropriate silence and stillness.

I don't want to get so wrapped up in their (normal) sinful, child-like behavior issues that I can't also remember the times we laughed and smiled. Because, truly, even on a day with a long list of wrongs, there are a lot of rights.

Our laughter threatened hell today.

It's a battle just to get our kids' shoes on each day, and Christian mamas can lose sight of the war. The war isn't better behavior, or good grades, or even for them to still like me when they are adults.  The big picture is raising children who passionately love Jesus.

A friend texted me a very fierce mama poem today. It's very long, so here are the highlights. You can read the whole thing here.

Motherhood

by Christianna Reed Maas

...Our laughter threatened hell today.

I dined with the greats of God’s army. I made their meals, and tied their shoes. Today, I walked with greatness, and when they were tired I carried them. I have poured myself out for the cause today...

I birth the freedom fighters. In the great war, I am a leader of the underground resistance. I smile at the disguise of my troops, surrounded by a host of warriors, destiny swirling, invisible yet tangible, and the anointing to alter history. Our footsteps marking land for conquest, we move undetected through the common places.

Today I was the barrier between evil and innocence. I was the gatekeeper, watching over the hope of mankind, and no intruder trespassed. There is not an hour of day or night when I turn from my post. The fierceness of my love is unmatched on earth.

And because I smiled instead of frowned, the world will know the power of grace. Hope has feet, and it will run to the corners of earth, because I stood up against destruction.

I am a woman. I am a mother. I am the keeper and sustainer of life here on earth. Heaven stands in honor of my mission. No one else can carry my call.

momma songs

Who needs to cry? Even if you've heard these songs before, you must listen to them right now and then share them with every foster or adoptive parent you know. Because, yes. YES. YES.

Kari Kimmel's Where You Belong

You might know this song as the theme to the TV show The Fosters.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

It's not where you come from
It's where you belong
Nothin' I would trade
I wouldn't have it any other way
You're surrounded
By love and you're wanted
So never feel alone
You are home with me
Right where you belong

Phillip Phillips' Home

You might know this song as the summer Olympics theme from London 2012.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Phil Collins' You'll Be In My Heart

You might know this song from Disney's Tarzan movie.

The lyrics that will make you cry:

Come stop your crying
It will be alright
Just take my hand
And hold it tight
For one so small,
You seem so strong
My arms will hold you,
Keep you safe and warm
I know we're different, but deep inside us
We're not that different at all

Happy Labor Day

It's not because of April Fool's Day that I say this. It's because this is the anniversary laboring to deliver my first baby.  My baby is turning seven tomorrow (LIES, IT'S ALL LIES!). He told me today that since it was almost his birthday, he should get to do whatever he wants. I said, "Yeah, right, I worked myself to death the day before your birthday," and handed him the dustpan. #notkidding

So, here's the abridged version of my labor with my now-giant son, which I wrote two days later. It's abridged because I was as wordy then as I am now, and the complete thing is nine pages long and includes words like cervix that no one wants to read. Even me.

Here, then, is Lincoln's amazing and wonderful birth story...

I had been having contractions for several days.  On Friday, we’d spent the evening at Mikie and Heidi's with Laura and Shaun and my back hurt bad enough that we went home early.  I was really hoping that was a sign that we were starting… but no. 

Monday and Tuesday saw more back pain… I’d taken to hollering “come out baby” every 15 to 20 minutes.  I was having so much trouble sleeping at night that I’d end up in bed until 10 am.  By Wednesday, my back was hurting so bad I didn’t sleep a wink.  Poor Matt – I woke him up several times that night just to be sure he knew I still wasn’t sleeping!  I was able to close my eyes for an hour or two in the morning (Matt was on the early shift at work so I stayed in bed after he left at 6 am) simply out of exhaustion.

Caryn was coming into town for Easter/spring break so she spent the day with me on Thursday.  By that point, I had a pretty good idea that we were going into labor.  Things were about the same timing-wise but the contractions seemed to be getting more intense.  Caryn helped me time my contractions all afternoon while we watched The Whole Nine Yards.  Matt got home from work around 2:30 which was about the same time that I wasn’t able to sit through the contractions anymore.

For the next few hours, Caryn and Matt tag-teamed to time my contractions and remind me to go to the bathroom.  They also experimented with the massage tools from our child birthing classes: a nerf football and three tennis balls in a sock (which Caryn thought was a dog toy). 

Matt was a little restless – I don’t think he enjoyed watching me be in pain.  He cleaned the kitchen, did the dishes, and then actually cleaned the stove!  At least we came home to a clean house…

As we did the final check (including making sure our pup Gina had some lights on and had gone potty), I asked Matt if the car seat was in the car (which it was).  Caryn gasped and said “that’s right because you’ll be going as two and coming home as three!”  Sometimes the simplest thoughts are the most profound.

After check-in at the hospital, Matt and I wandered the halls for a bit until our nurse came out to get us.  She introduced herself and said she would be my nurse until 11 pm.  I joked that I promised to finish before she left!  But things didn’t go that fast.

I watched Caryn pace beside the bed with her very telling “I’m praying” face which was actually a huge relief for me as I labored. At some point while I was relaxing after the nasty process of getting an epidural in a back full of scar tissue from spinal fusion surgery, Caryn asked the nurse how many laboring moms she was caring for.  She said normally it would be different but that tonight I was the only person laboring in the whole place! Wow! 

Caryn, Matt & I chatted and took some video until I suddenly felt like I needed to push.  They tried to keep me from using my neck muscles too much to support my head by putting lots of pillows behind me, but I was doing it anyway, like a bad sit-up. (Two days later, I really regretted that – I felt like a bus had run over my neck and shoulders!) When he finally whooshed out, I let out a yell of relief.  It was all over!  It was 3:54 am on Friday, April 2, 2010.  Good Friday!

They put him up on my belly and he promptly pooped all over.  Thanks, Linc!  They cleaned me up while Daddy Matt cut the umbilical cord.  When they placed him back on my belly, he peed!  Boy, I’m just a target…

So as time passed, we had visitors – Poppy and Mom-Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Kelcy and Uncle Mike.  Everyone got a chance to hold baby and see me & Matt. When Poppy and Mom-Mom walked in, the nurse was just finishing up Lincoln’s footprints.  She asked Matt if he had a white t-shirt on under his sweatshirt, but he did not.  Poppy announced that he did, so he took his shirt off and she used the rest of the ink to stamp Lincoln’s footprints on Poppy’s t-shirt!  What a special memento.