Nine Months

It's hard to believe that Z is nine months old.

He's officially been out as long as he was in. That feels like some kind of accomplishment to the new-mom part of my heart. Though pregnancy can be a rough ride, physically, the itty-bitty shows up and all of a sudden you realize they were pretty low maintenance while in utero, all things considered.

His middle name is Freedom and my husband and I chose it after much thinking and praying.

He has lived up to it, so far, valuing his independence as much as a nine month old can. Sometimes when he gets fussy all he wants is my husband and I to put him on the ground and let him roam.

Trying to be a non-controlling mother to an adventurous man is not a feat for the weak-willed, I think. I'm thankful for my husband, who is a little more able to let Z try and figure things out on his own at first, even if it means taking a stumble now and then.

He's pulling up on anything he can reach, and just now starting to assess the distances between the pieces of furniture in our living room to see if he can bridge the gap on only two feet.

We're pretty sure he's developed object permanence (oooOOOoooo) meaning he now knows that something exists even when we remove it from his line of sight.

Watching a child grow, I think, is full of mud-and-miracle moments. It can be a bit like watching grass grow and then you look at them one day and there's another soul staring back at you.

I have no idea how people sit through their kids' weddings without being totally wigged out. Right now my husband and I freak out every time Z laughs at something we do... I can't imagine watching him choose a career or promise to love a woman or having a conversation with him about his political beliefs.

Getting a bit ahead of myself, I guess. After all we still have things like bladder control and identifying our belly button to figure out between now and then.

My heart is so full of this little guy and having him has refined me and made me a better person more than (or at least much faster than) I think anything else would.

Thanksgiving, Day Nine - Sixteen

Well, look who overestimated her ability to write during the holidays! No matter, I'm all about grace here, especially (and maybe when it's most important?) when it comes to myself.

Z

A little worried about this "solid food" business. 

When my husband and I first got married, we were considering not having kids at all. I covered this thought with a lot of noble reasons, but I confess, on my part, not wanting children had less to do with calling and more to do with fear. 

I feared losing myself. 

I feared so much of myself being taken, and taken, and taken that one day I would look up and not recognize the person in the mirror. 

This is the fear that tainted my view of motherhood. All I saw was that it takes. Steals. It steals sleep and hobbies and money and "me time" and careers. 

The truth is, you know, that motherhood does not steal. 

Stealing is the enemy's business. 

And wouldn't it be just like a thief, to convince one to grip tightly the stuff of little value, so that he can take what is most truly precious without a fight? 

And leave us with trinkets, with temporal things. 

Things that turn to dust. 

When we discovered we were pregnant with Z, all of a sudden there was the tiniest of souls inside of me. A drop of something eternal. 

You expect to love your children, but what I didn't expect was how intensely it comes. 

With my family, the love has always been there. 

With my husband, it came gradually. 

With Z, it knocked the wind out of me. 

The first time it was in the hospital, in the wee hours of the morning when the nurse had taken Z back to the nursery after I fed him. I lay there with my arms feeling this empty-ache, and though my head knew he would back in two very brief hours and that I should try and go back to sleep, my heart was awake. The tears came and I just couldn't get over the grace shown to me, that he was here.  

Holding his dad's hand in the hospital. 

And in one moment my world flipped upside down and rather than being worried about how much Z would take from me, I began to wonder if I would ever be able to give him enough. 

Since then, the Lord has used this little man to redeem my view of motherhood. To give up myself for the sake of another...

Well, that's the gospel. 

No career, or hobby, or any amount of sleep or "me time," can replace how my days are now overflowing with grace. 

Sometimes hard grace, but grace still. 

I am so thankful for that. 

Foreign Territory

It's a little difficult to be deep & emotive when covered with crusty snot.


I'm just saying.

Something about motherhood has forced all my introspective moments to mix into my practical ones. As a result I feel more steady, which is nice, but sometimes I miss the luxury of being able to turn off practical thoughts and simply emote. I especially miss this when I sit down and try to write. It used to be my feelings could run all over the page and the only structure was the words themselves.

Now, there is a constant, logistical ticker-tape running through my head.

"When does Z eat next?"
"What will we do for dinner?"
"Is it too late to drink a cup of coffee before his next feeding?"

This makes writing more of a challenge. I have to work harder to shut as many thoughts down as I can so the words come unhindered.

This morning I cried with Jesus because it was the first time we had spent some time together in awhile. It's so interesting how our own hearts can be such foreign territory. Having a child has led me into a new wilderness that I'm sure, as my friend said yesterday, will have valleys and quiet waters just as much as it will have hard mountains and deserts.

Maybe the first mountain is being satisfied with the things of this world, and I wrote this morning that He is better because He is and I haven't been acting like it.

That's how hardness occurs, I think, believing that something else is better than Him and then being disappointed when it comes up lacking. And then the hardness can dry out every area of our life and we wonder why loving becomes difficult.

Right now, in this season, He is better than alone time; better than sleep; better than being right when I argue with my husband; better than feeling angry when I realize I'm not; better than food; better than entertainment; and probably most of all, better than living for nothing more than my own happiness.

Oy, that last one is a whole subject in and of itself.

In short: This morning was one of those moments that I looked up out of myself to find Jesus still sitting next to me holding my hand.

Why is He so good?

Meanwhile, though the crusty snot is not incredibly fun, Z is as cute as ever. He's three and a half months old now and smack in the middle of the "everything that happens makes me scream like a pterodactyl" stage. He's also recently discovered his feet, as you can see below:

Can you even get over those ears on his hat? I couldn't either. 

*sigh* I love being his momma.

Life, As it Were

Z is two months old. 

His favorite activities are still eating and sleeping, but listening to music and wildly flailing his limbs is a close second. This past week he discovered that gnawing on his fists was fun, and has only accidentally punched himself in the face once when his excitement about this newfound activity outran his motor skills. He has rolled over completely by himself once, but we had to let him get pretty mad in order to do it. Most of the time he makes it to his side and then decides he's done. He shoots one dimple smiles all the time and if you're lucky you'll get a two dimple smile and a coo.

We love him more than both of our hearts can hold.

I don't think I'll ever understand how much God loves me. Having a child has helped me understand a little more, but only about as much as a goldfish might understand the concept of the ocean when moved to a slightly bigger bowl.

I know God loves me because He chases me. He chases me through beauty in nature, through music, through laughter, most of all He chases me through written words. He chases even when I run from Him.

We do have a good God... I know that phrase can sound tired because of overuse, but it's true.

I'm in one of those, "I've started fifty posts but haven't had time to finish them," modes again. We do have a decently set routine down, but I'm still working on how to incorporate things like consistent work outs and writing. I'll sit down to write and then Z will wake up early from a nap, or start fussing and only be satisfied if I hold him, or it just takes too long and I have to move on to grocery shopping or cooking dinner.

I'm convinced one of the reasons I was supposed to have Z, and probably more kids later, is to increase my self-discipline. And you know what? I'm pretty excited about it. While adulthood is obnoxiously responsibility-ridden at times, it also has its perks that I enjoy much more when managing life well.

Right now I have a pile of books sitting next to the spot where I nurse, in hopes that I'll crack them open instead of my laptop. So far, so good. And my next step is to schedule a consistent writing time during one of Z's naps. (He does take FOUR EVERY DAY... at least right now... so it shouldn't be too hard.)

A pretty random, rambly post, this one was; but I have a lot less time for polishing and making things look pretty... which may not be an entirely bad thing.