That Time of the Month

There have been a grand total of about 36 months of my adult life (let's say, after 17 or so) that I have not worried about, wondered if, hoped for, stressed over, prayed for or prayed against being pregnant. My reproductive history is such that I get pregnant when I don't want to be pregnant, don't get pregnant when I want to be pregnant, and put up reproductive barriers to avoid getting pregnant only for one persistent little ovum and eager little sperm to unite anyway, so any time things are running a few days behind my anticipated "schedule," I freak out a little bit. Okay, a lot.

What if I'm pregnant? WHAT IF I'M PREGNANT?!

I've had a tubal, even, and we are officially, officially done with the baby-making business. Please tell me I'm not alone in this matter, girlfriends. I realize probably the combination of a tubal and this fear catapult me into a whole other category of neurotic, but surely you've been there. The monthly "friend," as we call her, is not a very reliable visitor. She's all tied up to other hormonal functions I don't quite understand, so I don't really want her to just go away. It seems extreme to have a tubal and to take birth control just to regulate that crazy girl, especially when those pills destroyed my complexion and altered my moods.

Add to her irregular visitations and my irrational fear of pregnancy the unfair fact that for about two or three days each month I turn into a needy, anxious, sensitive, sad little girl who only wants to be adored and complimented because she can't imagine ever feeling beautiful or happy again, so please just love me love me love me. And when that time passes, and I emerge on the other side, I look back at that sad, anxious person and wonder what the heck was wrong with her, how could I ever feel like that, who is she, anyway?

The temptation, during those angry, sad, and anxious days preceding That Time of the Month, is to say, "Oh, it's just PMS." But it's still two or three sad and anxious days (or longer, sometimes) a month, completely out of my control, that spin me in a thousand directions of feeling needy, then feeling angry that no one is filling my emotional gulf, then feeling ashamed at my neediness, then feeling bitter that I'm still sad and needy, then asking why no one loves me the way I need to be loved right this instant, then asking am I worthy of love, and then WHAT IF I'M PREGNANT?! and so on in a slow death spiral that ruins my psychological state of being for two or three days a month. Just two or three days a month. But... two or three whole days a month!

When I finally moved beyond PMS to That Time of the Month earlier this week, balanced hormonally and back in the beautiful and happy place, Lydia asked me why my stomach hurt. I decided, for some reason, that it was time to introduce the Period. I told her that it happens to all women. I told her she probably won't need to worry about it happening until she's around 12 or so, since that's when my period started. When she asked about what you have to do I told her about pads. When she asked why, I told her that it's related to having babies, and that women are the miracle bearers of carrying children, and that the menstrual cycle is the releasing of an egg that holds the potential to become a child, every month, the potential to become a child, and that led into the Dad's role and WOAH PEOPLE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT SEX NOW, that most intimate of acts, and I am blushing, and she thinks it's so weird but okay, whatever, Mom, I'm going to my softball evaluation.

Whew. That's over. Not really, though - we have entered the age of talking about sex, gradually, discussing body parts and what they do and why they do them. We all have bodies. Our bodies are different. They do different things. They make babies together. I don't want this to be weird and awkward, and the best way to remove fear and awkwardness is to talk about it until it isn't awkward anymore.

That Time of the Month--after I am through it and back in the beautiful, happy place--amazes me. This thing that happens to me each month is the very beginnings of human life. It is my most intimate tie to the Creator of the universe. It is my most intimate tie to the earth and the moon with its strange gravitational pull on our bodies that moves a woman's seed into cycle or body into labor. It is my most intimate tie to my husband, that urge to become one with another human being, to love and to be loved, to create new life yes but also to maintain a deep and mysterious connectedness unique to this marriage relationship, tied bodily and emotionally and spiritually and legally, all expressed by this giving and receiving of each other.

The fear that shakes me in those days preceding my period exists because all of these other things are real and true. I fear that I may be pregnant because God has done crazier things in history to bring about a baby (e.g., Jesus). I fear that I may be pregnant because the body and its systems are mysterious functions of breaking and healing and more bizarre odds have been beaten before when people have tried to stop having children. I fear that I may be pregnant because I know that my husband would freak out, that it would change our lives, again, that it would be scary and risky given my three c-sections. I fear that I may be pregnant because I have three people we've created together already who are beautiful strange amazing miracles and, wow, can you imagine another beautiful strange amazing miracle? This last is my secret awe, my secret fear--that I might defy all odds and rationale and medical exactitude and be pregnant again, that my body insists upon it, that I might get to bear this miracle again.

I used to just want to know, God, give me the exact times and dates of my children's births, the exact days numbered out for me, but nothing has ever gone the way I thought it would. The more I seek to know the more I see is mystery. It is the mystery of God and the mysteries of life that propel me forward in awe and wonder, propel out of fear and into love.

Eventually this cycle and potential for life creation will end and with it will come a whole other host of life changes I can't even imagine and have no desire to research right now. There will be certainty: no, no more children. There is no chance you will conceive again. This little bug of uncertainty that flickers about around me those few days before That Time of the Month will burn out. I wish for it and I don't wish for it.

The body is a crazy and mysterious creature, Lydia. Be afraid and don't be afraid.


Back in Time:
2014: I Don't Read Postcards from Hell
2013: Instructions for Crazy
2012: First World Problems: An Encounter with Infomercials
2011: Mercy Me, It's Broccoli
2010: Size Six...
2009: Homecoming

Advent Day Thirteen: Traveling Pregnant

When I was five months pregnant with Elvis, I thought it would be a really fun idea to travel by plane with Lydia, who was ten months old, by myself, to meet Brandon and his baseball team in Florida over spring break.  As I maneuvered down the center aisle of the jet with Lydia on one hip and her car seat on the other, a diaper bag slung around my shoulder, and my significantly larger belly than my first pregnancy leading the way... this idea, maybe it was not so good, I thought.

A few years later, Elvis, Lydia, Brandon's grandma Garnet, and I traveled by Grand Marquis ("the Mercury," as they called it) from Ohio to Florida to meet Brandon after Christmas.  Brandon was working a bowl game in Florida, and we concocted a plan to get Grandma south for the winter, visit Brandon's brother and sister-in-law, and also only drive one vehicle, buying one-way tickets home. I carried in all five of Grandma's suitcases and our travel bags into the hotel room, and while Grandma did her geriatric exercises ("This is just what I have to do, Bran!") and worried about where her eye drops were, the kids begged to go to the pool (closed for cleaning) and chased each other around the queen beds.  Meanwhile, Henry squirmed in my womb.

Life does not stop for pregnancies.

I love challenges like these: You don't think I can handle this?  Watch me.  Watch me load my car with three of the loudest children ever birthed by a woman and drive to... anywhere!  The grocery store, the department store, a restaurant, the zoo, the movies, you name the challenge, I will jump on board.  At the end of the day, I will sink into the couch cushions, satisfyingly exhausted, and celebrate my triumph over a typical day of motherhood with a glass of merlot. Or Maker's Mark, if I'm feeling especially accomplished.

The reasons people have to stretch themselves this way aren't always rewarded by a personal geriatrics demonstration or the full-on open-faced snoring grandmother in the passenger seat. They don't always result in meeting up with loved ones and settling into a week of relaxing in the sunshine, laughing about makeup cases and eye drops.

Joseph and Mary find themselves near the end of Mary's pregnancy, summoned to return to Bethlehem for a census.  I'm sure that they didn't want to go.  It becomes evident in the next few passages that they didn't have family to stay with in town.  Echoing Jesus' call to "render unto Caesar's what is Caesar's and to God what is God's," Joseph and Mary heed the edict to return to Bethlehem, obeying the government even though it is complicating their lives (there's also the fun tidbit about fulfilling prophecies regarding the location of the Messiah's birth, but that's another day).

Life does not stop for pregnancies.

"In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register. So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child." - Luke 2:1-5

Advent Activity: Popcorn and pajama movie night
It's Friday, again, which means it's movie night, again!  We recorded Home Alone, and I think that's on the schedule for tonight.  Given their reaction to any kind of bloopers and Looney Tunes, I think they'll love Home Alone.

Advent Day Twelve: Mary's Song and My Song

I learned something new today, thanks to Wikipedia: Mary's song in the book of Luke makes strong allusions to Hannah's song in 1 Samuel 2:1-10, and if you have some time, go back to the first book of Sam and give it a read, then follow along with Mary in Luke 1:46-56.  The parallels are fascinating as these two women - one who is unexpectedly pregnant at a very young age, and the other who has prayed to God for years to be blessed with a child - yet both songs praise God for the blessing of a child.  Regardless of the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy, both women rejoice.

Here's a little pregnancy poem, from my book Pruning Burning Bushes, that takes some of the language of Scripture and incorporates it into my own song, certainly no Magnificat, but a celebration and recognition of this mysterious and miraculous season.

"Last Born"

My final incarnation,
word of hope made flesh
in me—the hour draws
nearer. Right now, you nudge
my ribcage with your hand,
or elbow, or knee. Season
of mystery, I drink
a glass of sweet tea
to feel you move in me…
If only joy always came
as easily. For now I am
indwelt, possessed
by holiness, but soon
I will be an open wound,
abandoned, singular but
whole. Every living thing
must grieve as its last seeds
leave, like me, aware
that any blessings after this
will just be birthed on earth,
miracles delivered everywhere,
every ordinary day. No more
my pulse so close to yours.
No more will come
from this womb—it is time
to rejoice, time to mourn.
You are my last born.

"And Mary said:

'My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful
of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever,
just as he promised our ancestors.'

Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home." - Luke 1:46-56

Advent Activity: Package Christmas Cookies

Tonight, we are supposed to wrap up the cookies we made and prepare them for delivery!  This is one of the less exciting advent activities, and I have a strong feeling it will be me, in the kitchen, listening to Christmas music, with my Ziplocs, getting the cookies ready, while the kids play in the basement.  Wee!

Damaged Goods

Let's talk about sex. Ba-by.

Last night I spent about three hours reading and revising an essay that just won't stop growing, called "The Valley of Achor."  I keep trying to trim it down and it keeps rebelling, begging for more, more, more words when I want to make it shorter.  The darn thing just needs to say what it needs to say, and it keeps thinking of more things it needs to say.

It is an essay about obsession, infatuation, and love.  It is about sex and faith and God and mercy and redemption.  I have thought so much about these things for the last thirteen years, ever since I prayed at 18 that whatever was causing my period to be two weeks late would go away.  It did.  I don't know if I was pregnant.  I suspect that I was and that I miscarried, based on the number of times I've miscarried since that personal crisis in college.

Now, I am happily married, to a different man than the one I dated in college.  That man's shadow has followed me like a ghost these thirteen years, sometimes more often than other times.  We dated on and off for a year and a half, and I gave myself to him in many ways.  I would have married him, if he had asked.  Needless to say, he left a major imprint on my life.

This morning, Matt Walsh, a popular blogger with many, many good things to say, posted a blog on abstinence.  I agree with much of what he has to say, but I take issue with two things: his tone, and this sentiment:

"...Are you satisfied that what you give to your spouse is now secondhand?  If they tell you they feel happy or neutral about the fact that they gave themselves to someone other than their spouse, you’re dealing with someone in a very dysfunctional marriage. Any honest person in a healthy relationship would tell you they’d erase those moments from their lives if they could. ...That means millions have had to look at their spouse and say — probably silently in their own heads, deep in their subconscious — 'I have nothing new to give to you.'  It’s a tragedy, really. It’s a shame. You deal with it and you move on, but 'casual sex' has taken its chunk and you’ll never get it back." - Matt Walsh blog

When Brandon and I met, I was worried about revealing my past to him.  He was a Christian, the first believer I had seriously dated since becoming a Christian myself, and I worried that he might condemn me or reject me because I was "secondhand," no longer a virgin, impure.  When the time came to discuss these things (and honestly, we pushed the topic to the front of the line way faster than we should have), there was no condemnation, because he had failed in this area, too.  

Did these pre-marital relationships affect our relationship?  Absolutely.  Probably they still do, to some degree, the ripple effect of loving someone deeply and then losing them lasts for a long time.  However, Matt is missing a vital element of the message of the Cross. From Romans, "Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus" and slightly later in the same chapter, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

In all things.  The power of the Cross is not that we might strive for perfection and receive our reward based on how good we've been.  The power of the Cross is that we are free from the burden of perfection and made holy and pure through the redemptive love, grace, and mercy of Christ.  Not because of anything we've done, but only because of Christ.  Only because of the Father's love.  Only because of the power of the Holy Spirit.

I don't think I can regret for myself anymore the decisions I made to have sex before I married Brandon.  Maybe I regret how long I spent seeking after a person who no longer loved me back.  But that crisis in my life drove me to my knees, it woke me up to the realities of my imperfection and my lack of control, it released me from the grip of "do good things" and delivered me into the garden of "I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with unfailing kindness."  Not condemnation.  How can I live in regret when God has delivered me into that garden?

Teach your children abstinence. Not because they will carry regret and shame with them the rest of their lives if they don't.  Not because they will be "damaged goods" otherwise, "secondhand" to the spouse they marry.  Not because they might have a baby out of wedlock or get a sexually transmitted disease.  Those are not good reasons.  They are not true reasons.  They are symptoms of a deeper emptiness or injury and they ignore redemption.

Teach your children abstinence because purity is a worthy pursuit, and abstinence is one facet of purity.  But it isn't the only one: purity manifests itself in our thoughts, our words, and our deeds.  It might please God that you are seeking purity, but that isn't why he loves you.

Attacking sex as the only manifestation of purity or impurity does what we Christians have done for centuries - identified one sin to place under a spotlight as worthy of condemnation.  Teach your children all of the worthy pursuits - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control (that's where abstinence fits in this list).  And when they fall -- because they will, in some way, fall -- be prepared to extend the same grace and mercy Jesus Christ extends to you, every single day of your broken and imperfect life.

"Jesus straightened up and asked her, 'Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?' 'No one, sir,' she said. 'Then neither do I condemn you,' Jesus declared. 'Go now and leave your life of sin.'" - John 8:10-11

Confessions of a Tubal Ligation

It's been a week since our newest, and last, son - Henry Delbert - arrived safely into the world via c-section.  He is absolutely beautiful, perfectly content and as predictable of a baby as I've experienced.  Ever since we became pregnant with Henry, I've been coming to terms with this being our last baby - treasuring every little bump and kick in spite of heartburn and general discomfort during pregnancy, and now, as each day passes and Henry grows (and cries, and hiccups, and chirps, and poops, and sleeps, and stretches, and eats), I find myself experiencing similar bittersweet emotions about this phase of life coming to a close. 

Brandon and I decided this would be our last baby almost before we were pregnant with him.  I have to admit that I love being pregnant, and I love having babies, in spite of the discomforts that come along with pregnancy and c-sections.  We planned on having my tubes tied several months ago, though in my heart I could only commit to being 95% sure this should be it.  After all, I'm 28.  Most of my friends and acquaintances my age aren't even considering starting families until they are safely out of their twenties, and here we are, putting a stop to the baby making business?

However, last night as I was feeding Henry, I realized that we've been trying to make babies, recover from losing babies, or birthing babies every year since we got married.  I've been pregnant every year since 2004, counting my three living and breathing miracles as well as four miscarriages.  It has been a long season of baby-making, baby-losing, and baby-birthing, and it feels good to be done.  I will remember this period of life as one of significant growth, spiritually and emotionally, and rejoice in all that has happened in these seven years.  All good things must come to an end, after all, and I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to carry these babies - for my three children, Lydia, Elvis, and Henry, and for the lost babies.  God carried us through some very difficult chapters of our marriage the last eight years, including those miscarriages, and though walking through those valleys was probably the hardest time of our lives so far, it also taught us a lot about God and our relationship with Him.

Now that the decision is official, and permanent, I am surprised at how relieved I am to be closing this chapter.  I am sad at the finality of it all, but every month with any sort of delay or abnormality won't be plagued with the anxiety of whether or not I'm pregnant.  I can claim back my three c-sectioned body (once it heals).  We can plan our future vacations knowing we will need one roll-away bed in our hotel room and space for three car seats in our vehicles.  It is finished.  And a brand new season is beginning. :)

On the Eve of Henry's Birthday

We're creeping up on the final hours before Baby Henry is born, and we're all eagerly waiting his safe arrival into the world.  It is hard to remember what it was like to have Lydia just over five years ago now, especially compared to how Elvis came into the world.  I have to admit to being a little anxious about the delivery and post-delivery in light of the trouble Elvis had when he was born, but I also know that worrying over these things is absolutely fruitless.  Plus, God carried us through that storm, and no matter what happens tomorrow and beyond, we can rest in his presence.  Any time those little worries start to creep up, I've been praying them straight to God -- he can handle them better than I can.

I'm enjoying this last day with the kids and my husband as a family of four - we've gone to the playground and had lunch together, and now we're spending some time outside on the deck at my mom- and dad-in-law's.  Lydia and Elvis picked a bunch of wildflowers from the woods.  The beauty and detail found in nature is marvelous - I love the variety, subtlety in color and scent, and seemingly effortlessness of growth. And then there are the little hands that are picking these flowers - simple, sweet gestures of love.  And now I am sentimental and mushy. :)

Probably the next time I write will be in between diaper changes and feedings :)  I can't wait to share details of our new little one's life.

Twelve Apples and a Blog

Twelve shiny, locally grown apples are sitting on my kitchen counter ten feet away next to the cutting board, apple corer, slow cooker and paring knife. Fortunately, they are all inanimate objects who can only beckon with their glaring presence. But I have a hot cup of apple cider, James Taylor Pandora Radio, and a blog I haven't updated in over a month because I have been TIRED, BUSY, and PREGNANT.

There, I said it. Come on people, if you know me AT ALL you know how hard it is for me to keep anything a secret. In spite of our miscarriage history, I've always announced pregnancies within a week of finding out myself. I just can't keep it in! How women can go without knowing they are pregnant for months is a mystery to me... I feel like every pore of me seeps out pregnancy hormones for any human being to sniff in the air the minute I find out. I have a radioactive glow that shifts to a pale-ish green around 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. and then again around 8 p.m. It's so friggin' obvious that I'm pregnant, I don't even need to say anything.

Of course, the people that I did tell early on knew it long before I said anything. And you want to know why? TWO people in different circles said they kind of figured, since I didn't want a glass of wine that one night a few weeks ago. This says something about me that I won't point out because we're not talking about wine tonight.

This is my seventh pregnancy and probably my last. BW and I figured this time, maybe we would spare ourselves and everyone else the uncomfortable, "We're pregnant!/We're not pregnant anymore" fun, so we tried to keep it to ourselves. It was really hard the first few days, for all of the reasons I mentioned above (the radioactive glowing, etc.), but then I got excited about having a secret that only my husband and God knew about. That rarely happens - I'm just not a very private person.

My landmark requirement was hearing a heartbeat on the Doppler stethoscope (no, I didn't remember the name of that device all on my own), because we've never gotten that far and lost a baby. Every night for a week leading up to the appointment, I had vivid dreams about losing the baby - miscarrying here, there, and everywhere. It needed to stop. I'm grateful for the prayers of a couple people that I'm convinced helped the dreams end-- the night before my appointment, I dreamt of an ultrasound showing that it was a girl, and that all was healthy and fine. I needed that.

This past Monday, I heard that fast-paced swishswish. My doctor, who has been through each of my pregnancies with me too, might have been as relieved as me. I'll be 11 weeks tomorrow :)

:)

Hearing that heartbeat seemed to give BW and me permission to breathe again. In the past seven weeks, we didn't talk a whole lot about being pregnant, I think in a self-preservation effort. While I began developing all of the first-trimester symptoms of pregnancy, we carried on with our lives as normal. Now we have enough to cling to in order to give in to hope. And we're ready to share that hope for new life with others, able to rejoice, if not cautiously and prayerfully, together.

So that's why I haven't gotten around to making my homemade applesauce.

Elasticity is Heaven

This weekend, I swapped out my winter clothes and the majority of my pants for the bin of maternity clothes. Hello, elastic waistbands! I am twelve weeks along now. It was nice to read on babycenter.com that many women, especially women who have been pregnant before, are likely to be wearing maternity clothes already. I'm in that wonderful phase of pregnancy where you look and feel fat rather than pregnant. The fat is indistinguishable from the pregnant. People don't ask women at this phase of pregnancy whether they are pregnant because we might just be binge eating or off of our exercise routine, which we are, but not just for the food and lazing about -- there's something else going on, too.

The good news is that I think I've turned the nausea corner and graduated into heartburn. I had never experienced heartburn until I was pregnant with Lydia. It was so bad I thought I was having a heart attack. Or something like it. I even went to urgent care. After everything tested just fine, the doc recommended I get some Pepcid AC. Who knew Pepcid cured chest pains? AMAZING. And now it is back, though not as bad as my first episode. It probably didn't help that I thought everything that happened during my pregnancy with Lydia was going to cause me to lose her. Anxiety does wonders for your physical health!

Speaking of Lydia, today is her fourth birthday. Fourth. I can't believe she is so old already! I can see that kindergarten is going to be a real shocker. We had a family party this weekend for her. She was thrilled to have her grandparents down for the day, as was Elvis. They have this obsession with showing people their rooms. Elvis won't stop asking "come see my room!" until everyone has gone up to see it. Lydia follows suit. I'm very glad that we live close enough to our parents that they can come visit for the day.

I have two poetry readings this weekend, one in Marion and one in Columbus. I haven't read in quite a while, it seems, so I'm feeling a little nervous about what to read. I have a difficult time selecting poems to read at these things. I am also having a difficult time finding a sitter for Friday night. So, if you know anyone...

Size Six...

Buying size six pants for the first time since college is a sure sign that, this month, you are sure to become pregnant. It is inevitable--that kind of purchase and that kind of regimented diet and exercise are just the sort of thing easily laughed at in the face of pregnancy.

So rather than succumb to the forces of nature that dominate the first trimester and give up my size six dress pants, last week, while everyone else in my building was on spring break, I wore those dress pants every single day. Who knows when the next time size six will be a reality. Perhaps never!

It is early yet, six weeks in, and every day I wonder whether everything is okay (you know the routine), but we're just plain excited. My first doctor's appointment is next Wednesday. Due date is anticipated to be November 11, 2010 -- 11/11/10. My kids' birthdays are all like that - Lyd is 05/03/06, E is 08/09/07.

It's a good season.

I watched the last of the Beth Moore video series on the fruit of the spirit this week, and it addressed the verse that says, "Don't you know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit?" She addresses the physical fitness ramifications that surface through this verse, the fact that our physical bodies are the residence for the Spirit, and it made me think about the care and consideration I have for my body when I am pregnant vs. when I am not. I am extremely aware of every meal, the amount of water I drink, the amount of sleep and exercise I get, all when I am pregnant. When I am not? Eh, I eat. I drink. I merry. I need to remember that even when a physical person isn't dwelling inside me (weird), a spiritual being is, and he'd like the house to be in tip-top shape, too.

Off to find a remedy for my mild nausea that will satisfy my little lentil bean of a baby ;)