Please check this out

The Marrs-

Good and faithful friends of mine who are pregnant with their fourth child. Please check out their site and pray for the baby.

Thank you.

When you give a girl a closet…part 2

…she’ll write part 1 and days later she’ll get around to writing part 2.

I must say, I am quite proud of the how I’ve organized my closet. I can get to everything. I can see everything. I can reach everything. Mostly. All my clothes are in there. For the longest time I had my clothes in a little cabinet thing. So, I put my clothes in the dresser that lives in the closet. I put tablecloths, curtains, and gift wrapping things into the cabinet. I also untangled all my necklaces and went through all my jewelry. I decluttered, matched, and organized. Isn’t that exciting? It most likely isn’t exciting to you, but it is earth shattering for me.

Today I emptied my bathroom. All the drawers and various things are on my bed which means that I have to get it done so I can sleep on my bed tonight. I am systematically going through each area of my house to streamline, declutter, organize, etc. I’m not doing any marathon cleaning. I’m doing it bit-by-bit. Truth is, if I do the marathon thing I will just end up getting burnt out. I definitely don’t need that to happen, do I?

I look forward to the change my house will take on in the coming weeks! The local scrapbook store will be having a garage sale. So I will go through my craft supplies and get those ready to sell. I would create more things if I could easily get to more of my supplies.

My kids often ask if I’m that little girl in the painting above. I am not, in case you’re wondering.

I like that when I need to wrap a gift I can now get to my supplies easily. My big box of wrapping paper is under my bed.

You can’t see it from this angle, but on the shelf above my dresser is a retro suitcase we found in a garbage in Portland when Christopher was 9 weeks old. (Don’t ask me how I remember that!) It now houses our sheets and several people comment on how cool it is.

The basket on my dresser holds socks. I go through that every once in awhile to match them all up. The basket on the far right, barely visible, holds a box of thread and quilting stuff. The wooden crate holds a a few things that need to be mended [like my monkey and bear from when I was small], my sewing stuff, and a bucket of small scraps. There’s also a cookie tin next to the crate that holds slightly larger scraps. I wonder how many quilts I could make from all my scraps? There’s also a horse that needs fixing. You can see it’s tail peeking out from behind the end of the dresser.  The basket on the tip top shelf holds cross-stitch stuff, sheets of felt, a felt book begging to be finished, a felt advent calendar that I’ll start cutting out in November…of 2024, and a embroidered felt face with googly eyes that says, “We love you Mom”. My best friend and I made that for my mom for mother’s day. It was her last mother’s day. There is also a big plastic box up there full of memorabilia of my dad’s and 2 of his chiming wall clocks that I need to find a place for so I can enjoy them again.

Now, behind my clothes baskets are 2 totes + a basket of fabric. I know that is mild compared to some, but I’m not a seamstress or anything. I just like the idea of being able to create something. Oh look, on the top shelf I have a sewing machine and a huge box of batting with batting sitting on top of the box. Hmmmm. In the yellow bag is Dusty’s birthday present. There are 2 boxes of journals with Catan nestled on top. I wonder how many boxes my journals will take up over the years. There is a small box of my family history. I can’t remember exactly what is in there.

I hope it stays this way. I hope I can stay on top of it. Or at least be reasonable about it. I will not be buying any more fabrics! I will not buy more yarn! I will begin to do something with my stash to bless my friends and family! I hope.

How Can it Be…

…that I’ve been away from my kids for most of 3 days and I’m already worn out and wanting to cry?

…that I’ve spent a very long time making pancakes and my kitchen is messy and I really just want my kids to go outside for a long time?

…that even though I let my eldest son stay up so late playing video games with friends that he is still ungrateful?

…that I feel so alone when my kids are gone, but when they’re here I still have that alone feeling?

…that sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore?

…and that I think I have multiple “me’s” and I can’t seem to reconcile them all?

…that I have so many amazing plans for summer, but when it comes down to it I feel like I’m just treading water?

Is it okay to complain here? Or should I just show the sunny side? I don’t know.

…that I have a practically perfect pancake on the same griddle as a partially burnt pancake?

On another note, my closet is still clean and I will be taking pictures of said closet and other cleaned & organized area and write a blog about that.

Ok. I think I get to sit down and eat one of my chocolate chip pancakes now.

Forgiveness

I received this in my inbox today. It’s from a daily email ministry from Divorce Care.

“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. ‘Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you’” (Luke 6:36-38).

These emails have proven to be very helpful. They know what they’re talking about. They have addressed the heart issues experienced on this journey in such an incredibly timely manner.

Some have told me that I have been far more forgiving than they would be, but  I truly doubt that. You soon realize that being angry, bitter, and unforgiving isn’t in line with living a joyful life. Sure, I still get angry and deal with feelings of unforgiveness. I’m constantly asking the Lord, “How can I be forgiving and angry at the same time? Is it even possible for a human such as myself? It’s truly not even worth the work to walk in anger. I’ve been told to demand money from him for months. Why? It wouldn’t produce any good effect. I guess I’m just saying this to let you all know that I am no saint. Many of you know that already.

Whatever good is in me is not of me, but of Christ. I am clothed in Him. He covers all my flaws & imperfections. What you see is Him in me. Not me in me.

I am abundantly grateful this morning. As in, ABUNDANTLY!!!

I was telling a friend this morning that I  do not regret the past 14 years or the choices I made. Psalm 119:71, “It is good for me that I have been afflicted, That I may learn Your statutes.”

My friend had this to say:

God’s plan is perfect

and He didn’t plan the pain

but He knew it would come

and it’s like a good gardener (which I am)

when you know the rains coming, you plant seeds ahead of time

so that when the rain comes

….

corn, baby

all that He put in you

was put there knowing how Satan would attack you

and knowing that in the end

these light afflictions will work in us a far more exceeding weight of glory

Bless the Lord

“These light afflictions will work in us a far more exceeding weight of glory”

AMEN & AMEN

In my life Lord, be glorified. Make that GLORIFIED!

If you give a girl a closet…part 1

she’ll stuff it so full of stuff that she’ll never be able to find anything again. Oh, it’ll start of innocent enough. A few clothes here, a box here, a pile of stuff neatly placed there. It won’t be super organized, but it won’t make you afraid to open the door either. After all, it is a usable closet.

I get this great idea to pull everything out of my closet, organize it all, get rid of a few things, then put it back in. I figured it was a 2 hour job at the most. All my kids helped me empty it, oohing and awwing at all the neat junk..I mean, stuff I have. So, I spread it out all over my bedroom and began the job of decluttering. It is the end of day 2 and I’m not completely done. Once I started going through things I had ideas of this going here and that going there. I’d give you all the details, but I’m sure they’re pretty boring. In the end I still have a small layer of things on my bed, but I got rid of 1 bag of garbage, 3 bags of clothes, and an entire Mary Kay binder full of samples. I am donating the make up and clothing to a local women’s shelter. I want my donations to matter and sometimes I’m not sure that my donations matter so much at Goodwill.

I started with my closet because I have this grand idea of decluttering & organizing the entire house by the middle of August. Well, maybe not the garage, but at least the livable space. Am I asking or expecting too much? That could be true. However, I have had this nudging for several months that I need to simplify. Sell or give the things I no longer us or want. Keep what we need, what we use, and the irreplaceable memorabilia. I need to know what we have and we don’t have. I need to figure out who needs backpacks, coats, shoes, socks, etc. for the school year so I can gather these things during the summer by garage saling and thrift store shopping. I don’t want finding things to be a major task. I want things to be easy to put away or to find. I don’t think I am asking too much. I think I am being reasonable, in fact.

I have so many supplies to create beautiful works of art…well, maybe not beautiful, but fun. I never do them or let the kids do them because it’s such a major chore to get to the materials. I have a couple dozen empty picture frames waiting to be used. I have fabrics waiting to become quilts, skirts, curtains, and gifts. I have children asking me to teach them to sew and knit. I can do both things, but not very well. Kelly used to tease me about being able to do many things that he had no idea I could do because I didn’t do them. I do want to create beauty daily. I want my kids to do the same. I want to be living artfully…I want to know what it means to live in such a way. I want my home to be a place that inspires others to tap into that creativity that we all have, just like I believe we all have a story to tell. It just comes out in different ways. [By the way, I happen to think I am one of the more un-creative & un-artistic people I know. I just like the creative things and the idea of being an artist.]

I started with a simple closet story.

I digressed. Sorry.

Here’s what my room looked like after I pretty much emptied my closet.

Summer Days?

You would think it was winter by the way my oldest daughter was dressed. A turtleneck and long pants. Sitting in the sun selling Kool-Aid because it is  a hot day. She sold a gallon & made over $3. I think only .75 was from me. Now she is all excited about buying more kool-aid, sugar, and cups so she can sell more. I didn’t make her pay for her supplies this time since I had them all on hand. I have no idea why I had kool-aid…probably from a garage sale 2 or 3 years ago. {Please don’t judge me for letting my kids drink something that is pretty much like mainlining sugar.}

I made her change her clothes when we were going out in public.

Summer. I am so excited for summer. I missed out on last summer. I barely remember the blur of last summer. A fact that makes this summer all the sweeter.

I know we have mild winters here in the Willamette Valley of the Pacific Northwest, but I have never been so cold for so long. I will never ever complain about the heat or the mugginess ever ever again! Even on the one or two nights it is too hot to sleep, I will count it as a blessing.

My summer plans are great! I keep adding so many wonderful ideas to the list. Things like: declutter and organize the entire house, go on hikes with the help of my handy Oregon Hiking Guide, do the summer reading program at the library, go to the beach, go tangleboxing, continue on with the reading, writing, and arithmetic, and getting ready for the coming school year.

I have made the decision to not continue homeschooling my children. I know. It’s pretty much the unthinkable in certain homeschool groups. I know that some reading this may raise an eyebrow or two, but really, I don’t know how I can continue to do what I’m doing. I’m a single mom now. I have no veritable job skills. [I'm not sure what veritable means or if it even applies to what I'm talking about, but it popped into my head and I liked the sound of it.] I need to work. I need to get educated so I can make more than minimum wage. I will be going to Chemeketa Community College to pursue nursing, the same thing I’ve wanted to do since 1993.

Part of me thinks that by doing this that I’m not trusting the Lord to provide. A large part of me thinks that I’m a failure for not persevering in this homeschool journey. Am I throwing my children to the governmental beasts? I’ve been to enough homeschool conferences and read enough homeschool blogs to know what others are thinking. But you know what? I’ve met some incredible people who were public schooled. I have felt emotionally drained and overwhelmed in such a way that I wonder if there is more to give. This has been a tough year. I am stronger, but tired. I know that by saying I need a break from my kids is akin to saying I want to send them to boarding school. I didn’t base this decision based on what is best for me, but rather what is best for my children and for us as a family. One friend pointed out that if I kept my kids home due to my fear of what my friends will think, then I am being selfish. Needless to say, I will be selling some homeschool stuff. Not all of it, but a good portion of it. It will be sad for me to give up part of who I am. This isn’t the plan I had for myself, but I do need to get us out of debt and do what I can to ensure that I can refinance the house at some point.

So, I feel like this is the summer for change. The last summer of my life as I know it. Well, maybe last year was the summer that was the end of my life as I knew it.

I need to figure out where to begin my summer planning. There are berries to pick, fruit to pick, food to can and freeze, beaches to be loved by us, and trails to be explored, there is also laundry to be done, shelves to be organized, and clothes to be mended. There are countless creative projects waiting my attention. I have all these artistic sort of things I want to do, but neither the time or skill to do them.

Onto the new adventures of the Taylor Tribe.

Water

We take it forgranted…

Except when we don’t have any.

A pipe broke outside our house and we didn’t have water for a bit. It was less than 24 hours that we were waterless. I felt selfish by being annoyed at such a small thing. It wasn’t as if I’d have to cook, drink, and bathe with the water from the creek out back. I would’ve just gone to a neighbor’s house for good, clean water and a shower had I needed to.

Water.

A simple thing, really.

Yet.

Millions die due to lack of clean water.

I’d suggest giving to a certain organization whose mission is getting clean water to people, but I’ve not studied them out. I just googled it, though, and there are many who are doing just that. I know my kids have given money before, but I can’t seem to recall to whom.

Jesus tells all who thirst to come to Him. Sometimes people don’t even know they are thirsty because they are temporarily quenching their thirst with other things. They don’t know that once they taste of His water it’ll ruin them for anything else. They may try other things, but it will never satisfy.

Hey, all you thirsty people out there, yeah, you. Jesus says, “Come to me..and I will give you rest.”

Drink and be rested.

I like that idea.

It Must Be Said

First of all, I want to lament that I lost an iPhoto library. I think I accidentally deleted it. Kaput. Gone. Into oblivion…or Bolivia, which is what first came to mind.

Now, I know that what I am about to talk about will not illicet a lot of comments. I know that some of you may not even like what I have to say, but it is all I can think about today. So, I will share it in hopes that God is glorified and that by some chance it encourages a fellow sojourner. Mind you, I am going to be very honest here.

Exactly one year ago today I asked my husband to leave until we could figure this marriage thing out due to evidence of his extramarital affair. He never came back. I was tossed aside like trash in favor of a woman he had met three weeks earlier. We had built a life together. Not a particularly lovely and fulfilling life, but it was ours. I had the expectation that I would be with him until I died. Things were so hard, but I knew that God could be glorified and that there was always hope. When I realized what was going on I called one of my best friends and said, “If you’re 99.99% sure that your husband is having an affair or about to have an affair, do you fight for your marriage [which is the right thing] or go ahead, let it happen so I can be free of this?” See, I told you I would be honest. Are you shocked? My very close friends know what my life was like. I did not give up. I was hurt and angry, but I did have hope for awhile. I even called him while he was at the beach with her and said that I believe our marriage is worth fighting for and that I love him. He did not share that sentiment.

I am not writing this to tell you of the ways he failed me as a husband. I failed him as a wife and friend in many many ways. I didn’t adore him as he needed to be. I held bitterness in my heart toward him. I never truly forgave him for the hurt he caused me. I did pray for him, but certainly not enough. Sometimes I wonder if I would have prayed more if that would’ve changed the outcome. I was angry. I was not always easy to live with. I’m sure my friends can attest to more of my shortcomings, but I didn’t come here to talk about how we failed one another.

I’ve come to talk of the faithfulness of God.

I don’t remember what I’ve said before so bear with me if I’ve repeated some. Lots of encouraging words have come my way in the past year, but honestly, if it wasn’t an email or instant message I won’t be able to recall it as easily. I talked to  countless people those first few weeks. I was covered in prayer. I am so thankful for that. Thank you for bearing my burden with me. One friend wrote, “You are not alone. And you are beautiful. You are loved, truly and deeply.” I did not believe him. He still says those things to me and I laugh, but not out of disbelief. Around that same time I wrote this to my dearest friends, “Again, I am fully aware that [he] and I may never be back together, but God can change us both in such radical ways that we will be unrecognizable. New creatures. I am walking in faith and believing the victory is the Lord’s even if I don’t know what that ‘victory’ may look like. God fought Gideon’s battle, I expect Him to fight mine. I am scared. I don’t like not knowing what the future will hold for my children and me.” It is true. It is not my battle. At this time I do not seek nor desire reconciliation, but as I read that sentence I find no room for objection. My lovely sister-in-law gave me this word, “God put his words in my mind – “Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord.” Strength will rise as we what? Wait upon the Lord. I don’t like waiting. Here’s on last thing I’ll share with you that I wrote to my pastor during that time, “Oh, I wanted to share a picture the Lord gave me. I saw complete desolation of the land after a fire or volcano and how black and  charred everything looked. There was no beauty in that. However, underneath the destruction there was a little seed that only germinates in such cases. It begins to grow. Those places begin to grow all kinds of vegetation and the wildlife come back. Within a few years it is hard to imagine that there was nothing there. I’m holding on to the idea of that little seed in my life. Hoping it will grow.”

Guess what has happened? A few weeks ago that picture came to me again only there was some vegetation growing. It was no longer desolate. I am no longer desolate. I am growing and changing and God is making it all beautiful. Not me, but things in my life.  There were countless times that I’d say to God, “Hey, will something grow here? I’m waiting. I’m tired of hurting! Are you listening?” He was listening and I am still tired of hurting, but the pain is not as sharp.

Oh wow. I just remembered that my friends brought me meals for a bit. That was amazing. I’m sure my kids were so thankful since they were left to fend for themselves while I felt like I was dying. Something in me was dying. But it had to and now I feel like I am coming alive. It’s like the caterpillar turning into a butterfly. It has to be totally broken down and made into something new.

Today a friend told me I inspired him. A few months back another friend told me she thinks I’m amazing. All I can say is that it’s all Jesus.

Oh, one more thing before I go. First, go listen to this song, then come back here. We sang this in church one day and I this picture came to me. I’ll give you a little background then go into the picture in my head. So in the beginning my friend asked me “Who are the men in your life that fight for you?” I didn’t know what he meant so he said, “How do I fight for you? I give voice to your needs before God. Intercession, lost art of the warrior. You will also know that a man fights for you when he speaks Gods word over you. In order to recognize that, you’ll need to know God’s word to you.” In light of that, here is the picture.

This came to me in a form of storyboards for a movie. The background is white, the drawings are rendered in charcoal. The people are in stick figures. First scene: Tight shot. The setting is a battle field. There I am in a fetal position in the center of the battle. There is a sword and a shield lying next to me. My eyes are tightly shut. My friend is standing next to me brandishing a sword in his right hand. In his left is a shield that is over me. Next scene. A bit wider angle. There is a battle raging. I open my eyes and see the destruction. I am scared. I will not move. My friend is still standing over me speaking to me, but he is listening to someone he calls the Captain. He’s passing the Captain’s words on to me since I can’t seem to hear the Captain clearly. Next scene: Wider angle. The Captain is dancing around us and He is singing. I incline my ear. I still can’t quite hear him. My eyes are on the battle. My friend is still talking to me and telling me to look to the Captain. I am not in such a tight ball, but I am still lying on the field. Next scene: My hands are slowly reaching out to my sword and shield. I am beginning to hear the Captain for myself. So I listen more intently. Next scene: I am on my knees, still clutching my weapon. I am watching the Captain and listening. My friend is still speaking the Captain’s words. I can hear both. Next scene: I am up, back to back with my friend. Fighting the battle. My eyes on my Captain, Jesus, my ears inclined to His song. My friend still speaks the Captains words to me and I to him.

Isn’t that what we do as brothers and sisters in Christ? We bear one another’s burdens? Others, besides him, have walked with me in this. I am so grateful. I have made a few new friends who are as faithful as though they have always been with me. Many older friendships have grown more tender and intimate. Godly men have come out of the woodwork to speak life into the lives of my children. I have learned to not hide so much. I still hide and I still hurt and I still do foolish things. But I am learning something. I am learning to climb. When I feel stuck on this journey I just continue to climb. Sometimes I sit for a rest and let others fight for me, but I eventually get up. I am thankful for this past year. I am not who I was.

I feel free. I feel alive. I’ve even felt happiness and joy for the first time.

In the past year since my husband has been gone my life has drastically changed. Hope is more real to me than ever before. I have spent month walking in faith that the things He says really are true and desperately hoping that I get to see them come true. Faith is real. Hope is real. The Captain, my Refuge, my Protector, my Friend…He’s real.

Birthday Letter to My Boy

My dear Christopher,

You are now 13. You are noticeably taller than myself and you act surprised every time you notice it. Your voice is lower than it was last year. I wonder how much deeper it will get. I wonder a lot of things about you.

But mostly I know you are amazing.

I have watched you over this past year. You have handled the pain and trial with strength. You have struggled to find who you are in this family as the oldest male in the house. You have been my greatest asset in overcoming the obstacles I couldn’t see past. When my heart had been broken you made sure the kids were fed and had their naps. I didn’t even know what time it was. You shared your broken heart with mine. The life that we knew had crumbled and we were all left to pick up the pieces. You were amazing!

You heard God speaking to your heart in your brokenness. I held you as you said through your tears, “I think God wants me to minister to young boys whose fathers have left them.” I don’t doubt that. God takes our trials & brokenness then redeems it for His purpose. He brings goodness out of something that seemed so bad.

You have grown so much. I think the thing I appreciate the most about you is your honesty. When I ask a question like, “How can I improve in my relationship with you guys?” You tell me exactly how I can do that. You don’t seem to hold anything back. I may look sad when you say such things, but it is because I know it is true, but I respect you so much for your honesty.

One day I was having a tough time. You grabbed me in the hallway, wrapped your arms around me, and prayed for me. That was a wise, loving, and manly thing to do. Thank you. Thank you for being quick to pray for me.

Thank you for your kisses, hugs, cuddles, and pleas to be with me. I know I seem put off by it sometimes, but I realize what a gift it is to have a big boy that isn’t afraid to kiss his mama in front of his friends.

Oh hey, here’s another thing I’m proud of you for. You get up 3 times a week for your job. You’ve never complained. Even when you made your way through several inches of snow only to never have the bus arrive. You waited for 20 minutes and I’m sure you weren’t dressed warm enough. You are not a money waster. You are generous with what you have. I love that about you. I love that you gave me money so your little brother & sisters could give you a gift, but let’s not tell them about that.

I love that you listen to Dave Ramsey and are on board with us getting out of debt.

I love that you have embraced art. Your drawings are amazing!

I love that you have been faithful in ballet for 7 years now. SEVEN years! Wow.

I love that you can talk to me about the girl you like and that you let me tease you about it. I like that you know there’s nothing you can do about it so you just go on being friends.

I love that you are friendly, outgoing, and not afraid to talk to strangers. You make friends quickly. Quicker than I am able to.

You are 13. You are at an age that none of us want to revisit so enjoy it. Be wise with your time as a 13 year old. You will, no doubt, do foolish things. Be quick to recognize when you do them and wise enough to not do them again. Choose your friends wisely. Do hard things. Don’t follow the path of least resistance. That means to not follow whatever seems the easiest. The easiest isn’t always the best. Make choices that will benefit you later down on the line even if it makes things harder now. Work hard. Talk to Jesus. Seek him. Ask Him about all the things that hurt in your heart. Draw near to him. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

I love love love you. I love you forever, I love you for always, as long as I’m living, your mommy I’ll be. I love you to the moon and back.

And please, for the love of our neighbors, could you mow the lawn soon?

Love,

Your mama

p.s. I posted this on my blog with a picture of you. I didn’t edit out that little booger in your nose. Sorry.

p.p.s. You probably know that already since I probably didn’t have time to write it in your journal first. Probably because I can’t remember where it is and my room is so very messy.

one more thing: you probably shouldn’t use the word “probably” so often in such a short amount of time.

Here’s the story…part 2

So, here we are living with the midwife until after I give birth. The plan was for me to move back into the foster home and continue the job I had. After all, I can pick up a 250lb. man on my due date. I rocked that place. I loved them and they love me. [Oh, the stories I could tell. My people there are long gone, but my heart melts when I think of them.] They delighted in watching me get huger and huger.

Anyway, we had been there for 2 weeks and still no baby. I had already downed castor oil in an effort to start labor and that didn’t work. It did make me want to throw up and I ended up sitting on the toilet a lot. {Is that too much information?} My due date was May 21, it was now June 4, but really it was miscalculated and I wasn’t overdue at all, but I had the perception that I was. So, we travel up to Portland for an ultra sound. The friendly doctor says, “It looks like you’re right on time. Not overdue at all. You might want to let your midwife know that the baby does have a large head, but it’s ok. Don’t worry. If you want to induce labor you can try taking black and blue cohosh, use the breast pump, and [one more thing that I really don't want to mention- it makes the very pregnant wives cringe and the husbands grin]. I was far too tired to try all that today so the next morning I decide to give the herbs and the pump a try. Lo and Behold! Contractions start. Sporadic at first. Then every 5 minutes. Kelly is out watching tv so I tell him, “I’m in labor. I think.” He looks at me blankly, says, “Oh.” Then he gets up to go trim the hedges. Huh? Poor guy was in shock, I guess. So, I go back to my room. The phone rings and it’s my dad. I tell him that I think I’m in labor. He’s overjoyed. I realize we should probably go get some groceries so Kelly will have food to eat. So, we head out to the store, but first stop in at the foster home to check on my people and pick up a few things from my room. They are all so happy. The old men are telling me to go home and have a baby and the old ladies are smiling and rubbing my tummy. Contractions are now at 3 minutes apart & lasting 45 seconds. After our errands we head back home. After unloading the car, putting groceries away, and tidying up my room I am feeling tired. Contractions are at 2 minutes apart lasting 45 seconds and I can’t talk through them anymore. So we let our midwives know and call my doula, who is now a midwife.

Labor labor labor, lots of peeing, lots of wondering when it was going to be over. I took 30 hours to dilate to 10 cm. I was getting tired. I started getting delirious. I had to stop drinking because the baby was making it so I couldn’t pee. My dad kept calling. My midwives wanted me to go to the hospital and I just kept saying, “No. Women have been having babies for millions of years, I am not about to fail at this.” I don’t even believe the earth is a million years old, but I wasn’t backing down. As I mentioned in another post, I did finally go to the hospital after my dad told me to go. It was probably the only time I ever obeyed him. So, we headed into Stayton hospital.

I’m in so much pain, by the way. Not just the normal labor pain, but Christopher had turned posterier & lodged himself against my pelvic bone. He was not getting out like that.

We get to the hospital and Dr. Yeager comes in and says, “I’m choosing to give you a C-section. We can’t find the baby’s heartbeat. If you don’t want a C-section you may call in another doctor. I am giving you one because I have a woman in the hospital right now that was in a similar situation. She chose vaginal birth and it was so traumatizing to her and the baby that they are not bonding. They’re both in shock. I’m not doing that again. You will not need a C-section again, you will most likely have a very good home birth next time.” I chose to bond with my baby.

Now I’m sitting on the edge of a hospital bed having these contractions every 30 seconds or so. Crying. Scared. Then the anaesthesiologist comes in, tells me he’s going to poke me in the back during a contraction, then I can lie down. I really wanted to see the needle. I asked Kelly to look and he swooned a bit then informed me that he was not looking at that thing.

Now, I’m pain free. I’m lying on my back being prepped for the surgery. I’m extremely loopy now. Talking about all kinds of things. My drug doctor, Chris, was part chinese & grew up in Hawaii. So we talked about that. I asked him to hold my hand. He said, “Don’t you want your husband to hold your hand?” I do have 2 hands. They each held one. He tells me that I will be numb from the chest down and won’t be able to feel myself breathing, but we’ll keep talking and I’ll know I’m breathing since you can’t talk without breathing. A few seconds later I look at him, my new love, and gasp, “I [big gasping breath] can’t [big gasping breath] breathe! [big gasping breath]. Then I laugh because I rememer what he said before, but who can blame me. I was numb! Have you ever had your lungs feel completely numb? Didn’t think so.

So, sweet baby Christopher was carved out of my body. Kelly holds him above me & proclaims through tears, “It’s a boy!” I look up and see baby but and the biggest set of…well, there was not doubt, it was indeed a boy. Kelly leaves to show him off and I’m still there holding the hand of my drug doctor. (I’ll just say right now that I am not in favor of drugs during labor, but man, did it make me happy and I didn’t have a choice.) So now they’re sewing me up and I’m getting impatient. I keep asking, “How much longer?” “What are you doing in there anyway?” “Is that your fist in my uterus?” “I felt that”. On and on. I couldn’t stop talking. I even said, “Why can’t I stop talking? I sound so dumb.” They were a good audience, though…and I’m still holding the man’s hand. Finally, I go into the recovery room. I’m naked. It’s just me and the Dr. Chris. He has to stay with me to moniter me. It’s June. I’m hot. I’m not into the warm blankets they kept putting on me. I kept throwing them off. I finally realize that I’m in here ’cause I had a baby and I haven’t even held him. I’m horrified! Aren’t I supposed to nurse that baby very first thing? So, Christopher comes floating in. Okay, he didn’t float, but I can’t remember who brought him in, but I remember seeing him being brought to me. Mind you, I am still numb from the chest down. I can somewhat control my arms, but they are also numb. So, I look at this completely perfect baby and say, “Oh my goodness, he looks like a conehead.” I’m sure I kissed that little conehead, too.

Now, this is where I really really embarrass myself. I decide to nurse the baby, but not having much control over my body I ask Dr. Chris to help me. He paused then asked, “Do you want to wait for nurse Inga?” Ummm, nooooooo. I will paraphrase here, I tell him I’ll hold the baby and he can just put ‘it’ in the baby’s mouth. What? Are you serious? I just told a man to do what? It ends up that sweet Christopher didn’t want to eat until about 8 hours after he was born. That child didn’t cry one bit. He just looked at me. He didn’t even sleep. The nursing ordeal went on for some time and I was so matter-of-fact about it. I really didn’t think it was a problem. I lost ALL inhibitions. Next up, the wheel me down the hall to my room. I keep throwing off the blankets and telling them I’m hot. I’m stark naked. Fortunately it was the middle of the night so there weren’t many people around, but Kelly’s mom and pastor were there. I don’t know what they saw. I don’t want to know what they saw!

All night long I look at Christopher and he looks at me. I cry. He doesn’t. I’m in awe. He was so perfect. I couldn’t understand why God chose me to be his mama. I still don’t understand. Especially since I’m so far from perfect. God seriously knew Christopher before he was formed in my womb. Who am I to deserve such a gift? I sang a song to him that I learned from a friend.

I am so small
You are so great
How did you notice me
Out here in space
I am but one
You made it all
How’d you remember me
When I am so small

[chorus]
What am I Lord
that you are mindful of me
mindful of me
care about me
say you love me

Were I a star
You’d be the sky
You were so far
So was I
A bit of sand
Upon your beach
So close at hand
You were out of my reach

[chorus]

I heard a tale
How can it be
You sent a man
As small as me
As big as you
but just my size
you sent him all this way
just to open up my eyes

[chorus]

Oh, I guess I should mention that I had refused to allow them to give me more pain meds because I didn’t want my baby getting them. Dr. Yeager explained that he had just sliced through 7 layers, I had a major surgery, but he would honor my request. I could call the nurses when I was ready. I was sure I wouldn’t be needing anything. I’m tough.

I’m not so tough. It was nice to get feeling back, but when it was about 6-8 inches above my incision I could feel it beginning to burn. I thought I could just breath through it. I’d be fine. So I don’t call. I start sweating. Sweating bullets. I’m in so much pain. I’m trying to lie perfectly still. I’m trying to breathe. I don’t want to call in a nurse now. She might wake Kelly and he had a big test to take in a few hours. So, I wait as long as I can. I finally call a nurse in and calmly say to her that I’d like a little something for the pain. She smiles. I tell her that on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the highest that I’m about a 20. She comes back & gives me shot in the butt. That drug made me sick to the stomach and now the perfect baby wants to nurse and I’m starving. I nurse him and realize this is what being a woman is all about. These things on my chest that are so bothersome actually has a purpose. I am woman, hear me roar…or moo, as the case may be.

Dr. Chris & Dr. Yeager come in. I am now in complete control of myself and am covered up to my chin, as if it would matter now. I am so mortified. I remember every sordid detail. Dr. Chris, thankfully, goes first. He needs to check up on me. Tells me I’ll have some nerve damage in my thighs from pushing so hard for so long. Tells me not to worry about last night. No problem. Kelly says, “You probably see that all the time, right?” The doctors look at each other and chuckle. Apparently the answer was that they didn’t. I never saw that drug doctor again and I’m so glad for that.

This story is so much better when I’m telling it, but since you don’t have the pleasure of sitting on my couch & listening to the story this is the next best thing.

Now, I really must be on my way. I still haven’t really cleaned my house or gone grocery shopping and I don’t want to. WAHHHH!