Blinking back tears

It was time to wash the cover of the infant carseat. I'd procrastinated as long as I could, but knowing it was still on the task list was beginning to keep me up at night. So, I sat myself down on the floor with carseat in front of me and began to dissemble it, loosening straps in order to free the liner. I muttered something like, "I'm sure there are directions for how to put this together again on the web somewhere." I got that seat liner so very clean! And then I went to google. The carseat is too old. The directions are no where to be found. So, with my belly very much in the way, I wrestled that silly thing into submission all by myself. And as I was doing so, I remembered a column I wrote two years ago, when I really thought my carseat wrestling days were over for good. Tears came unbidden to my eyes. I am so very grateful for the chance to to do this all again.

For the first time in a very long time, I am neither pregnant nor mothering a baby. My "baby" is now two years old. And with a certainty that takes my breath away, I suddenly understand why wise women always told me that the time would go so quickly. To be sure, I’ve had more "baby time" than most women. My first baby will be 16 in a few days. I still think it’s over much too soon.

This column is for mothers of infants and toddlers. I am going to attempt to do something I never thought I’d do: I’m going to empathize while not in your situation. My hope is that it is all so fresh in my memory that I can have both perspective and relevance.

What you are doing, what you are living, is very difficult. It is physically exhausting. It is emotionally and spiritually challenging. An infant is dependent on you for everything. It doesn’t get much more daunting: there is another human being who needs you for his very life. Your life is not your own at all. You must answer the call (the cry) of that baby, regardless of what you have planned. This is dying to self in a very pure sense of the phrase. And you want to be with him. You ache for him. When he is not with you, a certain sense of restlessness edges its way into your consciousness, and you are not at complete peace.

If you are so blessed that you have a toddler at the same time, you wrestle with your emotions. Your former baby seems so big and, as you settle to nurse your baby and enjoy some quiet gazing time, you try desperately to push away the feeling that the great, lumbering toddler barreling her way toward you is an intruder. Your gaze shifts to her eyes, and there you see the baby she was and still is, and you know that you are being stretched in ways you never could have imagined.

This all might be challenge enough if you could just hunker down in your own home and take care of your children for the next three years; but society requires that you go out — at least into the marketplace. So you juggle nap schedules and feeding schedules and snowsuits and carseats. Just an aside about carseats: I have literally had nightmares about installing carseats. These were not dreams that I had done it wrong or that there had been some tragedy. In my dreams I am simply exhausted, struggling with getting the thing latched into the seat of the car and then getting my baby latched into the carseat. I’m fairly certain anyone else who has ever had four of these mechanical challenges lined up in her van has had similar dreams. It’s the details that overwhelm you, drain you, distract you from the nobility of it all. The devil is in the details.

You will survive. And here is the promise: if you pray your way through this time, if you implore the Lord at every turn, if you ask Him to take this day and this time and help you to give Him something beautiful, you will grow in ways unimagined. And the day will come when no one is under two years old. You will — with no one on your lap — look at your children playing contentedly together without you. And you will sigh. Maybe, like me, you will feel your arms are uncomfortably empty, and you will pray that you can hold a baby just once more. Or maybe, you will sense that you are ready to pass with your children to the next stage.

This is the place where nearly two decades of mothering babies grants me the indulgence of sharing what I would have done differently. I would have had far fewer obligations outside my home. Now, I see that there is plenty of time for those, and that it is much simpler to pursue outside interests without a baby at my breast. I wish I’d spent a little more time just sitting with that baby instead of trying to "do it all."

I wish I’d quieted the voices telling me that my house had to look a certain way. I look around now and I recognize that those houses that have "that look" don’t have these children. Rarely are there a perfectly-kept house and a baby and a toddler under one roof. Don’t listen to the voices that tell you that it can be done. It should not be done. I wish I hadn’t spent 16 years apologizing for the mess. Just shoot for "good enough." Cling to lower standards and higher goals.

I wish I’d taken more pictures, shot more video and kept better journals. I console myself with the knowledge that my children have these columns to read. They’ll know at least as much about their childhoods as you do.

I wish I could have recognized that I would not be so tired forever, that I would not be standing in the shallow end of the pool every summer for the rest of my life, that I would not always have a baby in my bed (or my bath or my lap). If I could have seen how short this season is (even if mine was relatively long), I would have savored it all the more.

And I wish I had thanked Him more. I prayed so hard. I asked for help. But I didn’t thank Him nearly enough. I didn’t thank Him often enough for the sweet smell of a newborn, for the dimples around pudgy elbows and wrists, for the softening of my heart, for the stretching of my patience, for the paradoxical simplicity of it all. A baby is a pure, innocent, beautiful embodiment of love. And his mother has the distinct privilege, the unparalleled joy, of watching love grow. Don’t blink. You’ll miss it.

Bedrooms and Babies...

It was midnight dance of sorts, that four-times-a-night shuffle I learned to do eighteen years ago. Awakened by the cries of my firstborn, I'd stumble to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. I'd take it to the nursery and lift the baby from his crib. I'd pass the rocking chair on the way back to my bed. (It was too big for me, it turned out, and I never used it.) I'd nurse the baby on one side, change the diaper, nurse him to sleep on the other side and then carry him back to the crib. I'd dump the wet diaper and washcloth in the diaper pail and crawl back into bed for an hour and half of sleep before repeating the dance. If I lucked out. More often than not though, Michael wasn't too happy about the transfer back to the crib and I'd have to nurse him to sleep again sooner than later.

I was committed to attachment parenting; it was the logistics that weren't working. So, desperate for sleep, we tried some things. We wedged the fullsized crib into our tiny bedroom. He hated the crib. We took the side off the crib and anchored it to our bed. He still hated the crib. I slept in the crib with him next to our bed (I was much lighter then;-). He slept; I didn't. Finally, we ditched the crib and put him between us in the bed.

When our second baby was born, we didn't even put up the crib. By the fourth, we'd given it away. Over time, our nighttime parenting and our bedroom design and decorating have converged. Furnished entirely with gifts and hand-me-downs, no other room in our house speaks so much to our lifestyle as our master bedrooms does.

Two summers ago, my aunt moved out of a large house and into a smaller one. She called to tell us that a van was coming to our area to bring some things from that house to a friend of hers. She said she had a few other things and asked if we would like them. Not sure at all what we were getting, we said we'd take whatever. Mike was out of town the day the truck pulled up and it was rather like reality TV to stand at the truck's door and make decorating decisions as previously unknown pieces were unloaded and carried into my house.

A massive desk ended up in the sitting area of our bedroom. I wasn't sure its purpose (and I still don't know), but there was no place else for it and I had vague plans for a desk all my own. It's so huge and was so hard to get upstairs, that whatever we do with it, it's going to stay right there.

A very comfortable armchair worked well in that space, too. The picture above it came off the truck and I knew immediately that I wanted it within sight of my bed. It is an Asian mother and two children. Before this baby was conceived, we were prayerfully discerning a Taiwanese adoption. When the picture arrived, I knew it would be a constant reminder to pray for Taiwanese women and babies upon awakening and before I went to sleep. Even though the adoption plans were set aside, the prayers continue.

The dresser for the new baby was rescued from Bobby's house before he left to play in England. It was falling apart and Michael rebuilt the back. It will serve nicely as both clothing storage and a changing table. The nightstand next to it is from a set my mother bought us when we were married. We moved it away from our bed to make room for baby's bed. Here it holds a stash of diapers and wraps.

And then there's the glider...I am so looking forward to having a rocking chair that's made for a petite person! My sister generously provided both glider and ottoman for the baby. She said that everyone assumes you have everything by the time you get to eight, but sometimes there something you never indulged in that will make this time extra-special. I am looking forward to spending time here. My girls have already filled the side pockets with their collection of First Little House books. And the little touch of pink, the piece that really says "Baby Girl," is the quilt, a gift from Donna Howey.

The baby will sleep right next to me in a co-sleeper purchased by grandparents four years ago for Katie. My mother updated its cover and bought leg extensions so it would work against our new king-sized bed (yet another piece of furniture that came off that truck). I love my co-sleeper and the midnight dance is completely eliminated. A small table my mother found in Amish country sits at the foot of the co-sleeper with a basket of nighttime diapers and wipes and my CD player. No need to get out of bed at all--just reach over, nurse the baby and leave her sleeping in her bed. Diaper changes are bedside business too. There is something to be said for the lessons of experience! Maybe they'll compensate for the fact that I'm forty, have seven other children to care for, and much less energy than I did at 22.

The hope chest was an engagement gift from my father. It survived a flood in my mother's house before I was married and my father-in-law rebuilt the bottom. The baby's scrapbook sits upon it and I sincerely "hope" to work on it in a timely manner.

Though most of our books are shelved in our library closet, each bedroom in the house has a bookcase for special books. Mine is no exception. I loved this bookcase in my parents' house growing up and I think it's perfect in this corner of my bedroom.

When the baby is about a year old, she'll move to the "Rose Princess" room.

There, she'll find a dresser, rescued from my father's storage space and a closet festooned with flowers. The doors kept falling off, so I took them down and hung a curtain and some tulle.

The desk was a hand-me-down we painted (and need to paint again). The bed belonged to the set in my room but belongs to the girls now, who love to sleep together under the canopy. And the bookcase? The bookcase I actually purchased because I just couldn't walk away from it.

I have no idea how the baby will fit into this room, but it's a decorating project that could make for some summertime fun--next year!

The littlest things...

I am so excited about this tiny little bud!

For nine months, I've told myself that that when the mums bloom, I'll be holding our baby.  This morning, in a light rain, I surveyed the garden and I found a little, tiny pink bud!

The rocking chair is at the ready.

We've had a lovely baby shower.

Soon, very soon, we will have mounds and mounds of sweet pink flowers.  Soon, we'll hold our baby.

The more things change...

...the more they stay the same.

A belly shot taken exactly 18 years ago. 

And a belly shot today, the exact same point in pregnancy. There is a three day  difference in due dates for my oldest and my youngest :

Same belly, different baby, and oh, the changes in the time between the two!

"For Real" Friends

Someone recently told me that she didn't have time to blog or message board because she was too busy with her "In Real Life" friends.  She went on to say, somewhat disparagingly, that internet friendships were shallow and somehow false.

I disagree.  We got internet access almost ten years ago.  Since then, I've made friends who are truly precious.  They have seen me through some very trying times.  They've rejoiced with me in some very good times.  And, on rare occasions, they have hurt me like only someone real can hurt.

There are people out there in cyberland who know me very well--we've been writing back and forth for years and we've met in person and we talk on the phone.  And there are some people out there who know me better than I recognize. 

A couple of weeks ago, an internet friend asked if we'd chosen a baby name.  Then, she wrote back and told me she'd remembered it was a secret.  But she guessed anyway.  And since her guess was eerily accurate, I let her in on the secret.

A few days later, after a rousing diaper discussion on the 4Real boards, I had a diaper order ready to go.  And then my mom offered to buy the replacement liner and extensions I need for the co-sleeper. I found both sites, filled both carts and just couldn't press "buy." 

I'm readying the house, but I can't seem to bring myself to ready the baby things. I told my husband about it the other night, but he was the only person on the planet who knew that I can't bring myself to buy anything because I'm scared.  After a heartbreaking miscarriage and two years of infertility, I'm scared to believe this is really true--we're really going to bring home a baby.

At least I thought he was the only one who knew.  Silly me, in this world of connected Catholic moms, I should have known better.  Today, as I sat at the computer, looking again at the crib order, my son brought me a box.  It was a gift from Donna, who knows more than I can bear to contemplate about loss and hope.  In the box was a beautiful pink quilt, perfect for the bed I really do need to assemble.  And with the quilt was a note, encouraging me to revel in these last few weeks of joyful anticipation. It was the first time I've seen the baby's name in print.  She was one who'd guessed.  These friends--these women scattered across the whole wide world and joined in mission and in prayer--these friends are as real as friends get. Not only that, I really think that they are often instruments of the Holy Spirit, real answers to prayer.