On Broken Gratitude

Break a vase and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than the love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole. Derek Walcott Nobel Lecture; 7 Dec 1992.

I have been listening to this song on repeat for the last few days.

It is exquisitely sensitive, and delicately tangled.

Sara B echoes my soul: three years ago.

The beauty is that I can relish the feeling of this song,

and leave it behind.

I wouldn't give it all back to start over to rewrite an ending (or two).

My life has become infinitely.... more... because of my shattered soul.

God sealed the pieces of my heart together.

Now when uncertainty builds and fear creeps, I can remember.

God is the glue of my soul.

And He knows exactly how arrange the pieces.

To see with eyes of hope

I wasn't even sure I wanted to go.

Relief Society activities overwhelm me. So many people. Who do you sit next to? What do you talk about? I didn't even know what the activity was so I couldn't run scenarios through my head.

I decided to rock my baby to sleep. I'd figure it out when my arms were empty, right?

I helped Joby settle into a nap. McCallin settled into one, too.

As I crept out of the no-noise zone, I shut the door with the determination to go to the activity.

It was where I needed to be.

I then looked at the clock.

I was 15 minutes late.

My thought process:

I'm late (truth)
I'm always late (partial truth)
Nobody wants to be friends with someone who is late (a sliver of truth)
I will never have friends again (full on 100% lie)

Conclusion: I can't go to the activity. I am unworthy of friendship.

I am completely, totally, and irreparably unlovable.

I wish I could say I was brave enough to cry. I'm not. I'm too proud.

When I don't want emotions, I put them all in a box.

McCallin and I tried playing the grateful game to pry the box open.

I could only think of I am grateful our downstairs neighbor has not knocked on my door to tell me that we are too loud. 

Guys, apathy is real. And it is awful. It whispers that everything is worthless, and that nothing is fixable.

It took an hour and a choice to face all the icky emotions.

And then it all came pouring out, along with the built up tears: I am not successful at one thing. Not one thing. My house is a mess. My baby cries. My birthday cakes don't turn out. My toenails aren't painted.

And McCallin held me. He didn't even get scared. 

He told me through his empathetic tears that if my toenails were really important, we could make time for them.

I cried harder. He is a good man, that husband of mine. 

And then we talked about change. How God knows we are imperfect. He knows that we try and we fail. He knows that we have growing pains. He knows all that.

And yet, He loves us.

He loves us so much that He wants us to be happier, to choose good, to follow His son.

He believes in change. He believes in us.

Who am I to contradict God? Who am I to call up to the cosmos and say, 'nope. i'm the exception. i am beyond hope. i cannot be loved. i am damaged'?

I am praying to see what he sees in me.

And, my friends, I see part grace, more parts ineptitude.

But I am believing again.

Believing in my ability to love.

To be loved.

To change.

To become.

I have a multitude of barbed thoughts, sharp words, rough corners. I am a broken soul.

But by degrees, I can be healed, smoothed, refined.

I can become someone truly beautiful and whole and complete.

Possibly even without painted toenails. :)

We just finished Into the Woods and I am sobbing.

Remember that new growth in my heart? It just can't take it. I can't handle motherless babies, or baby-less parents, or any other combination. And that movie had both.

I also may or may not have sobbed in a children's book when the momma dragon lost her baby.

A dragon for crying out loud.

I am still feeling very pink and raw and tender and vulnerable.

And I can't decide what to do about it.

I almost want the newness to callus over. It sure would make any media intake much easier.

But I do not want to miss the love and the joy that this baby boy brings.

It is worth the extra boxes of tissues to see his smile, hear his cooing, and look into his wondering eyes.

I love that boy.

doesn't this face beg to be kissed?

Guys, he's smiling.

Most of his awake time is spent smiling and cooing. And some crying. And some staring off into space. But mostly smiling and cooing. 

It is the best thing ever.

My little heart just can't take it. I'm so happy that he's happy. I'm so grateful he's in our family. I'm so in love with our little man. I may or may not cry when he smiles. Mascara is not needed in this house. 

He has a whole slew of nick-names. I call him Small One, Little Thing, Sweet Pea, Sweetheart, Honey. And Baby. Of course.

McCallin usually calls him Joby (like Toby, but with a J) or My Son. I kinda think his are cuter. 

I can't believe that my baby is six weeks old. SIX WEEKS PEOPLE!! Do we not realize how old that is?!?!

And more importantly, how in the world do I slow it down?!?!

I'm trying to savor moments, but it is as if I am trying to make concrete out of water. Time flows right on past me, and I am left clinging to photographs and memories.

i love him. 

Amateur Mom-ness

Here we are. 2 weeks from delivery day.

He got home from the NICU on Sunday.

Which means that I've been a full-time-stay-with-him mom for almost 5 days.

This whole mom thing is wonderful beyond compare.

Even though it is sometimes hard.

But hard isn't the right word.

Hard implies strong, tough, rock-like, callous, dense, firm.

And that's not quite right.

It is the softness that gets me.

Like when J got extremely upset (read: squalling/crying until he was entirely red) when I had to set him down. sorry bud. even moms have to use the bathroom on occasion. it isn't betrayal. just normal. promise.

My heart broke. It took McCallin coming home for me to really snap out of it.

Like when J went to the pediatrician and he had a clean bill of health. hooray for a healthy baby!

My heart swelled with joy. I could not stop grinning for the rest of the day.

When he looks up at me with the grateful eyes while he eats. When he is eager to play in the middle of the night. When he lets me know his opinion on how quickly he is getting food. When he kicks off his socks over and over. When I pick him up and his little hands are cold. When he sighs in contentment.

There are a multitude of directions that my heart gets pulled every day.

It is a whole new range of emotions. And reasoning. I even bought him the name brand of medicine. I've never done that (for me) in my life. And life in general.

I'm not quite comfortable with that yet. I don't know if I'll ever be. I have a strong independent streak and a stubborn will.

But this newness is here. I am learning a whole new vulnerable. One that is wrapped up in a fast growing 9 lbs. 2 oz. of pure adorableness.

And my heart is growing too.

Josiah

I am feeling very weepy today. Our baby, my baby, is staying in the hospital while we are going home.

My heart just hurts. I want to be there for all his newborn-ness. I’ve only held him for a couple of hours total, if that. Yesterday he went through all his tricks for me while I was holding him. Yawning, burping, sneezing, pooping, raising his eyebrows to have a wrinkly old man forehead, looking from side to side like he is the villain in a Charlie Chaplin movie.

My favorite trick was when he was hiccuping. It was exactly the same pattern as when he was inside of me. And I looked down at his sweet, perfectly round face and I recognized that he was mine. 

He is my baby. Not Brooke’s, Katelyn’s, Kristen’s, Mary’s or Dr. Jenkins’. Mine. And I want to be the one to take care of him. But for his health and safety, I cannot. I’m not a respiratory therapist, I can’t clear the infection from his lungs, I can’t push 6 liters per minute of oxygen into his body to encourage his heart to relax. 

Oh how I wish I could! I would take him home with me and never let him out of my sight. I may turn into an attachment-parenting advocate, not for him, but for me.

They say that babies are born with certain reflexes. I’ve watched how Josiah wants to use them. They’re real. I’d add that mothers are born with certain reflexes too. And my heart is aching to hold him close, kiss his soft head and whisper ‘I love you’ and ‘welcome to our family’ over and over again. 

The other facet is even more beautiful to me. I have a hard time sharing that my baby is in the NICU because everyone always responds with shock and a sort of commiseration. It is almost as if others expect me to be miserable and they want to support/participate in my misery. Although well intended, it is not what I need. I am not miserable. I am not feeling guilty. I am not drowning in darkness. 

My soul is overflowing with peace. When the waves of sorrow wash over me, I can look up and see His love. It is powerful. I can see His fingerprints. They are abundant. Tender mercies have poured out. God knows me. He knows McCallin. He knows Josiah.

He loves all of us. And we are in His hands. 

Where else would I want to be?

On almost arriving...

39 weeks today.

Can you believe it? I really honestly truly cannot.

The closer we get to delivery day, the further away it seems.

Maybe it is because I feel like I'm starting to get this pregnancy thing down. Seriously,  I'm pro at nausea, achy ligaments, wrangling in pillows to sleep with.

And I'm trading it in for being a momma to a newborn baby.

Delivery day seems to be a sort of end and definitely a beginning.

A brand new adventure.

The more I learn about taking care of baby, the more I realize I do not know anything.  Everyone is an expert and everyone has a different opinion.

For some reason, today that does not seem overwhelming. somedays it does.

I am thrilled to have the opportunity to learn and grow and find new truths and see old truths in a new light.

The most beautiful part is that I do not have to do it alone.

I get to share it with the man I love more than anyone. He is going to be a great dad. :)

I get to share it with the baby I've bonded with over the last nine months. We have daily conversations which usually consist of 'hey baby, I need those ribs. Could you move please?'. And he usually complies. 

I get to share it with my Heavenly Father and learn from his example as a perfect parent.

It is a beautiful day, full of anticipation and peace. It honestly could not get any better.