The Resurrection and the Life

I've been meaning to post for awhile, but I've reached that level of paralysis from too many things to do.  When there's just too much to increase your efficiency, everything but essentials stall. Or is it just me?

My sons have been very cute lately.  You will hear about all of their adventures soon, I think. That's not what I want to write about today though.

My Grandma passed on to glory recently.  I've been taking comfort in this passage and thought that I would share it with you:

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die."

John 11:25-26

That's  better than anything than I can write   and the best comfort I have. 

Tooth Ache/Sicko

There are days when you think, "it would be so nice to just sit and watch movies today."  Perhaps it is a rainy day or you yourself are just under the weather, but it would be nice to not get up to much.

When you have a toddler, this sort of thinking doesn't go very far.  It gets interrupted by "oh dear, not that! How did you even get that? Put him down! Just breathe, woman, you can do this, let's go outside!" You also notice how your internal dialogue has become an external one again.  Wonder what Vygotsky would say to that!

So these days of idle slothfulness just don't happen.  Or do they?

This past week, my two beautiful boys and I have been quite sick with a miserable head cold (Adrian has been amazing taking care of us when he can and still getting his work done.).  It's the kind where sleep doesn't happen well, though you need it.  It's the kind where the act of breathing feels like flames and bleeding on one's throat.

On top of this, our eldest (herinafter Bigfella) has been pushing through two molars (last count, three prongs of one, one prong of the other are through) as well as dealing with a mild reaction to an immunization.  For a couple of days, all the poor kid wanted to do was sit and watch movies while cuddled up on my lap.  While I'm all for the cuddling, the fact that he wanted to sit and do nothing was heart-rending.  Seeing my active, happy little boy so uncomfortable and busted was bad.  I found myself longing for a bit of his mischief.  Pull the books down! I wanted to say.  I missed his energy and his excitement.  It hurt to see him so miserable and whingy.  And the whinging did get to extreme levels.  Atomic, you might say.

And while my antibodies are helping the younger boy (herinafter Littlefella) - and how do they do that anyway? How can my antibodies give him more immunization than they give me? - he was still coughing and grumpier than usual.

There were two yelling, upset, snuffling, grumpy boys.  And when Bigfella started feeling better we had to have another conversation: Just because you're feeling bad, doesn't mean you should act bad. (Though come to think of it, I probably said be.  Just another example of how I'm a bad mother. ;) )

It's hard being sick, but it's harder being sick when you don't get to stop and rest because people are depending on you.  It's harder watching your kids in pain, and it's terrible when one feels grumpy at grumpiness.  It's harder when the youngest is growthspurting too!

There was a time when Bigfella was 9 months old when he got hit by a really painful teething bout and we couldn't get anything into him - not even water for over 8 hours on a really hot day.  We ended up using a medicine syringe to shoot water and milk down his throat.  That was a bad day.

Teeth have been very difficult for Bigfella.  He's cross cut a couple and he seems to have really tough, nervy gums because it's like pulling teeth (hmmm) to get these teeth through.  The other day, Littlefella yawned and a saw a small white mark on the middle of his bottom gum.  I said a bad word (I didn't swear, but was quite pleased Bigfella AKA Mr RepeaterMan didn't hear me) and pulled his mouth open to have a look.  It was just a milk bit.  I don't know if I could deal with two teethers.

The sun is shining and it's a beautiful day.  We're getting better and can see sunshine from under this mean cold cloud and look forward to days of activity, running around and all sorts.  It would be nice to get up to lots.

11 Things

I write a good deal about certain things in my life, but I thought it might be fun while I have a few spare minutes (nap time!) to mention a few others.

1.  I have an ongoing battle with a bird.  It decided that this was its house a few months ago and perches on window ledges, pooping on everything, tapping the glass and making everything yucky looking.  It will not go away and it would not be right to kill it.  Recently it has decided that it (he? she?) now owns the house and took to attempted to scare us off by flying really close to our heads in a bird intimidation manoeuvre.  I will admit, it was slightly scary, but mainly I was wanting it not to bug my kids.  If it bugs my kids, I may have to change my mind about what's right...

2.  My favourite colours are brown and green.

3.  I'm trying to instil a love for music in my sons, so we often play various genres on youtube and dance around the house.  I also just love the laughter that comes... and seeing which ones my eldest likes.  I've also learned a few songs from this when Adrian chooses the tunes.

4.  I have not legally changed my last name even though I've been married for three years.  Immigration stuff impeded the change and I've not gotten to it yet.

5.  I will not watch horror movies, but for some reason felt compelled to watch part of Jaws 2 when it was on television a couple days after I found out that there was a white pointer (great white) hanging around the beaches in the area.

6.  When I get into a book, I will not hear people talk to me and I just want to finish it.  For this reason now that I have children, I tend to read books that I've already read so they won't distract me to the same point.

7.  I don't appreciate it when songs are not bleeped on the radio.  And I've reached that stage in life when I don't know popular music anymore.

8.  I read more nonfiction (on purpose, vous savez, school reading does not count) since becoming pregnant with my eldest.  Sometimes fiction feels like a wasteful use of my time.  But then so does facebook and I still end up there...  I'm currently reading two books (French Kids Eat Everything and Plastic Free)

9.  I have damaged enough of my joints over the years to get very stiff and sore at the end of long days.

10.  I've never been a morning person, but I now enjoy waking up around 6 every morning. It would be better to do it without a glass of water poured on my face though...

11. When I got my hair cut into its recent style, which I do enjoy, I was sad when Adrian and I both realized independently that it looked like a Bond girl's (from License to Kill) at sometimes.  And when messy, Luke Skywalker's.

Loving a Newborn

As I type this, I have a beautiful five and a half week old boy in my arms.

Did I mention that he's beautiful?

Newborns are amazing.  They are so helpless and fragile and at the same time so strong.  They take up so much time.  They sleep easily and often (but not always when you want).  They grow so quickly and change so much.

I don't have much time to spend just with my littlest fellow, but I try to enjoy the time I do (and yes, I will admit, I don't always enjoy it, but I always love him.  He's had a few difficult crying jags and then there's that whole spews on me thing.).

I love special time set aside to love this newborn.  Kissing his cheeks, nuzzling him, hugging him, talking to him as he grows in front of my eyes.  Hearing his different noises, enjoying his facial expressions as he starts to discover the world around him.

And watching him dream! Oh it's delightful.  He's only smiled for real a few times at this point, but each time it just melts my heart.

Loving a newborn is intense:  little sleep, lots of trying to get things done with one hand, trying to figure out new sounds and cries and all sorts, protecting him from his brother, lots of spew...

But golly, he's amazing.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I've not written much lately.  Parenting to the level 2 is difficult.  Not bad, just busier.  Also, my arms are full of love a lot.  Like now, for instance, which causes me to type one handed.

Man, he's cute.  And dreaming about eating, apparently.

One thing that I really miss about Canada (which also makes me miss certain people a good deal) is Thanksgiving.  While we can't get together with the extended family and experience apple festivals and fall colours, we can still have a fantastic meal.  This year, our good friends Tom and Chelsea are visiting, so that helped to make it festive.

We had a roasted chook with homemade stuffing, rolls, butternut squash Odesa style, mashed potatoes (because I am the queen of mashed potatoes), beans, fancy cheeses, sparking wine, apple pie (with cheddar cheese and ice cream).  It was delicious.

We spent a bit of time sharing what we are thankful for.  There is always so much for which to give thanks!  Like my dear husband.  It's our third anniversary tomorrow.  I love how Thanksgiving and our anniversary are tied together, because I truly give thanks for him and the two beautiful products of our marriage.  My heart grows bigger everyday when I enjoy my sons as they grow and change.  It's quite challenging, being a mother and even more so to be a good one.  I do my best and I'm glad they are forgiving!

I give thanks for friends and family near and far, even though it hurts to love people far away.  I miss you, you know.  Come visit!  I give thanks for health and needs met.

Mostly, I give thanks for that God has done for us in Christ Jesus.  I need that grace to stand, to keep going, to love my family better.

Happy thanksgiving.  Happy reflective time to you.  Happy you.

It's a Birth Story, Baby Just Said Yes

WARNING: Possibly graphic/disgusting information follow.  Read at your own risk of visions burned on the insides of your eyelids.

This is getting long, so it'll be colour coded.  Blue is background information.  Purple is early birth story.  Dark red is actual birth story.  Black is just nonsense/other.  Why do you read this blog anyway?

I knew what to expect and I didn't know what was going to happen.  It was an odd feeling, going into labour the second time.  I was more aware of what happens in my body, having already experienced the most deep and horrendous pain imaginable (and that's saying something. I've had some painful times before childbirth).  Seriously, if it wasn't for the baby at the end, birth would suck.  Knowing that that pain is coming back is not a delightful wait.  You lie to yourself a little.  "Maybe it wasn't so bad.  Maybe, I'm stronger and I'll be able to do this without any drugs at all! Maybe I'll sneeze and it will all be over."  No. That's not how it works and I have one word to let you know why.

Posterior.

For weeks leading up to my second son's birth, I had terrible back pain.  I couldn't sleep well which made life very difficult especially when our elder son (hereinafter "big fellow") was having extremely painful times and difficulty sleeping due to cracking a mean ol' molar.

One moment whilst I shake my head in an attempt to organize my thoughts.  I'm still a wee bit tired and decaf don't help.  Yeah, I said don't.  I appear to have lost my ability to write.  Sad.

I was tired and worn out, in constant pain.  Backache is pretty standard in pregnancy and I assumed that the extreme backache was due to sometimes carrying my 13+ kg son, big fellow, around.  When he hurts, he sometimes wants a bit more cuddling.  Me too, actually.  I'd had one pregnancy massage and was keen to go for a second, booked for next Tuesday.

I was impatient, waiting for my sister to give birth already after being in labour for a week.  Really, I was upset that she was constantly in pain and (at the back of my head) worried that I would get stuck in labour for a week too.

I woke up at 1 am, on Saturday the 8th.  My back was incredibly sore.  I assumed it was due to the usual, plus running around like a crazy person, trying to get ready for the baby and make three soups for the workshop on that day at the church.   I was in so much back pain, I couldn't sleep.  This was pretty standard.  There was a different kind of pain attached this time and it seemed to come and go.  "Oh, dear," I mused, "I think I'm labour."  They weren't bad contractions, though so I attempted to sleep, hoping they'd stop.  I was awake until 4 am.

I finally fell back to sleep and the day started.  Big fellow is an early riser.  We got everything over to the church for the workshop.  I realized that I still had a lot of set up to do and I gleefully did it.  It felt good to be running around, organizing and setting things up.  I ran to and fro our house, getting supplies until everything was ready.

At lunchtime, I took our son home for nap.  Whilst there, I had a bloody show.

If you know what a bloody show is, I don't need to explain it and if you don't, you probably don't want to know.  Needless to say, my theory is blood + pregnancy = going to the hospital.  So, we pulled a friendly friend from the workshop and Adrian and I went to the hospital.  Sure, enough, I was in labour, but only one cm.  I could feel contractions but they were very mild and infrequent.  It made me wonder if last time I'd been in labour much longer, but just hadn't noticed.  Now, being more in tune with that sort of thing, perhaps I was picking up on it earlier.  The midwife sent us home.  It was kind of nice.  I had the chance to shave my legs and get some things done at home as well as spend some good quality time with my eldest.  That was good!  

That evening, Adrian had decided to go to youth group and I decided to fold laundry.  Approximately three and a half minutes after he left, my water broke.  As last time was fast, we decided to get to the hospital.

We had attempted MANY times that day to get ahold of the lady who had volunteered to watch our eldest whilst our youngest was being born, but no dice.  This is a nice example of how God blessed.  Because I'd gone to the hospital earlier in the day, pretty much every lady who was at the workshop offered to take or watch our eldest!  We asked one to come stay at our house, as our eldest was already asleep.

At this point, I was three cms and contractions were probably 7 minutes apart.  They hooked me up to the machine and it seemed on the machine that they were more like 4 minutes or less apart.

Oh, yes.  It's always awkward when someone checks dilation.

We stuck around and by 11, the contractions got quite intense.  Active labour probably started around midnight.  Between contractions, I was making jokes.  It got harder and harder to joke and I started climbing the walls. Not literally.  I did climb the bed though.  It was like an aerobics class with the amount of position changes, wandering and climbing I did.

Labour hurts and I wanted to do it without drugs.  My back felt like it was going to break in half constantly.  They gave Adrian a massage tool to use on my back and I got him to press incredibly hard.  He was shocked as I usually prefer gentle massage.  The next day I had bruises all over my back from the massage tool, but at the time that was relief!  The one midwife tried to heat a hot bag for me and ended up setting it on fire, so the labour room smelled like burnt wheat.  It kind of made me hungry.  They kept me drinking water, so I kept going to the bathroom.  It seemed like the toilet and my uterus were in cahoots as every time I went there, I had the worst contractions, many of them in a row.

My water broke again.  Apparently it had been the hind waters before and now the fore waters broke.

I was in so much pain.  Gripping things seemed to help in contractions and I grasped at the edge of the bed, the rails, chairs, Adrian, everything that was in reach.  I needed to bite things.  I bit the bed.  Adrian (but just the once), Adrian gave me his clean hanky.  I gnawed on that poor thing.  I bit his belt (it was leather and seriously, I was in odd positions, throwing myself about the room, on the birthing chair, the bed, a ball, walking).  The leather was good to bite.  Around 2:30/3, I'd given in and asked for gas, but for the first 20 minutes it wasn't working.  It turned out that it wasn't on.  By 3:30, I was fully dilated and felt the need to push, but it just wasn't happening.  Last time, I was so excited to get through transition, but this felt worse.  I needed to push, but I could feel that my child wasn't moving.  It's like he was stuck.  The midwives moved me around the birthing suite, trying different positions.  I wanted to quit.  I was done.  My back felt broken and then further abused with broken glass or barbed wire.  

It turns out that he was stuck.  In a posterior birth, the child's spine and the mother's spine rub against each other and cause the most terrible pain.  Much, much worse than my first birth.  Then his head did get stuck as the position causes the neck to go back, not tuck under.  All the time they moved me about the room, they were trying to jiggle him free.  Eventually he did turn in the birth canal and come out the way he was supposed to - without any modelling on his head!

Pushing and pushing and pushing. It felt useless and frustrating with little gain.  Eventually, they started seeing the head, but it still felt slow.  Then the head was at the point for little pushes, after an hour of pushing, when suddenly BOOM! There was an explosion.  And it started from me!?!  

Part of the amniotic sac had gotten twisted up with fluid and as my youngest's head started to come out (finally, thank God), the sac got compressed and exploded, shooting across the room.  It was an odd feeling.  And then, oh, the best feeling.  I pushed his head out, then his shoulders.  Our second son was born and all of the pain vanished.  All of the frustration and confusion and feelings of uselessness as that beautiful child was on my chest.  He's so beautiful. So wonderful.  My heart expanded and life felt great and even greater when the placenta went bye-bye (I think it had been in an uncomfortable place too).

Adrian was so helpful and wonderful during the whole thing.  The one midwife commented on how good he was to me, how we worked together.  God blessed us in many ways, including when the cild was born, less than a day after his cousin.  Because of the workshop, there was a visiting pastor and Adrian didn't have to lead service exhausted beyond belief.

Through the labour, there got to be points so bad, that all I could do was pray for mercy.  And I did.  And God is merciful.  And then, with our son on my chest, all I could do was say thanks.

I'm still saying thanks.

Fear of the Known, Part Two

It's funny, but even though I'd done it before and there were some similarities (coming home with a little boy, etc), it turns out that it really wasn't a known.

Painful, though.  Birth will always be painful.

I'll post the actual birth story another day.

But yeah, don't fear the known, because after all, what do you really know?