From somewhere deep inside my dream I hear it—that sputtering, half cry/half protest I am now so used to hearing. In approximately six minutes, the cries will be at full volume. Slowly, I pull myself through the stages of subconscious to half-consciousness, feeling the heaviness of being ripped out of my REM cycle. These are the times it’s hardest, the tangible weight of sleep pressing me firm against the mattress. A quick glance at my phone informs me it’s 3:39 a.m.
*deep inhale + sigh* Two-ish hours is all it’s been. Immediately I call out to the Father before I just break down. “I know I have absolutely nothing in this moment. Holy Spirit, help me. I need you to move me from this bed. I need you to care for her right now.” Bleary-eyed, yet feeling His strength, it’s enough to get me to her crib down the hallway. I can immediately feel the diaper’s fullness. Whyyyyy. I lay her down to be changed & she begins to protest LOUDLY at the idea of not being held so soon after being picked up. She may as well be a newborn again. Here we are on night four?….five? of this regression. Up three to four times a night, and she wants my body again & again. Daddy can’t help. I silently curse my magic power of producing food for another human just by existing {because honestly that’s some superhero junk right there-God is so cool like that} and sit down with her. 3:51. Whew. I am so depleted. I’m weary. I’m emotional. I’m ticked off at myself for getting my hopes up that tonight would be better because she ate a lot of solid food for dinner and that’s “supposed to help her sleep better” *insert eye roll here* I’m frustrated because I don’t really know if it’s her gums or her growing bones or maybe her belly that hurts, or if she’s having bad dreams. I’m annoyed that I am the one who is always needed at this hour. Two nights ago I snapped at my husband for SNORING because, yeah, that’s rational. And to top off this twisted sundae of feelings, I’m treasuring every moment with her, burning to memory how in the darkness she reaches her tiny, warm hand up to my lips, wanting me to kiss each little finger. It’s our thing. And that’s about the moment I remember: She cries because I’ll come. I have invested so much into this tiny human over the past almost eight months, and because of that, she trusts me. She depends on me. She believes in our connection, clings to it, places her hope in it, casts all her bets on it, because she knows that mommy will come. Through my responsiveness, I am her first example of God's love for her. Woah, that's heavy. I begin to think of our future foster babe, the one we haven’t met yet; but who already takes up residence in my heart. I wonder if he/she feels the same security in the middle of the night. Does he have anyone who will come? Does she have someone she can trust to care for her? And I think of Jesus, the same Jesus I called out to just a few minutes ago. Like Ada crying for me, I cried to my Daddy in heaven, begging Him to hold me as I hold her. Dang. What a parallel love story. She cries because I’ll come, with a reckless dependence on a mother’s love. Through the mess, I see it come full circle — Immanuel, "God with us,” inviting me to seek His face through the darkness with the same fervor and confidence which she seeks mine. It’s hard, but it’s good. And so is He.
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It finally happened.
I knew eventually the day would come. It happens to all of us moms at some point... The dreaded inconsolable breakdown at Target, complete with judgemental stares from people who have forgotten what it’s like to have a baby. All we needed was new sheets for the bed. Pop in, pop out — that was the goal. I knew the poor girl was exhausted. We’d had a long day of errands already, and she was sick of laying in her car seat. In an attempt to save myself from a scream-filled ride home, I even sat in the parking lot and fed her before going in. She fell asleep on my chest, but I knew we’d be quick. We went for it. We rounded the corner to the home decor section, and her baby blues popped open. They locked onto mine, and then the sweetest little lip quiver began upon the realization she was no longer in my arms. I smiled at her and shushed and held her hand, but it was too late. She wailed. And I mean WAILED. And I couldn’t get her to stop. It didn’t take long to notice the glances around me. Unfortunately, there were no comforting, “I understand mama” nods coming my way. Maybe next time I’ll get lucky. But all we needed was sheets, so I pressed on, shushing and rocking and cooing at my baby while she ugly cried allllll the way to the front of the store, through the checkout experience, into the car, and out of the parking lot where she conveniently stopped & fell asleep thanks to the motion of the car. LOL. And you know what I thought to myself? “That wasn’t so bad.” For some reason, I was always anxious for this moment as a parent. Maybe it has to do with my struggle over perfectionism, or because I constantly battle people-pleasing. Maybe it’s the pride — that first time in public when I can’t hide behind the image of being a mom that has it all together. But the reality is that none of us are truly that mom. We can’t control our kids. We don’t have it together all of the time. And that’s okay. Just let it go mama. Remember this: your babies’ actions are not a reflection of your worth. You are loved by your Creator whether or not your kids behave in a store. You are noticed even if you can’t put the “honor roll parent” sticker on the back of your minivan. You’re valuable whether or not your teenager makes the team. All we can do is give our best to our families for the glory of God, and we trust Jesus to fill in our gaps. Release your grip on control & the perfect image, and be encouraged by this truth today -- “but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” -Romans 5:8 While we were still sinners, y’all. Not once we had it all figured out. There is grace for us in the middle of the linens aisle while we console our screaming children. Because of that, it’s really not too bad. Target on, mama. Cheers! So, I “got my body back.” Six months postpartum, and I’m officially wearing my pre-pregnancy size and down to my pre-baby weight. Somehow, my body still looks and feels way different and all the things are shifted around, but those facts remain. I debated sharing this, but I realized that it IS something worth celebrating. It means that I’ve lost 35lbs {yes, I gained that much weight & our baby was barely 6 lbs — proof that every woman and baby are so different & everyone just needs to chill the heck out and stop making comments about pregnant women’s weight 👏🏻}. But more than that, it means that for the FIRST time in my life, I’ve lost weight without purposefully starving myself. I’ve continued to fuel my body {okay, sometimes with too much Chick-fil-A but c’mon} & nurse my baby, and that’s a personal victory for me.
I’ve learned recently that you can’t win with social media. Some people will say I shouldn’t share a post like this because it will fuel the fire of comparison that so many of us struggle with, making it sound like I think I’m somehow superior because I’m back to my pre-baby size. Other people will say that if I didn’t share it, I’d be joining the growing crowd of skinny-shamers {which is just as bad, by the way}. You really can’t win when it comes to the fitness posts, but I’m just trying to be honest about my journey as a new mom, as I always have. This is my reality, and it’s totally okay if it’s not the same as anyone else’s experience. Here’s the truth that we need to lean in to today, mama friend: + Your body carried, nourished, and brought a new life into the world with a soul that matters for eternity, and THAT IS WORTH CELEBRATING. + If you’ve lost the baby weight, you’re worthy of love. + If you haven’t lost the baby weight yet, you’re worthy of love. + If you never lose the baby weight, you’re worthy of love. + You’re worthy of love because you’re here. You’re alive. You’ve been created by the God who sacrificed HIS child’s life for yours, and you have a unique purpose. + No matter what your body looks like, your baby needs you to show up & love them like ONLY YOU can. + And ultimately, your body is temporary. It will not last. Physical fitness is of some value, but not at the expense of your relationship with Christ. Invest your best into soul training, and know that true, lasting beauty is what’s in your spirit. + Vanity is shallow and unfulfilling. Trust me, I’ve lived in that space. It does not satisfy. Roots of self-worth don’t grow from numbers on a scale or inches on a tape measure. They grow from an assurance that you are recklessly loved by the God who made your form & called it GOOD. Wherever your body is at, own it, beautiful! I’m right here with ya. XOX. “...train yourself to be godly. For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come. This is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance.” -1 Timothy 4:7-9 “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” -Proverbs 31:30 “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.” -Jeremiah 31:3 No, I’m not pregnant.
Although that would be pretty interesting considering that Ada Bee is only {almost} four months old, haha. God has been stirring our hearts for his beloved in a big way. He’s spoken clearly to both my husband and I, extending an invitation to join Him on an incredible & wild new journey. Saying yes will change everything in our lives, rearrange our schedules and our home, uproot our normal, disrupt our comfort, infringe on our privacy, challenge our faith, and change us forever: F O S T E R C A R E . I want to pause in this moment and make it very clear that my intention for this post is to make much of Christ. I’m sharing this because we need prayer & support from the body of believers, not because I want you to applaud me. I do not deserve any praise. Matter of fact, the flesh in me wants nothing to do with foster care. The flesh in me wants to keep my handsome hubby and sweet new baby inside a well-manicured bubble for the rest of our lives, where we’ll remain happy & comfortable & safe. There’s just one issue with that plan- following Jesus isn’t comfortable or safe. In Luke 9:23, Jesus says that in order to follow him, we have to deny ourselves - our selfish desires, our comforts, our plans to remain unharmed - daily. The Christian life was never intended to be easy. Following Jesus was never supposed to look like warm cookies coming out of the oven, 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence out in comfortable suburbia while the rest of the world remains dead to their sins & we stand idly by without sharing the cure. This is our temporary home, and it’s not about us. I’m reminded of Matthew 14:22-33, where the story of Jesus walking on water is told. I’m going to recap quickly: Jesus had just finished performing the miracle of feeding 5,000 people with a meager five loaves of bread and two fish. Before going up on the mountain to pray and get refreshed, he sends his disciples on ahead to cross the sea without him. While they are smack dad in the middle of the water, a massive storm blows in. The wind & waves are going nuts, and then all of a sudden, the disciples see a man walking on top of the water, unfazed! They think it’s a ghost and start freaking out. {Spoiler alert: It’s Jesus}. Jesus tells his disciples not to be afraid; it’s just him. I feel like Peter does exactly what I would do in this situation, and says: {my paraphrase} “okay, Lord, if it’s really you out there, tell me to come walk on the water with you. You’re doing something radical, and I want to get in on the action.” Jesus’ invitation is so simple: “Come.” And so, Peter steps out in faith. He WALKS ON WATER. I think sometimes when I read the Bible, I miss the reality of some of the key points. Like, humans CANNOT walk on water. It’s physically freakin’ impossible! How crazy is it that Peter actually did this through God’s power? SO CRAZY. Pretty quickly, Peter shows his humanity by taking his eyes off Jesus to look around at the storm, and he begins to sink into the sea. He cries out to Jesus to save him, and of course, he does, leaving Peter with this question: “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” Peter and Jesus head back to the boat and join all the other disciples. Jesus calms the storm, and everyone in the boat worships him, recognizing that he is truly the Son of God. Seriously, what an accurate depiction of my heart during this season - knowing that God is inviting me to take part in something bigger than myself; something that is impossible without him; something that requires me to step out of my boat of comfort and risk it all. And though I can see Jesus in the midst of the storm, I am still oh so afraid of what’s to come - the new relationships to navigate with case workers and biological parents, the potential behavioral or physical issues in a child entrusted to us, the heartbreak of investing & loving a baby as our own only to have him or her separated from us again. Like Peter, I know I’ll begin to sink under the weight of trying to carry the burden by my own strength, only to cry out, “Lord, save me!” and he will. He will immediately grab my hand and bring me to safety, challenging me once again for my lack of faith; asking, “Daughter, why did you doubt?" And all of these confusing, hard, extraordinarily beautiful things will surely bring me to my knees in worship of the Son of God. You might be wondering why we’ve decided to step out of the boat. Why are we doing this? The answer is simple: The need is great. God’s called us all to do hard things. And, quite simply, we have an extra bed. Jordan and I wanted to share this news with all of you because we need your prayers and your loving support. I don’t know how we’re going to do this without the body of Christ walking alongside us. I don’t think we can, and I don’t think we’re meant to. We need ya’ll, and so do these kids without a home. I believe with all my heart that if you are a true follower of Jesus, you have a part to play in orphan care. You can read more about that from my post back in November here. So, friend, here’s a personal invitation from me to you: come join us at the rest of these training sessions at our church if you’re local. Just show up, and pray for God to reveal his plans for your role as you learn more about the need. If you’re not in Roanoke, VA, get in touch with your city’s Department of Social Services. Ask your church what they’re doing to advocate for the oppressed and neglected. Jesus is calling, “Come.” So, fluff those pillows on your extra bed. Step out of the boat with me. I don’t know about you, but I am a huge fan of birthdays. I really enjoy celebrating the gift of life that God has so graciously given, and I enjoy acknowledging the admirable qualities I see in my friends & loved ones on their day. I also appreciate being celebrated on my own birthday, I won’t lie about it! Growing up, my parents had a plate that said “My Special Day,” and we only got the privilege of using it on our birthday. It was so exciting to see that confetti-background piece of plastic at dinner, always full of mom’s chicken noodle casserole, my favorite meal. As a words of affirmation girl {my love language}, my heart is filled to the brim on April 11 each year by those close to me through what they say to and about me.
Confession: I legitimately forgot my birthday was coming until my mom said something about it a week ago. This has never happened in all my life, haha. I guess that’s what happens when you have an almost three-month old & the fact that it was even April hadn’t yet registered to you. #mombrain Thanks to aforementioned baby, my “special” day has really been quite normal - and I have treasured every second of it. I woke up at 4:30am because she needed to be changed and fed. I was spoiled in that she actually went back to sleep until 9am {all the praise hands} and my sweet hubby got up and cooked me a marvelous breakfast, which he is very good at, I might add. But then he went to work like any other day. I fed Ada and read the Bible on my phone out loud to her, and worked out while she took a nap {real talk - on day 2 of adding this to my routine so don’t think for a second I have my life together hahaha}. I was planning to vacuum because our floors are strug-gle-ing, but there was a random power outage in our area {?!} for a few hours, so I loaded the babe up and we headed to Target. Ada spit up all over my shirt right before we left the house & I straight up left it because I knew it was bound to happen again {zero shame}. I spent a solid hour in the children’s book section casually trying not to cry and becoming waaaaay sentimental for no reason. I couldn’t control myself at the dollar spot this time because all the spring things are the stinking CUTEST, but I just passed it off as a forgivable birthday offense. Ada Bee woke up, and I fed her while sitting in the parking lot because every mama knows how precious a silent car ride home is & that was not about to happen with this hungry bug. Naturally, there was a Starbucks run involved as well. When we got home, I took out the trash, checked the mail, paid some bills, and played with the dogs outside while we waited on daddy to arrive so we could go out to dinner at Red Lobster {Jesus, please bless the dear human who created the recipe for those biscuits, amen}. Dinner didn’t go how I’d hoped, to be frank. Ada {who usually falls asleep in the car and doesn’t wake up or make a peep whenever we go out} insisted on being held by only me the entire time we were there. She got really fussy & became that baby {you know the one} & nursing didn’t really seem to help {also uncharacteristic of her}. It was awkward and I felt stressed & uncomfortable. We left quickly after our meal that I had taken just a few bites of and almost forgot to grab the box of leftovers. We didn’t take a family photo like I wanted because it was too chaotic. As soon as we got home, I spent an hour getting the cranky baby to sleep, and now I’m laying down, typing this out on my phone, because sadly that’s the most efficient way for me to write these days, lol. My body is screaming at me for working out, and I’m dreaming about how truly glorious the massage hubby bought me is going to be. If you don’t include the birthday-related details, my day was really quite ordinary & uninteresting. There was no huge surprise party as I’ve had in the past, no drawn out string of celebratory events. For the majority of my day, it was just me and my baby hanging out — me caring for her, playing with her, loving her, same as I always do. It’s about her now. Mamas with littles don’t truly get all about you days. Someone has a wet diaper, or a boo-boo that needs kissing, or an argument that needs settling, a meal to be fed, a paper to sign and return to school, a need somehow or someway. Even though we get breaks, small reprieves here and there on a date night alone or a blessed car-induced naptime, mamas don’t get an off button. And that’s 100% okay with me. I’m 100% grateful for this hard, confusing, need-filled role — mommy. So, this is 24. I’d say something cliché like “never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be celebrating my 24th birthday with a baby in my arms,” but that's probably false. I’ll say this instead: Being a mom is more joyful, more painful, more exhausting, more soul-shaping, and more beautiful than even my wildest dreams could have predicted. What a grand gift, this life. Happy Birthday to me. I battled an eating disorder from the middle of my junior year in high school through my second year of college. Through an incredible community of people who loved Jesus and me, as well as counseling, the Lord graciously rescued me from that trial a few years ago. Unfortunately, the enemy continues to plant lies in my mind about my body image on a regular basis. This will likely be a struggle I’ll fight for the rest of my life here on earth, but I praise God for providing me with the strength to overcome it through the Holy Spirit. It’s the thorn in my flesh (2 Cor. 12:7-10) that keeps me dependent on Jesus, and I’ve learned to be content with that! Needless to say, when Jordan and I got married, I was pretty afraid of becoming pregnant {at first}, knowing that it would likely be very difficult for me as I gained weight. The Lord was so gracious to me, allowing me to view my entire pregnancy the way it was intended, and truly celebrate the little life growing inside me. I can say with integrity that even though I was watching the number on the scale rise, I enjoyed the entire process and rejoiced over the changes happening in my body. Jordan was a huge positive influence during this time {still is!} as he always affirmed his desire for me as his wife. That continues to be one of my biggest questions these days — Do you still want me? Am I still beautiful to you? I have a hard time trusting his answers, because I don’t yet believe them about myself. I wish that wasn’t the case. It would be really easy for me to post this carefully curated photo that makes my 15 extra pounds look pretty decent and say something inspirational about how mamas are warriors for what our bodies have been through. How every fat roll is worth it because it means we get to hold our sweet babies. How stretch marks are truly beautiful {even though I’m not showing mine}. And how we should love & accept our new selves because they are perfect just the way they are. It’s not easy for me to tell the truth, though. Here’s the ugly, gritty, raw truth. This is my real post-baby body. And I’m not okay with it yet. I don’t love it right now. I’m having a really hard time with the fact that my maternity jeans don’t fit me great anymore so I had to go out and buy regular jeans that were size 12 when I’m used to buying size 2-4. I find it difficult to accept that even though I know I’ll work hard to get back in shape and lose the weight now that I’ve been cleared to work out, my body composition will probably never look the way it used to. My hips are wider; my chest is broader. I’m struggling with the knowledge that I don’t have any idea how to lose weight in a healthy way, without simply starving myself. I look at this body in the mirror and I’m embarrassed by it. I’m ashamed of it. The skeletons in my closet are starting to rattle. I can hear them taunt me with the all-too familiar “You’re not good enough. Your husband is lying to you when he says he thinks you’re sexy. He loved you more when you were tiny.” And you know what, guys? That’s hard. It just is.
I don’t need pity, but I do need prayer. I know the truth of God’s Word. I know that this body is AMAZING for what it has done in the past several months & what it continues to do as it cares for and nourishes our baby girl. I look at her, and I would do it again 10,000 times just to have her. She’s worth it, and I’m learning to love the new me. I’m learning to champion myself, because when the Lord looks at me, he doesn’t see my weight and a purple forest of stretch marks. He sees a daughter that he loves, and he sees a sinner justified by his Son’s blood. He does see beauty. I’m posting this with trembling hands, SCARED TO DEATH to be this vulnerable and reveal these photos to the entire internet world. But you know what? I can, because my body — pre-baby, pregnant, or post-baby — does not define my worth. God defines my worth, and it’s simple: created in His image; very good (Gen. 1:27, 31). So, mama friend, if you find yourself in the same place as me today, wishing you could believe that your body is beautiful and amazing after baby, but you’re just not quite there yet, know that it’s okay. You’re not alone in that, even though it seems like everyone on Instagram has it figured out already. And to my other friends, the ones not dealing with all the postpartum things, I hope you’ll be reminded of where your worth comes from today. You are so valuable and so loved by your Creator, whether you’re a size 2 or a size 12. xoxo. For obvious reasons, this is my favorite portrait session I have EVER done. Photography has been a passion of mine for several years now, but this session brought it full circle. When I first picked up a camera, my only desire was to learn how to capture everyday moments in a raw, extra-beautiful way. The intention was simple: for my family's personal memories' sake. Taking my daughter's newborn photos made me realize that I had done it! I've made that dream a reality. Funny story: the first time I tried to take these, I thought I'd get a few of her cute lil' bare bum. I had the shot all ready, fed her so she would be sleepy, set her down on the soft blanket, and... ...she peed. *Cue falling curtain as the screams commence and all hopes for photos being taken that day die* {my girl hates being wet & will let you know about it, diaper or no diaper} So, it ended up taking us a few days, oh well! Needless to say, I have a new & grand appreciation for the mamas of my former newborn clients. It's tough work getting a little babe camera ready! I have to admit, there were several other outfits, props, and poses that I wanted to capture and didn't, but seeming as this little bee will be a month old next week, I wanted to go ahead and share these true "newborn" photos where she's under two-weeks-old. I'll save my other ideas for future sessions of my princess. I have prayed for Ada Bee for years; even before I knew my husband's name! She is certainly a gift from God. That's why this adorable onesie from Saved by Grace Co. is so special to me There is a small error in the Scripture reference, which should read 1 John 5:14-15. It says, "This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him." I am so grateful that the Lord has blessed us with this precious girl's life. Isn't it marvelous, the fragility of new life? Such beauty, such grace, such perfect creativity displayed by our heavenly father.
You don't want to miss out on the rest of this cuteness! View the full gallery here. “For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.” -John 1:16 When I look at my daughter, I see a tangible example of God’s grace. Yet another blessing that I do not deserve; a gift I have done nothing to earn; a rare treasure. Evidence of his grace has marked my life in so many ways, and it was present all throughout Ada’s birth as well. I was pretty open about my desire to have a natural childbirth throughout my pregnancy, so many people have asked my husband or myself how it all turned out. While the short answer is “basically nothing went the way I planned apart from not having a c-section,” I experienced God’s presence in a powerful way, and his grace was over our family the entire time. For that, I am grateful, and I was reminded again how God’s plan is always good. For those of you who are interested, here’s the longer version: On Friday, January 12th, I had been up all night about every 2 hours to use the restroom. I figured I must have been really warm, because I was extremely sweaty to the point of changing my clothes each time I got up, which was out of character for me up until that point in pregnancy. Just before 7am, it dawned on me that what I was thinking was “sweat” this entire time may have actually been me leaking fluid. I knew I needed to call the doctor, but I was also fairly confident that they would ask me to come in, and I hadn’t finished packing the hospital bag!! I peeked in our bedroom and saw a very peacefully sleeping hubby. I didn’t have the heart to wake him yet, so I calmly finished gathering our things into the bags and began asking the Lord to prepare my heart for this day. I know everyone talks about false alarms with your first baby, so my head told me it was just that. In my gut, however, I knew this was it! Planning to have a natural labor, remaining calm was key, because it would likely be a looooong time until true labor started. By 8:15am, a few other funky symptoms of early labor started showing up. I started having some cramping, and I had finished packing. Jordan started to stir, so I gave him a kiss and woke him up by saying, “Are you ready to have a baby today? I think it’s happening.” We called the doctor then, and they said that unfortunately, we couldn’t come in until 10:30am to get checked out because there wouldn’t be a provider there until then. Still completely calm, we ended up at...you guessed it...Chick-fil-A...for breakfast. Yes, not kidding, we literally went inside the restaurant & casually ate CFA while unbeknownst to the both of us, I was in labor. HAHAHA. This was God’s grace #1, because everyone knows chicken minis are the Lord’s food, amen? When we got to the doctor, they checked me and said that basically, I was in early labor and had become effaced. They did not check me for dilation because they didn’t want to risk infection, and sent us home saying that my water hadn’t broken & gave me instructions to wait for contractions to get stronger. Once they reached 1 minute long, 5 minutes apart, and that was consistently happening for 1 hour, I was supposed to call the hospital. God’s grace #2, because in hindsight, I think the doctor was wrong about my fluid level... We got back home somewhere around noon, and it was pretty much business as usual. Fridays are Jordan’s day off, so we hung out, watched a little TV, and tried to relax, but I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Again, because I was trying to prepare myself for natural labor, I downplayed EVERYTHING. I knew this was gonna be a marathon, so I told myself that my “discomfort” couldn’t really be that bad yet. I also wasn’t recognizing my contractions as contractions because they were completely unlike everything I’d ever heard described by anyone. Honestly, this just proves that every woman experiences labor differently. Every ounce of my irritation was focused directly on the center of my lower abdomen. I never had the wave feeling people talk about, or a targeted muscle group tightening up and then relaxing. I just had a stabbing, twisting pain in my pelvic area that lasted for about 30 seconds and then went away. My “discomfort” {I refused to use the word “pain”} intensified gradually the entire afternoon, but because my maybe-maybe-not-contractions weren’t lengthening, we just kinda waited. Around 3:30 that afternoon, I decided I was going to take a warm bath to loosen up a little. While in the tub, I noticed that my stabby episodes were becoming a lot more frequent, so I started timing them. It was also getting much harder to deal with them. It took a lot of effort to concentrate on breathing through them. Sometimes I could talk through it, but other times I couldn’t. I looked at the app on my phone...THREE minutes apart. Consistently. But only lasting 30-45 seconds and of varying intensities. So at this point, I was just epically confused. I didn’t want to be the girl that cried wolf, but I also didn’t want to be the girl that delivered her baby on the side of the road in 30 degree weather, ya know? I phoned a friend who had birthed a human already, and asked for prayer & a little advice. Hubby convinced me to just go ahead and call the hospital to see what they said. I had to leave a message with a nurse who said the doctor would call me back in about 30 minutes. Although it felt frustrating in the moment, it was really God’s grace #3 because it bought us just a little more time... I “relaxed” for a few more minutes and then decided I should get ready while waiting on the doctor to call back, because my gut told me it was almost time to go to the hospital. I came back into the living room to let Jordan know what the deal was, and while standing in front of him, we both witnessed a relatively-small-but-prominent-enough-to-raise-alarm gush of fluid come out of me. Eyes wide and mouths open at each other, “let’s go!” was the immediate consensus. I kid you not, 15 seconds later the doctor called back, 100% confirming we needed to come to the hospital. For some BIZARRE reason, likely related to all the information we’d heard from other people about first time parents getting sent home from the hospital when they think they’re in labor, we weren’t actually convinced that they would admit me, and didn’t call our parents yet!! HAHA. The last thing we wanted to do was get everyone all excited and then have to go back on it. So we just waited... By the time we got to the hospital, I was tip-toeing around the word “pain” and feeling pretty shocked and scared by how much it was unexpectedly hurting. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of a warm up into hard labor, I thought? My body refused to relax, and it was already getting very difficult to find a good position to cope with my “stabbing episodes.” For some crazy reason, when they checked me in triage and informed us that my water had definitely broken and they would be admitting me right away, Jordan and I looked at each other dumbfounded. Sooo, what I take from that is, when your water breaks, it’s not always like a levee giving way all at once, and sometimes it’s not even a constant, long trickle {both of which were the only scenarios described to me beforehand}. It CAN happen little by little, over a period of hours, with a final small burst at the end {or at least, that’s what happened to me!} This is the biggest example of God’s grace to me in our whole story - his protection over Ada during the many hours that my amniotic fluid had been slowly leaking. See, we knew I had a very minor complication in my pregnancy that meant I would need to receive antibiotics throughout labor that would protect Ada from getting sick upon delivery. We also knew that once my water broke, that risk for infection increased. When I was admitted, I had only dilated 1 cm. Because of the complication, the doctors started me on fluids and the medicine right away, and told me that they could give me two hours to see if I progressed on my own. If I didn’t, they would have to start me on pitocin to speed up my labor for Ada’s safety. I was very unhappy about this, as I knew having a natural childbirth on pitocin would be basically impossible. I gave them a little pushback, and they agreed they could give me four hours instead of two...but that was it. The nurses and staff were absolutely amazing though. I really felt like they were on my side and wanted me to succeed. They respected my wishes, but they just wanted to do their job to keep me and Ada safe. We informed our families that the real deal was happening, and got settled into our room. Nurses came in to introduce themselves and ask me the most basic questions, but it was becoming more difficult to concentrate by the minute. I was hurting, BAD, but still trying to be really strong and downplay every contraction. Those four hours were miserable. I mean honestly, it was torture. My sweet husband was the only one who could really see through my facade, and graciously kicked everyone out so I could suffer privately. As awful as it was, I was getting pretty excited! With the amount of pain I was in, I figured I had to be dilating pretty quickly. My guess was that I was around 5-6 cm, and I planned to grit my teeth and push through the last 4 to have my natural birth! So, when the doctor came in to check me and informed us that I was only TWO CM DILATED after the four hours, to say I was devastated is an understatement. We had to start pitocin for Ada’s safety. There really wasn’t another choice. My water had broken, and the risk of infection was too great. I was also trying to figure out how on earth I could survive 8 more cm of dilation with the amount of pain I was already in. I felt so defeated, and asked the doctor if there was something wrong with me. I couldn’t understand why it hurt so badly. She was so caring as she explained what was happening in my body since my water had broken, and how there was no protection anymore. She affirmed that what I was feeling was so much more intensified, and how only 10-15% of women’s water breaks before their labor begins. She was gracious and understanding about my wishes for natural birth, and gave us a moment to think it over, but strongly encouraged that I get the epidural because in her exact words, after the pitocin kicked in, “Honey, that s*** is gonna hurt.” To be honest, I felt like such a failure in that moment. Before, I really trusted that my pain tolerance was high enough, and given the right circumstances, I could handle natural labor. I know it doesn’t matter at all to some people, but it really did to me. And I was disappointed. Thank the Lord for my husband. He was SO supportive, told me how much of a warrior I had already been, spoke truth over me that I wasn’t a failure, and that God has provided modern medicine for times like this. He said it was going to be okay, and he was proud of me. I was SO scared to get the epidural. Honestly, the thought of getting a needle injected into my SPINAL CHORD caused me far more anxiety than the pain of childbirth. I was legit freaking out inside...but again, God’s grace was available for me! I was having a very hard time staying still through contractions at this point, so I prayed like crazy for Christ’s power to remain calm long enough. They placed it on the first try successfully, and I began to feel relief very soon after. Although I felt a little down on myself still, I knew it was the best decision. My body was FINALLY able to relax again, and I slept! Boy, I did not realize how much I would need that sleep. I absolutely hated the fact that I had to get pitocin. God even covered that detail in his grace in that Ada did not react well to it and her heart rate became concerning, so they turned it down to essentially nothing! BUT, because the epidural helped me relax, I went from 2cm to 9cm in three hours! The doctors and nurses were completely shocked when they came in to check me. We couldn’t believe it, but we were SO excited to meet Ada. The final jump to 10cm took less than an hour, and it was time to push! While waiting on the doctor to come back, I started pushing with the nurse. In about 20 minutes, Ada’s head was THERE! Our poor doctor barely got her gloves on in time to catch Ada. Two big pushes, and she was here!!! January 13th at 6:20am. It was the most breathtaking moment, and a surreal evidence of God’s grace - new life, by him and sustained through him alone - just like the gift of salvation through Jesus Christ. And looking at that perfect little girl in my arms, I was blown away by how he would use ME, such a sinful and broken human being, to bring his beautiful creation into this world and allow me the opportunity to care for her as my own in this lifetime, even though she belongs to him. If that’s not grace, I don’t know what is. I didn’t get my dream natural childbirth surrounded by worship music, essential oils, and a peaceful environment, but that doesn’t make my experience any less of a miracle. Instead, the Lord chose to guide me through the fire and show me how he would still be there. It was 100% worth it.
I am SO thankful for our Ada Bee’s life. She has taught us so much already & brought us so much joy. I know she will continue to be a light for so many. Her birth story is not what I had designed, but that’s exactly the point - it’s what our sovereign Lord designed from before the beginning of time. He held us both safely in his grace amidst all of the uncertainty, pain, and altered plans. At the end of the day, what matters is trusting him and his way, for it is undeniably better & more beautiful than anything we can craft in our finite minds. My most precious Ada, Welcome to the world, darling. It must feel exciting, and a little scary to be here, everything so bright and new to your senses. As I read this to you, I’m aware that hearing my voice is one of the only familiar experiences you’ve had in your short life thus far. I’m sure most everyone feels like a stranger to you right now, but that’s not really the case for you and I, is it sweetheart? I suppose that’s one of the unique gifts God gives to mommies, how our bond begins before anyone else. It’s hard to put into words how eager I’ve been to meet you out here. Now that I’m holding you in my arms, I’m definitely speechless, captivated by everything about you. There’s a lifetime of developing, growing, discovering, learning, and experiencing just waiting for you up ahead. Most of it will be confusing, and you need to know that’s okay. You’re not alone. I’m here for you. Much of what the world will show you is beautiful, but there are a lot of things it will try to tell you that are unfulfilling and dishonest. So, baby girl, I want to send you off on your journey being confident of this one unshakable truth: You are fully and completely loved. Before I married your daddy, people said to me, “You think you love him now.” They were right. I remember the day I met him, how our eyes caught each other from across the classroom, and the overwhelming feeling of needing to know him that hit me with unrecognizable force. I remember having those first few strictly class-related conversations, eventually becoming friends, and the moment he asked me on our first date. I remember those early days, when we were wild and free together, driven by what sounded fun and not yet bound by the responsibility of adulthood. I remember how awestruck I was when he played guitar & sang to me. I thought I loved him then. I remember the day that I made a horrible mistake, fully expecting our potential future to be ruined and lost, and the devastation that I felt in my heart. I remember how instead, your daddy showed me grace, and we fought to move forward together. I thought I loved him then. I remember the moment he bent down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. Hurricane force winds & a wall of fog at the top of the mountain kinda ruined his initial plan, but he's a great improviser (; Our families & best friends celebrated together, and I thought I loved him then. I’ll never forget the day I put on a pretty white dress and pledged before God that I would be your daddy’s teammate for as long as we both lived. It was a magical day, an absolute dream come true. I thought I really loved him then. I’ll always treasure the memories we’ve made over these past two years of marriage - falling in love with Guatemala together, eating a little too much pizza and watching a little too much TV, expanding our family with the four-legged fluffy creature over there in the corner that never leaves mommy’s side, and a whole bunch of other normal stuff that feels extraordinary, simply because of how fun your daddy is. I thought I loved him then. I remember the day we found out about you, little bee, and how our hearts exploded with joy when we saw yours beating for the first time on that monitor in the doctor’s office. Daddy didn’t miss a single one of your appointments while we were waiting to meet you, and he prayed for you and me every night before we went to sleep. He could always get you to dance around in my belly with “the wave,” and he didn’t complain when I was too sick or tired to make dinner. He made sure his girls ate as much Chick-fil-A as we wanted (; And I thought I loved him then. Just like I thought I loved you then. I thought I loved you when I saw the word “pregnant” show up on the little stick. I thought I loved you when you still looked like a little tadpole and you waved at us during that first ultrasound. I thought I loved you when we found out you were a baby GIRL, when I felt you moving for the first time, and when you really started to grow visibly, pushing out my tummy as far as it would go! I thought I loved you when I heard the sweet rhythm of your perfect heartbeat after you scared me one time that you weren’t okay in there. And I thought I couldn’t possibly love you more than the moment I held you in my arms for the first time, your eyes searching for mine.
But I was wrong. Just like with your daddy, my capacity to love you becomes greater with each passing day we spend together. The more I get to know you, and the more time we have, the more my love grows. I love you as much as I possibly can in this moment, yet I know that love will only continue to expand. You wanna know something crazy though? God’s love for you isn’t like mine or daddy’s, Ada. His love for you will not expand. It will not grow more as you spend time together. He will not reflect years from now and say, “I thought I loved her then.” Because God’s love for you, unlike my human love, is perfect. It is boundless. It is not dependent on circumstances or emotions. It is not determined by anything you do or don't do. It cannot wane, nor can it amplify, because in and of itself, it is full and complete. Ada Bee, if there's one thing I want you to know to the depth of your bones as you enter this crazy world, it is the foundation of God's love for you. I want you to know that daddy and I love you unconditionally with all of our hearts, and we will protect you with a purposeful fierceness until the day we die. You are safe with us, yes, but it's not enough for you to know our human version of love. Instead, what will anchor you in your darkest moments is believing the reality of God's perfect and complete love for you, just as you are. You were personally thought out and woven together by him, his creative handiwork behind every inch of your body, mind, gifts, and personality that we have yet to learn all about (Ps. 139:13-16; Eph. 2:10). You are a treasure to him simply for being created. Your value is not determined, nor up for debate. There is nothing you can do to make him love you more, so you don't have to strive to earn affection from him {or anyone else, for that matter}. You can rest in the security of his love, sweet girl. At the same time, there is nothing you can do to make him love you less. Your sin will break his heart, yes, but it has already been covered by his blood that he shed when dying to win you. You don't have to live with shame, guilt, or regret. Just run back to Jesus, always. It doesn't matter what you did, he isn't going anywhere. Let this magnificent love draw you to the heart of our Savior, and to repentance. Believe this truth, baby. If you grasp this one thing, it will alter the direction of your life from the start. You won't have to walk through some of the same hardships that mommy and daddy did. You'll have your own struggles, I know this, but I pray that you will be more equipped to handle life's curve balls than I was. When you trust in Christ's love for you, Ada, you will know God's plan for your life, and you will walk in it boldly, because you'll know his plan is best. That's what I want for you. I think I love you now, Mommy <3 The star of the show has arrived, friends!! The inspiration behind the blog decided to join our world on Saturday morning, January 13, 2018. Born at 6:20am, she weighed in at a whopping 6lb 2.8oz, and was 19.5 inches long. She is perfect and lovely in every way, and her daddy and I are completely obsessed with her. Watching God bring new life into the world and knowing that He allowed you to play a role in that is a marvelous experience. My labor & delivery did not go the way I had expected or planned, yet He remained faithful. My "birth motto" per se was simply "Great is Thy faithfulness." Probably my all-time favorite hymn, the lyrics replayed in my mind continuously during the days leading up to Ada's birth. These first five days of motherhood have been amazing, beautiful, and yes - difficult. Our journey with this sweet little human we've been entrusted with is just beginning, and I'm confident that it will our most extraordinary adventure yet. I love you, Ada Bee. And thank you, Jesus! <3 Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father,
There is no shadow of turning with Thee Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not As Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be. Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see All I have needed Thy hand hath provided Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me! Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth, Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide; Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow, Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside! |
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Ashley Setterlind: Jesus lover, wife, new mama to a baby girl. Archives
October 2018
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