Infertility and Practical Steps for Treating the Whole Mama

This post was written for Fertile Imagination @ http://community.fertilityflower.com where I have monthly column. Feel free to visit me over there, too!

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Infertility and Practical Steps for Treating the Whole Mama

From the age of 25 to 35, I consumed more medications than I hope to for the rest of my life. With complete, unwavering trust in the authority of Doctor, M.D., I washed down thousands of pills. I had prescriptions for high blood pressure, regulating periods, anxiety, more high blood pressure, obsessive-compulsive disorder, stronger ovulation, and - funny enough - chemical sensitivity.

Meanwhile, inside my body, my chances of conceiving and carrying babies to term were steadily declining as an effect of all this chemical exposure. Each of these pharmaceuticals was affecting my liver as it struggled to keep up with what it considered toxic overload. When it could no longer keep up, other organs that depended on my liver being in a healthy state began to suffer. Naturally, these new declining organs (pancreas, spleen, kidneys) had many other organs depending on them to stay healthy. A cascading effect of harm began to take place.

And I couldn't conceive a baby.

As I now understand my body much better both intellectually and instinctually, I know that the human body is a system. You must treat it as a whole, and never as a sum of its parts. Especially important is to never treat one of its parts while ignoring the whole. It never works.

In retrospect, losing the babies was probably my body's own defense mechanism at work to keep itself afloat. How could it sustain a new life when it was struggling to sustain its own?

The first things I did to heal my whole body were simple. I tossed out my synthetic vitamins and started taking one made only from whole food sources. I used Baby and Me prenatals from the Megafood company, but there are others at health food stores, in online vitamin stores, or at Whole Foods Market. Any vitamin that doesn't state on its label that it is made from food sources is most likely a synthetic version. Synthetic versions of vitamins isolate a part of each vitamin that is easy and cheap to obtain. Unfortunately, the vitamins and minerals we need were - like us - designed to function as a whole, not as a single part.

I also changed my diet. For years, I'd been a vegetarian for ethical reasons. Many vegetarians do a great job at keeping a healthy, whole foods diet while avoiding meat. I was not one of those. I was what you might call a "junk food vegetarian" where french fries, ice cream, sugary baked goods and a heavy carbohydrate intake was all okay as long as no meat was involved. I switched to a diet that was lower in Omega 6 fatty acids and based my meals around more vegetables and healthy fats with a little poultry and fish each day. I gave up sugar.

Finally, I significantly reduced my caffeine intake. Although the jury is still out on whether or not caffeine affects your ability to get and stay pregnant, I am certain it did for me. My adrenals were very weakened from years of too much caffeine. Since adrenals produce most of the progesterone your body needs to stay pregnant during the first trimester, I wanted to give those little glands all the support I could.

But for me, these things alone were not enough. They helped me conceive, just as Clomid had before, but the pregnancies would not stick. I was having very early miscarriages almost every cycle.

So I used the help of an unbelievably gifted nutritionist to keep my babies in the womb, and I share her name far and wide to anyone in our local area. (Cincinnati, Ohio natives, that's Stacey Lang of Hebron Chiropractic.) She helped me figure out which parts of my body were suffering and how they were affecting the whole. She offered gentle (rather inexpensive) support for those different parts so that the whole body could function as it should again. She saw me weekly to be sure that the supplements she gave me were having no adverse effect elsewhere, and that the whole body was responding positively.

I find it very hard to do this work on my own. When I first came to her, I was firmly entrenched in a system that told me that treating my symptoms was the way to go. At first that system seemed to work. I could get pregnant with Clomid, have lowered blood pressure with beta blockers, less chemical sensitivity with Haldol, so there was a sense that the pharmaceuticals were doing their job. I ignored any clues that other parts of my body's whole were suffering by labeling them "side effects." I was never taught to recognize and pay attention to my body's own messages and warnings.

To make matters worse, when I began to explore alternative treatment, my first experience with a naturopath left my pockets empty but my body not much improved. "It's a slow process," she said. "You must be patient." When I found my wonderful Dr. Lang, however, I started noticing improvements after every single visit.

Sometimes alternative medicine can get a bad name when progress isn't noticed right away. At times it really is a slow process, and you must be patient. It is certainly slower than popping a pill to treat the symptoms. But from my experiences, when you find the right person, you will steadily improve. Your body wants to heal itself, but only as a whole of all its parts.

Next time: Ideas for Finding a Good Naturopath or Nutritionist in Your Area

This post was written for Fertile Imagination at http://community.fertilityflower.com where I have monthly column. Feel free to visit me over there, too!

Infertility and the Power of Rational Problem Solving

I have a defense mechanism that has always served me well. I expect the worst while hoping for the best. If things work out for the best, I can rejoice. If they work out for the worst, well...at least I was right. Some simply call it "not getting my hopes up."

When I was suffering infertility and multiple miscarriages between my first and second child, this is exactly the way I approached each new pregnancy. After the first unexpected pregnancy loss, I tried to expect the worst - bleeding, cramping, loss of pregnancy symptoms - every single day throughout the first trimester. Never again did I want to plan with excitement for the day our beautiful, healthy baby would be born, only to be crushed by grief at the sight of bleeding in a public restroom stall.

But as I began to read possible reasons for my infertility, over and over again I read authors talking about the power of positive thinking for a pregnancy. All I needed to do, they asserted, was quit doubting my body's abilities, visualize a healthy pregnancy and a strong developing baby, and - above all - remain calm and unstressed. Apparently, I could think myself pregnant.

The problem was, what I heard was that I could just as easily think myself not pregnant. After every miscarriage, I wondered, "Did I cause this?" Did my natural defense mechanism cause this miscarriage? Was I hurting my little babies-to-be by indulging a realistic outlook instead of an ignorantly positive one? Was I causing my body to not cooperate by worrying about each pregnancy instead of remaining calm and assured of a positive outcome?

The mind games a pregnant woman can play with herself are already intense. Those authors who were promoting positive thinking as the infertility cure were really just placing the blame for my infertility squarely on my shoulders, all the while telling me to take it easy and not stress about it! My poor brain would run in circles between fear and guilt and forced excitement as I tried to convince myself I was thinking positively while my subconscious mind took up the slack in sad but authentic dreams. Providing opportunities for mothers to feel guilt at not "thinking right" isn't exactly the best way to provide a happy, stress-free gestation environment.

The focus on positive thinking as the cure-all for infertility bothers me for so many reasons. The emotions of women who are struggling with conceiving and carrying to term are already hormonally askew. It's not fair or productive to criticize their thoughts when their thoughts are already so self-critical. But worse than that, playing this blame-the-brain game can keep a woman from researching to find the true source of her infertility.

Yes, we've all heard stories of the woman who tried for ten years to achieve a healthy pregnancy, but didn't actually succeed until she quit trying. We've all heard about that friend of a friend who couldn't get pregnant until she adopted a child. And haven't we all heard the good old, "I think you're just trying too hard." Whatever that means.

What we need to hear more about is the power of rational problem solving. We need to hear more about what avenues we can pursue to heal our bodies and make our wombs hospitable again. We need to hear more about how to find doctors that can really help us conceive and carry a baby to term in a healthy way. We need to hear more about what we can do about this and less about what we think about this.

That is a motivating power.

click

Livvy. Sweet, smiley, content. Threw me out to sea for awhile. Funny, I was afraid for Jeff to leave me alone with all three of them at once. "Are you crazy?!" I would wonder. "Only a crazy person would leave me alone with all three of these children when I obviously have no idea how to care for them all at the same time."

Then I slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y, got my land legs back. And here I am. Blogging again.

So. I don't talk a whole lot about religion on here. Faith, self-denial, principles - all of those topics I bring up frequently. But religion - or maybe "sectarianism" might be a better term, made-up or not - I try to let be.

I was raised Protestant. I left the church when I was 18 for various reasons and stayed out for about 15 years. During that time, I made lots of friends outside the church. Agnostic, atheist, pagan, Buddhist, Catholic, Christian, and everything in between. When I started to attend again (after my first baby, of course) I was still in my old hometown. I found myself growing and learning at a huge Protestant mega-church with an extremely engaging, intelligent and brutally frank head minister. His messages made me want to attend each Sunday. Well, the free trade organic coffee served in the atrium helped too.

The biggest problem was its size. I joined small groups and all that jazz that you're supposed to do in a mega-church to find your "church family," but really, none of that was ever family-like. In the end, we were thrown together for a short duration and glad to be free for our real friends and family when it was all done. I do still listen to the streaming messages from that minister every now and then, and certainly credit him, that particular church, and its alluring coffee for my ultimate return to Sunday mornings in a pew.

When we moved to the country, I started to attend a Catholic Church and was surprised at how at home I felt there. Not just in the building itself, and not just with the community of many other homeschooling parishioners there, but also with the faith and its practices. When I began to get comfortable at Mass - maybe 3 months in or so? - I finally felt a sigh inside. I finally felt that I had a church home.

But there are some differences and I'm certainly on a learning curve. It's odd I guess to other people that I don't see huge differences between Catholics and Protestants. I mean, there are certainly cultural differences. But ultimately, it's the same God, same Jesus, same Bible (basically). I've always thought that the division between the two sides was way overblown.

Maybe it's an older generation thing. My grandparents have advised (begged? demanded?) me to quit going to "that Catholic Church." I find that very strange. Here I was not even going to church on a regular basis for nearly 2 decades, and certainly having no church home. So when I find one, instead of feasting for the prodigal daughter that I had to them become, I'm somehow even more prodigal. Really?

I think the things Protestants don't understand about the Catholic faith are partly cultural and partly dogmatic. The cultural differences were exactly the things that drew me to the church in the first place.

First off, you can have as many children as you wish and nobody gives you the hairy eyeball. Nobody expects you to put your baby in a nursery while you go to service, and nobody expects you to "train" your babies to be without you.

Women are given recognition for choosing to stay home if it works for their family. The family unit is nurtured, supported & valued. Divorces aren't easy.

Homeschoolers are fairly common and frugality is appreciated, especially in churches with many large families.

But while it might have started out as a draw to a culture, there were parts of the faith that drew me as well. And then there were parts that seemed odd, but in a whatever kind of way.

I like the scripted prayers. Scripted prayers (Hail Mary, The Lord's Prayer, etc.) fill the void when I want to pray but can't find my own words. They also can become meditative when repeated over and over. I like this in a prayer. It's a way to get to God that works for me.

I like that sometimes, you have to get down on your knees. There's something about the stance of being down on your knees that evokes an immediate feeling of supplication. This is another route to God that wasn't available in the Protestant church, except at home or in extreme circumstances.

I like the Church, with a capital C. I know that's one of those Protestant/Catholic sticking points. You know, who is the Pope anyway and why do those Catholics allow him so many unilateral decisions? And of course, that's not to mention the corruption & the politics within the Church! Like there's not equal corruption and politics on many Protestant church boards. And on school boards and fundraising committees and non-profit foundations. I think that's more human than anything.

And for me, I like having a Church with a Pope. It means that there's strong leadership, and I like that in an organization. I've been involved in enough groups to know that the long-term health and longevity of any group often depends on someone, hopefully the best qualified, but someone to make firm, unapologetic decisions and for the other members of the group to recognize those decisions as final. This is how I see the Pope.

Then there's confession. I am excited about confession. I often wonder what turns so many people off about confession. To me, it seems like one of the best ways to alleviate your guilt about something you wish you hadn't done. It seems like it would naturally provide accountability. I wonder if I am still naive in my ignorance of the process of confession. I wonder if a year from now I'll look back on these words with the same bemused shake of the head that I do when I read anything I wrote about parenting before I had children.

So I have these cultural similarities with the Catholic Church, and have had them ever since I became a parent, perhaps before that. My parents and grandparents were extremely family-oriented. Grace and forgiveness were the status quo, not drama and fighting.

And I also see parts of the Catholic faith that align very well with my own spiritual truths. In other words, the way I have interpreted the Bible is quite similar to the way the Church has interpreted the Bible. I like the focus on charity, giving up our materialistic tendencies (or greed), loving one another, peace, and grace. And there are several traditions that help facilitate a closer relationship to our Creator and that help strengthen my principles.

But what about the practices & beliefs that I don't understand? What about the ones that seem, well...weird?

Why can't priests marry? Many saints had families. Why can't priests have a family?

Why are babies baptized at birth instead of later, past the age of reason, by choice? Should people not decide to follow Jesus (as the song goes)?

And then there's the Eucharist. In the Protestant Church, you take an unleavened cracker and a little tiny cup of grape juice as instructed at the last supper to remember the sacrifice Jesus made on the cross.

"This do in remembrance of me."

At my childhood church, this was written in fancy gold lettering across the podium where our preacher gave his sermons. It was very clear that this was a representation only - it was in memory. of the last supper. Our deacons passed trays of communion from the ends of each row. You took a little cracker out of the bowl then passed it on. Next came the juice. You took your tiny little cup of grape juice from the inside of the tray, where it sat with the other little cups in individual cup holders. You drank it in one quick gulp, then put the empty cup in a tiny cup holder on the outside ring of the tray. You were supposed to be thinking about the last supper or the death of Christ on the cross or the rising on Easter morning during communion. You were supposed to be reverent.

To tell the truth, I was never quite sure what I was supposed to be thinking about during communion. I knew I was supposed to feel closer to Jesus or God during that time but I never did. I knew I was supposed to be more quiet, and I was, but people still talked during communion. People talked a lot during the service at my childhood church. They would whisper, but in the same way that people whisper over the loud thumping speakers in a movie theater.

I was never quite sure why I had to be more reverent, but I knew everyone else acted that way so I did too. In reality, I mostly liked communion because the crackers and grape juice tasted good. I was usually fairly hungry by this point in the service, and communion was a nice little treat that broke up the service. I liked the trays that were passed, especially the juice one. I thought the little tiny cups were cool.

I guess we were all sort of supposed to imagine communion as if we too were at the last supper, and then we were to feel sadness for what was coming next. Why not joy though? Why solemn reverence instead of shining joy? I don't know.

This morning at Mass I came to see the Eucharist (the Catholic communion counterpart) as a whole 'nother thing altogether.

So in the Catholic church, the Eucharist is not simply a remembrance of Christ, but it is Christ. I learned early on that apparently, this distinction held a great deal of significance. I didn't understand why. Actually, I inwardly rolled my eyes every time it came up and thought, "Whatever. Sure, yeah, ok. I'll keep my real thoughts to myself but....whatever."

But this morning, I came to see that the difference is truly that significant. And it's not as silly (crazy?) as it first sounds.

Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that the crackers and wine, the Eucharist, really does become the body and blood of Christ. This means that when the priest blesses the crackers and wine, they now become Christ. I know, I know. Let's just say.

Well then, let's put them up in front of the church and offer them to each person who comes to receive them.

In other words, Jesus Christ himself has now entered the building.

You are allowed to get up off your seat and stand in line with everybody else to get the opportunity to commune (in communion, see?) with him. When you approach him, you kneel. You kneel because you are in supplication to him.

This becomes an enormous privilege. Rather than simply passing a tray, passively, trying to commune spiritually in your heart, you have a tangible object at the front of the church. You don't have to try so hard. He's right there!

You don't have to think (as surely I'm not the only one who thinks such things.), "I wish I could be closer to God but I can't find the words to pray. Is he even listening anyway? Is he even there? Where is this airy, ethereal, wispy God hanging out anyhow?"

Well he's right there, at the table at the front of the church. Better yet, you get to go up there. You get to kneel down there, without looking silly. Without feeling weird, wondering why you're kneeling when God might not even be paying attention. He's right there! Of course he's paying attention.

Do you see how that works? Do you see how taking an intangible somewhere-out-there albeit loving being and bringing them to a tangible right-in-front-of-you object has enormous power to connect and bring communion?

Now add to that the fact that you can actually consume this tangible object. Well, now you get to leave with Christ inside you. Inside! You get to take him with you.

I feel silly to admit this, out loud, in a published sorta way, but when I got this concept this morning, finally, when it clicked, I was speechless. I felt shaky. I got up, of course, and went to the front of the church. I'm not baptized Catholic so I'm not allowed to take communion there. But I'm allowed to go up and receive a blessing from the Priest. I usually don't go up at all, but how could I not go up today, after realizing that I had an opportunity to be so near to Jesus himself?

So I went. I stood in line. I was actually excited. I did not feel crazy. I was still speechless. I stood right next to the Eucharist, next to Jesus. I liked being near. I went back and sat down in my seat. I was reverent. And it wasn't on purpose.

what to grow

"How are things?"

"Good! We're good, tired but good."

"And how's Mazzy doing with a new baby in the house?"

"Oh, fine. She's taken to Jeff now and she's very good with the baby. Very gentle."

"But how are you holding up?"

"Oh, good. Tired, but good."

These are the questions I get from nearly everyone these days. And those are my standard responses.

Why does everyone ask almost the same questions? Because everyone with any kind of child care experience at all knows that caring for such a young toddler and a newborn together is hard. Really hard. And those with just a little more experience can intuit a lot. They know that Mazzy doesn't understand why a new baby suddenly has to come first every time. They know that poor Sydney is usually getting her needs met last. They know that I feel guilt when I have to choose one's needs over the other, and they know that there are many moments when all of them have needs, demands, desires and they're all breaking down at the same time, and the cacophony of children's cries and whines makes me want to lock myself in the bathroom. They know that sometimes I do.

Why do I give the same standard responses? Because I'm far from the first mom to have closely spaced children, and because there are ups and downs to every day, and because we muddle through, one day at a time, just like everyone else, and because it's all temporary. Quite temporary.

Its temporary nature is in fact what's weighing most on me lately.

This time, I was lucky to have an easy birth that allowed me to bounce back quickly. As is my nature, I could hardly wait to do all the things I couldn't do when pregnant. I had significant back pain in my third trimester this pregnancy, impairing my physical capabilities since around March of this year. So much of the garden work I'd been planning to do had to be crossed off my list. When Livvy was born easily and my recovery happened quickly, I jumped headlong into the garden work.

I got quite a bit accomplished. Here's a picture of the back garden (my pet project). Take a good look because it's not going to look any better than this from here on out this season.

I miss my Mazzy. I remember missing Sydney like this when Mazzy was born. Now that Livvy is here, I miss Mazzy. I think it must be my natural reaction to losing the next "baby" up. But sadly, I actually miss Livvy this time too. She's here all the time, as are Mazzy & Sydney, but I find myself trying to put her down or hand her off or push her to be okay by herself more than I ever did the other two.

And when I do get her off me long enough to accomplish something, what am I doing? Reading to Sydney? Playing with Mazzy? Crafting with Sydney or dancing with Mazzy? Taking videos of the fun things the kids are doing that they won't be doing next week and will thus be lost from our memories? Nope, nope, nope & nope. I'm tending the garden. Weeding, mulching, row covers, mixing up an organic fertilizer.

When I'm nursing this lovely, cuddly little newborn, am I soaking it in, knowing we would like this to be our last baby? Nope again. I'm at the keyboard one-handed, Googling potash and grasshoppers and black plastic.

I'm tired of being frustrated and torn. I feel like I've been frustrated and torn all Spring and Summer this year, and I want to scream at myself: "Enough!"

There's really nothing to be frustrated and torn about. The lay of the land is pretty darn clear here if you take the bird's eye look for a minute.

The garden will come back next year. The garden and I will start anew and its only recollection of this year will be that the soil improvements we did have made it stronger, healthier, & more productive.

The children will grow a full year between now and then, and we'll never get that time back. Sydney is forming memories that will last a lifetime now. Mazzy and Livvy are having their personalities formed and their security in this world shaped at an unbelievable rate. We won't start anew next year. We'll start smack dab in the middle of our developing relationships.

I want that to be a good place. I want those memories. I want pictures and videos and crafts and bonding and lots of nursing, rocking, soothing baby love. Like I said, we'd really like Livvy to be our last baby. I want to bask in her newborn days.

Our friends at WindDance are easily carrying the CSA, just as we intended for this year. Our animals are largely self sufficient right now. And our local farmer's market has lots of wonderful vendors who sell any kind of veggies we might be looking for and whose families I'd be proud to support.

So enjoy the garden pictures here before the weeds and insects take hold, because I'm unashamedly pushing the garden work to the back burner for the rest of the summer to enjoy my three little girls.

Unidentified Random Squash

The Buckwheat Field (this winter's chicken & guinea feed)

The Sunflower Row

Front Garden Tomatoes

my quick apologies to those of my readers who get my blog notifications through RSS feed or email. i hated to flood your readers with four testing posts. if there's a way to test your blog live without triggering your notifications, i'd love to hear it!

and one more makes...

Two dogs, five chickens, one goat, one fish, one part-time cat, two parents, two children, and one newborn.

She's here! She's here, she's gorgeous, she's just like the other two (wear me nurse me sleep by me and we're all good), nothing like the other two (our combined genes can look like this too?!), and exactly like herself. Leggy like a little frog, dark blue eyes that capture you and don't let go, a furrowed brow, grasping fists that cling to your shirt already, long lean arms that make a wide circle when she startles.

Little Livvy's here and she's beautiful and she's so little. And so is Mazzy. And so is Sydney, although it's easy to forget it. Three little ones with three sets of needs now, often competing to be heard first, loudest. There's Jeff and myself in the middle, and there's lots of exhausting days full of hairy moments that we tag team all the way up until bedtime when we're too tired to even vegetate in front of a tv show.

That's okay. We've been down this road twice before. The road might be a little more rough, but it's familiar. We know how to navigate it, and we know the crazy intensity of newborn days lasts a short time in the grand scheme of things. And besides, we know that babies don't always come easily, on your timetable. Riding under all the stress and noise and exhaustion is an overwhelming knowledge that we are blessed to have these three children. These exact, unique three children.

As usual, I'm having a hard time slowing down to enjoy the exact, unique gifts Life has given me. On our current horizon, we have:

The New House
They are starting our basement Monday. Yes, this Monday! We've been waiting for this for so long, it's hard to believe the time is finally here. I'm so looking forward to experiencing the homebuilding from start to finish, and knowing our future home inside and out.

The Gardens
Man, am I ever kicking myself for not doing more on these before the baby came. Jeff has been great in reminding me that I had awful back pain for nearly the whole third trimester, so I shouldn't feel too guilty for not having more forethought. He has also been great at helping with the more undesirable and monotonous tasks (read: weeding and mulching).

I finally gave in to black plastic mulch for week control. Although I'm not a fan of plastic at all, anywhere, let alone around our food, after much deliberation I decided it would be better to have vegetables than to let them die from weeds gone wild. Realistically, I have a newborn and a toddler in the house and realistically, neither my husband nor my seven year old wakes up on any given day thinking, "I can't wait to get out to the garden and fight some more weeds!" (Strangely, I do often think those exact thoughts these days, but I digress.) So, realistically, it would be me fighting those weeds, all by myself. And it would be me fighting the plague of grasshoppers colonizing themselves in those weeds. And it would be me doing all of this with a baby slung on the front, while I try to cover her tender newborn skin from the glaring, unrelenting sun.

Yeah. So I chose to bend my own rules so I could do one weeding and mulching job, albeit a much bigger one, and then forget it the rest of the summer and enjoy the limited time I had out there.

The Current House
The kids and I recently had the chance to get away for a couple days to my dear friend Kate's house. It was the perfect opportunity to assess some of the issues in my current house (and household). We spent late night hours talking about how to solve some organization dilemmas, how to motivate Sydney to do some regular chores within her ability level, and some nitty-gritty details on how to keep the house in guest-clean condition at all times. These things are not my forte - I needed a friend to help me brainstorm.

When we got home, I had renewed energy to put into getting our current house into better shape and a plan for keeping it that way.

Community
Now that my energy level is back, so is my desire to build a community around us for both myself and the children. I've been trying to attend more playgroups in the attachment parenting group I started here, and I'm also looking forward to being able to join in the special events at our church/homeschool co-op again soon.

As the queen of ridiculous to-do lists and wildly unrealistic expectations of what I can accomplish in a day, it's been hard to decide just what should come first each day. Some tasks have an obvious time frame, others a tight deadline, and others seem never-ending. If you asked me, I'd always say the children are my priority. But my actions often betray my words on this, and I usually go to bed feeling guilty for not spending more focused time with them instead of these other things. I fear that my words say, "I love you and value you," but my daily actions say, "Everything else is more important to me than you are."

My usual routine is to spend the first 20 minutes of my day nursing the baby as I plan what I want to accomplish that day. This bears repeating. I spend 20 minutes planning what I want to accomplish that day. But last night, as I was guiltily recounting the times I pushed the kids off to do something else, the times I greeted them with irritation instead of a smile, and the times I said, "Not now" (because I'm doing something more important right now), I thought about that morning routine.

What if, instead of spending those first 20 minutes asking myself, "What do I want to accomplish today?" I spent those first 20 minutes prayerfully asking, "What am I meant for today?"

This morning I did just that. And funny enough, as usual, I didn't exactly get the answer I wanted. This morning, there was no garden on the list, no computer work, no home organization overhaul. There was:

• prepare and feed the children nutritious foods to help their immune system (Mazzy has been sick)
• do laundry
• do dishes/clean kitchen
• do something special for or with Sydney
• nurse Mazzy as much as possible

In my head, I kept saying, "But the garden, the garden! I've worked so hard & my work will be wasted if I don't eradicate these grasshoppers and their weedy habitat!"

To which the following was added to my list:

• ask yourself what you can do for Jeff today
• ask Jeff to take care of a couple things in the garden you can't get to in time

I always am surprised and amazed at how a true and open heart in prayer can reveal things I'd never have come to on my own. I nixed the garden from my own to-do list today, even though I didn't want to, and guess what? Jeff offered to help finish some of my garden work before he left for his job today, I stuck to my smaller, less exotic list today, and I had quite a bit of patience and joy despite a cranky sick toddler and a naturally needy newborn.

I wonder, what am I meant for tomorrow? And the day after that, and after that? How might my life change if I asked that question each day with a true and open heart?

So many thoughts like this - thoughts that have the potential to bring about real change - have been stewing lately. I got the chance to grab this one and record it. Usually the days are too fast for blogging right now. And that's okay. There are those times in life where the ride is too wild to do much besides hang on for dear life and try like mad to enjoy yourself. Writing might have to take the back seat for a bit, because this is definitely one of those times.

the countdown has begun

We are down to the final weeks - less than a month until my due date now - and I'm beginning to notice the big inward shift that seems to mean birth is impending.

I had three very busy days in a row last week. First, we had guests on Wednesday for the day. It was so much fun to have our sister-family here for the day...you know, that family where you know each other so well that you don't have to pretend to not be grouchy in the 8th month, and their children know you so well, that their feelings are not hurt by said grouchiness. We had six little ones altogether running and playing and swinging and nursing, all under the age of 8. We had a wonderful, energetic, and exhausting day. We all went to bed happy.

Thursday, I went to our local playgroup with the girls. It was fun to hang out and talk with another homebirthing mama when I'm so close to having the experience again. As usual, Sydney ran off and romped and jumped with her son, having a wonderful time. If I could have come home right afterward, it would have been a perfectly lovely day. But instead, there were the errands. "I'll just pick that up while I'm in town," sounds well and good at 11:00 a.m. before I've been out for four hours. At 5:00 in the evening, when the hunger has well set in, and the tiredness is starting, making three more stops with two hungry tired children in tow no longer sounds very viable. Yet, if the errands must be done, and I'm right there to do them, then I must push beyond my comfort level. We came in close to 9:00 that night.

Friday, things really fell apart. I'd scheduled a day into the city that day. I've had my eye on the Cricut Personal Cutting Machine for making t-shirts and other stenciled graphics, and someone had one listed for a good price on craigslist. Conveniently, I passed the screener for a consumer research study that day which made me almost enough money to pay for the machine. (I ended up having to add just a little to the pot. :-)

So the day was set up to drop kids off with my dear friend Amy for babysitting near the research facility, attend the study, spend time with Amy afterwards, meet my dad before the craigslist appointment, withdraw cash for the machine, grab dinner, buy the machine, pick up the milk, make a deposit at the bank, and head home. Again, it all sounds well and good before I've left the house at 11:00 a.m.

But by 5:00 that evening, I was having a very hard time with things. I tried to send an email to my craigslist appointment to give her my cell number, and I couldn't remember it. Not only that, I couldn't draw it up after 10 minutes of searching my brain. This is extremely unusual for me. I had to ask Amy to tell me my own number!

My anxiety (and likely, my blood pressure), continued to increase throughout the evening. By the time I was on my way home, I was in tears, and I felt like I was crawling out of my own skin. I couldn't get comfortable in any position, although nothing hurt. Later, I recognized that it was anxiety. I don't usually have anxious episodes like that, so it took me awhile to see it for what it was. I had only one agenda: get back home. Now. I finally achieved that at 11:00 p.m., and went straight to bed. Over the next day, I gradually felt better, and realized what was going on.

It's pretty simple, I think. The body is an amazing thing, and its way of forcing you to prepare for a new baby is intricate and heavily emotional. When I consider our creation, these ways in which we are much more like animals, rather than the ways in which we let our intelligence muck things up, are what fascinate me most.

If I'm merely going to pay lip service to staying at home more, cleaning and nesting, carefully watching my stress level and blood pressure, well then, my body will just give me anxiety episodes to force the issue.

I haven't gone out further than 10 minutes from home since Friday. Yesterday, I bought 14 quarts of strawberries and spent the day making jam. Today, I spent the day cleaning untouched corners before the baby comes, including the birthing room.

And so the countdown has begun. I want the house clean - always. I want the mice that have been trying to stay in Hotel Heirloom gone - altogether. I want the bathrooms bleached and the freezers full; the birth supplies ready and the pool set up. I want the gardens mulched and the weeds pulled and the berries and peas harvested so I can sit back with a new baby very soon and babymoon away, without worry.

I do not want to leave my house.

Thinking about taking a trip to the grocery right now makes my hands sweat. Thinking about taking a trip to town, or worse - to the city - nearly makes me hyperventilate. And being in crowds? I don't think so. I'm not upset by it. I think I probably should have listened awhile ago, before Ms. Anxiety had to take the wheel.

So perhaps I'll have more time to blog in this small window of time between commitments and obligations and traveling and, well, life.

I wanted to post some pictures from Easter this year - Alive Again Day, 2010. The long winter (around February in this picture) can be so hard out here, when you're face to face with the incessant snow and grey day after day, that Alive Again Day marks a significant turning point in the seasons.



We continued last year's traditions of Alive Again Day, and it was very meaningful. I baked a gluten-free brownie cake for us, and then we took a hike to look for what was alive again after our long winter and to collect new spring flowers.

We placed one flower on top of the cake for each person we love who has left this world to be alive again in Heaven.



Sydney said a prayer for each person.



Mazzy enjoyed the festivities very much, thanks to the gluten-free cake.




Before we got our clothes all mucky from hiking, we went to church at St. John's, where they played the Easter hymn that takes me right back to being a little 7-year-old girl, watching my Mom practice with the choir for Easter Sunday. We honored her during our Alive Again celebration, but it still doesn't take away from the fact she's not on the pew next to us - or spending time with the girls, or helping me prep for the baby, or countless other things that get to me more when I'm pregnant. That Easter song always makes me cry.

We then came home and immediately took Easter pictures before anyone could get dirty. I love taking family pictures annually at Easter and Thanksgiving. It's so cool to look back on them later and see how we've all grown each year. Jeff had to play photographer for this photo shoot, so he wasn't in the shots.











As I clean and bake and prep and focus, I can almost see next year's pictures, with three little girls and one not-so-big mama.

mommies

While Mazzy provides comic relief to our house each day, Sydney is growing into an articulate, considerate, thoughtful little family member. In short, she's growing up!

We have so many interesting conversations lately, I wish I remembered to write them all down. Alas, they slip my mind while I'm sleeping (or not sleeping, more accurately), and I only can hold onto a few. Like the one we had tonight:

Me: Sydney, you have my Mommy's hands.

Sydney: I do?

Me: Yes. My Mommy's and my Aunt Joanna's. They always had the same hands. I've thought from the day you were born you were going to have those hands and you do. I'm glad. I always thought my Mommy's hands were prettier than my hands.

Sydney: Well of course you did!

Me: Why do you say that?

Sydney: Because everybody loves everything about their mommies! They love every part of their mommies the best!

I laugh, and smile, & think, "What a complement. That's about the sweetest thing I've ever heard." Then she continues...

Sydney: Well, except their voice maybe. And their face. When they're mad. Nobody likes that.

Indeed. Nobody likes that.

I think she's been missing our time lately. The Sydney - Mommy time that we had for over five years is in short supply, and about to get even shorter.

The other morning, I slept in later than anyone else in the house. Jeff had Mazzy already down for her morning nap when I awoke, and he opened the bedroom door while I gained my energy to hoist myself out of the awkward bed situation I'm having now that I'm getting so big. I spied Sydney down the hall looking at me, but she didn't come in. She's been reprimanded for waking me up too soon, or being all over me before I can get the first cup of coffee in.

"Sydney!" I quietly called to her. "Do you want to come lay with me for a bit?"

She turned her head quickly toward me, smiled a big toothy smile, and literally ran down the hall. Then she snuggled up against me and said, "Now we can really snuggle because Mazzy's asleep and no one is in between us."

She rammed her knee a little too hard into my belly and I said, "Ow! Be careful!"

"Well, except for that baby I guess," she added, smiling.

I really think we are blessed that she is such a loving and maternal big sister. Apparently, she does have feelings of being left out more, wanting more attention, and feeling like she lost a little too much of her Mommy. But if you saw her with her sister, you'd never guess it. She is infinitely patient and protective, and she is giving Mazzy the same qualities. I see it whenever someone is upset. Mazzy tries to comfort them in just the same way Sydney tries to comfort her.

We are very lucky parents indeed to have such sweet little girls.